behind the back pass

Archie Andrews Soulmate!AU


Request: aa can you do a soulmate au with archie wherein all you see is black and white until you touch your soulmate? like he bumps into you in the hallway or something and color just blooms before your eyes?? i dunno of that makes sense or not but your writing it great!! <3

Summary: (a Soulmate!AU) [In a black and white world where you find your soulmate when you touch for the first time. After your skin touches theirs, the two people can see each other in color, later on expanding into seeing the whole world in color.] Y/n has just moved to Riverdale and is starting her first day at Riverdale High. Will today be the day where she’ll find the one she’s been looking for?

Word Count: 1804

a/n: First of all lmao the summary I just wrote for this was so cheesy I apologize. I had fun writing this so I hope you have fun reading it but if not sorry I suck. I’m posting it without editing it so if you see any mistakes I promise I’ll fix them tomorrow I’m just currently being lazy. Don’t forget to request!


You heard it happened to another girl from your old school last week. She’d been visiting family in another town when it happened. You heard it happened like some sort of rom-com. Apparently, she’d dropped her wallet and he’d tapped on her shoulder to return it to her. She turned and saw him, like actually saw him, in color. You’d heard it a billion times. When you touch the right person for the first time, you finally start to see in color. At first, it’s just them you see in color, everything else stays black and white, but after a while you can see everything. Something in you goes right with something in them and the rest is history.

It was hard to even conceptualize. You’d lived your whole life seeing black and white, what did it even mean to see in color. They compared it to The Wizard of Oz, like seeing in Technicolor. Before you touch them is like Dorothy in Kansas, but after was like when she went over the rainbow to Munchkinland. People who could see it had tried to explain it to you many times before, but they always ended up saying it was impossible to explain to someone who couldn’t see it; you’d see one day. But what if you didn’t? There were people who lived their whole lives and dies still seeing black and white. Maybe you would be one of those people.

You felt stupid even thinking about it. You were only in high school after all. There were people who didn’t see their person until they were 30, people who didn’t see their person until they were 60! Why were you so anxious?

You knew you didn’t need another person to survive or anything, you could take care of yourself. It’s just the thought of spending your whole life by yourself sounded pretty unappetizing. Even though so many people hadn’t found their person yet you couldn’t help the feeling like you were late. You knew a couple that had seen each other since second grade. You were patient, but you just wanted to know what you were missing.

Your first day at a new school. You’d moved into your new house in Riverdale a couple days ago, and it seemed like a nice town. All the people you’d met seemed welcoming enough and your room was bigger than in your old house. You hadn’t moved here to find your person or anything, your mom’s job had a great opportunity here for her, but you thought maybe this would be that place where it would happen. You didn’t want to get your hopes up… but what if?

You pulled up into a spot on the far side of the parking lot at Riverdale High. You took a deep breath before ripping the band-aid off and opening the car door, making you way toward the entrance. Various other students were laughing and talking with their friends. To say you were nervous would be to say that Mount Everest was a bit of a hike: a huge understatement. It was the first day back from summer, but you’d never been the new kid before. You didn’t know a soul.

You’d been to the office once before over the weekend to register for classes so you found your way there relatively easily once you got inside. You walked into the bustling office and tried to avoid getting hit by a receptionist who at that speed could have easily passed for a linebacker. You hesitantly approached a woman behind a desk who looked busy, but at least noticeably less busy than everyone else. She was typing up something with a level of ferocity that had to be breaking some sort of record. You waited uncomfortably for her to finish what she was doing and notice you standing in front of her. Was she going to finish?

After half a minute and a few final loud smacks on her keyboard, she pushed up her glasses and looked up at you with a weary but genuine smile. “Can I help you with something, honey?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said fumbling through the front pocket of your backpack for the right paper. “Here it is.” You slid the paper to her with your name and information they had given you when you’d registered. “I’m new.”

Her eyes scanned the paper and she turned to grab something from behind the desk. She turned back to you and passed a piece of paper to you. “So, this is your schedule. The school is a bit of a maze so let me see if I can find someone…” She looked around the office and her eyes landed on someone. “Aha!” You followed her line of sight and saw a boy with his arms full of books walking toward the door. You strained your neck to see his face but he was turned away.  “Mr. Andrews?!” The boy stopped in his tracks and swiveled around in search for the source of his name. Whoa. The receptionist waved him over and he made his way over to you.

You had tried your whole life not to think about the boys you met too much so you wouldn’t get too attached to them only for them to see someone else. But boy, oh boy, he was kind of a babe.

“Mr. Andrews, she doesn’t know her way around the school yet; Could you show her to her to her first class?”

He glanced quickly at you then back to the receptionist, “Oh, yeah. No problem!”

You smiled graciously at the receptionist and she turned back to her work.

“So we’re going to…” He looked over the schedule and mumbled to himself. “Ah, cool.” He looked up at you and smiled. “That’s not far at all.” You could feel your heart flutter. He started walking down the hall way and you stayed by his side, a couple inches away. “I would shake your hand but I don’t really have a free one at the moment,” he said nodding down to the comically large pile of books he was carrying. “I’m not trying to be rude, I promise.”

“No, don’t even worry about it.” You replied. Secretly though, you were kind of upset you couldn’t shake his hand. You wanted to touch him for a second, just to rule him out as your person. Now you were going to be thinking about him all day.

“So, are you a freshman? Or just new?” he asked while maneuvering through the populated hallway.

“Just new. My mom got a promotion so we moved to Riverdale last week. I’m actually a sophomore.” You explained. You had a feeling you would have to be telling this story pretty frequently in the near future.

“Oh, hey, cool! I’m a sophomore too! Maybe we’ll have classed together and stuff.” He said with a hint of excitement. You didn’t even know why you were getting your hopes up. For all you know he had already seen his person.

“I hope so. So far you’re the only person I’ve met at this school. It would be nice to have a familiar face in a class or two.” You tried to keep the sound of desperation in your voice to a minimum.

He stopped in front of a classroom on the right side of the hallway, “Well, here we are.”

You didn’t want to leave yet, but you knew you had to. “Thank you so much for helping me out, by the way.

He smiled and turned to face you, backing away in the opposite direction “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you around later?” It only hit you then that you didn’t know his first name. And he didn’t know your name either. You opened your mouth to speak, some guy rammed into him, knocking down all his books and making him fall right onto you.

The guy looked at the pile up he’d caused, “Oh, sorry dude,” and walked away.

“I’m so sorry,” he said lifting himself off you and turning to pick up his books without looking at you.

You looked down at your backpack and fixed everything that was misplaced. “It wasn’t your fault,” you comforted without looking up. “It was that stupid guy, he came out of nowhere.”

It was then that you looked up at him, and it happened. You could see him. You, quite literally, could not believe your eyes. You could see the way he really looked, with all the colors that belonged to him. He looked even more beautiful that you had thought. His hair was bright – you didn’t know what everyone else’s hair looked like, or what color to call his, but you knew it was special. You could see the blush in his cheeks as he fumbled with his books, you hadn’t known what blushing really looked like. You could see him, and for now, only him.

He still hadn’t looked up from the books. An overwhelming feeling of fear washed over you. What if he didn’t see you in color back? That happened sometimes. What if it happened to you? You looked at him and you wanted to say something, to ask him, but nothing could come out.

“Hey,” he said, “I just realized that I never got to ask you–” He glanced up and you and back down before he knew what he had seen. He froze, calculating in his head. He slowly turned his head up to face you. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at you and for a while, you just looked back.

You broke the silence, “Can, can you see me? In color?”

He nodded his head yes but remained silent. You could see his eyes scanning all over you, looking like it was the first time he had his eyes, because it kind of was.

With wide eyes he darted his to yours, realizing, “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” you laughed lightly.

“Well can you? Please?” He laughed back.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he said more to himself than to you, like he was feeling how it felt on him. “I’m Archie.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you Archie.”

“So… we’re…?”

“I guess so,” You were in as much shock as he was. This was definitely not how you had expected your first day at Riverdale High to start, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Do you want to get out of here? We can talk and stuff,” he asked standing up.

“There is nothing more I want in the world.” You reached out your hand and he pulled you up. You walked right out the school and onto the street abandoning all the papers and books. You had more important things to do. You were finally seeing in Technicolor.

anonymous asked:

so alex and maggie arguing a little over naming their dog gertrude and maggie finally gives in. "fine but i'm naming our kids in the future." she turns to leave but hears a choked whisper behind her. "we're going to have kids?" she turns back wanting to pass it off as just a little joke but the words die away on her lips when she sees the love and hope in alex's eyes and her shy little smile and dear god she's falling in love with this woman again. "yes danvers, we are going to have kids."

this sounds like The Wedding Date sanvers I love

Harry Styles - Servant In Your House Imagine

[I changed it a little - she’s not a princess but still considered royalty, if that’s okay. This is an interesting and quite different one. It’s long and probably my favorite thing I have EVER written. haha. I just wanted to keep writing and didn’t want it to end.. I hope that you enjoy!!]

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anonymous asked:

Bughead soulmate au please? :)

Here you go, anon!

Title: The Girl From the Journal

Soulmate AU: Jughead Jones has been writing about a girl he has never met before, but when he leaves his journal at his favorite coffee shop one day, an unsuspecting young woman finds it without knowing that the stranger who wrote it was actually writing about her

She wears her hair held high in an off-the-face-neat-and-tidy sort of way that shows the world she’s ready to concur it. Her mind drifts from one idea to the next without stopping to take a breath. And although she doesn’t know it, she impacts every single person she meets just by being exactly who she is.

24-year-old, Jughead Jones III looked up from the beat-up journal that his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday eight years ago, turning in his seat to thank the waitress for the cup of coffee she had just set on the table in front of him. He had been writing an entry a day since he had found it sitting on his bed with a big red bow tied around the front cover when he got home from school, and he hadn’t missed a day since.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress, all fluttery eyelashes and puckered lips, asked in the sweetest voice she could possibly muster as she smoothed out her apron and turned to smile sweetly at him.

“No, that’ll be all, thanks,” Jughead dismissed her without a second glance, taking a small sip of his coffee and immediately picking up his fountain pen to continue writing.

“Well, if you need anything else, my name is Naomi,” the waitress informed him, taking a step back from the table and gesturing towards the front of the coffee shop. “I’ll be behind the counter for a while, so just let me know if-”

“Got it,” Jughead cut her off before she could finish, and Naomi sunk back behind the counter without another word.

Jughead focused his attention back to his journal entry for the day, furrowing his brow as he waited for more words about his mystery girl to flow from pen to page like they’d always done so naturally. He had been writing about this girl for years, and although she was nameless, she had distinct features that made her almost impossible to miss if he were ever to meet her in real life. She had become somewhat of an obsession of his over the past few months, distracting him from work and relationships to the point where he was beginning to believe that this girl he created in his mind, was actually out there somewhere waiting to be found.

Just as he was about to tackle his next paragraph, his phone began buzzing frantically on the table, causing the cup of coffee to shake and shimmy all across the table in the process.

“Mr. Dawson,” Jughead answered, his voice rising an octave the way it always did whenever he spoke to his boss. “Yes, I understand that there’s a deadline and I’m - no sir, I wasn’t aware that I took you for granted - yes, sir - yes, and I’ll be there in an hour - now I’ll be there right now, I’m on my way. Okay, see you soon - in ten minutes, I’ll see you in ten minutes, goodbye!”

Jughead clicked off his phone and scooped up his messenger bag from beside him in the booth before sliding out of his seat. Taking one last gulp of his coffee, he carelessly tossed his journal into his bag before hurrying to the front of the shop to pay his bill.

Just as he reached the counter, a woman carrying an overflowing box of what looked to be gardening tools came barreling into the coffee shop without any control of her feet or the box she held in front of her.

“Sorry, excuse me, if you’d just - oops - sorry, sir, are you okay?” With the box partly obstructing her view, the woman nearly slammed straight into an older man carrying a to-go cup, dodging him by only just a hair and knocking her elbow into the counter as a result. “Ow!”

Still in a hurry, Jughead tried to block out the woman’s incessant apologies and turned to the employee behind the counter. “Hi, I’m ready to pay, if that’s alright.”

“Sure, just one moment,” she smiled at Jughead, but then turned to the crazed woman with the box, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene that was unfolding before her.

“I actually don’t have a moment, I’m-” Jughead tried to protest, but the woman behind the counter was already heading over to inspect what was happening near the front door.

“Betty, what on earth are you carrying?”

“Hey, Polly, I’m just… Hold on a second,” the crazed woman, now known as Betty, dropped her box onto one end of the counter and quickly dusted her hands off. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Okay, start explaining,” Polly instructed, nodding to the box of gardening tools and raising a curious eyebrow. “What is all this?”

“My third graders are learning about rocks and minerals this week,” Betty explained. “So I’ve been going around the neighborhood looking for different kinds of stones and varieties of soil to-”

“Sorry,” Jughead interrupted, pulling on his messenger bag impatiently and flapping his check in the air. “I don’t mean to be that guy, but if I don’t get back to my office in seven and a half minutes, my boss has threatened to strap a rocket to my back and send me flying to some unknown universe so if I could just-”

“Yes, sorry,” Polly hurried back over the the cash register and took Jughead’s credit card, quickly ringing him up and tearing off a piece of paper from the machine next to her and handing it to him. “Here’s your receipt, enjoy the rest of your day!”

“Thank you,” Jughead nodded at Polly and turned to head out the door, but before pushing it open to brave the cold morning air, Jughead stopped suddenly and turned back to Betty. “Good luck with the rock thing by the way. There’s some good ones by the lake just off Kingston Drive, if you’re still looking. It’s a gold mine down there trust me!”

With that, Jughead left the coffee shop, leaving Betty to turn back to Polly with a surprised smile on her face.

“Well, that was unexpectedly kind of him. Most guys in suits like that aren’t usually so friendly,” Betty pointed out, thinking back to all the guys she knew in college who were crazed, wannabe business tycoons with a bad attitude.

“He comes in here every morning. Sometimes in the evening too if he’s trying to meet a deadline,” Polly informed her, wiping the counter down with a cloth and leaning forward on the surface with her elbows. “Yet I still have no idea what his name is.”

“He’s a writer?” Betty guessed, trying her best to conceal the interest that had seemed to pop up in her voice.

“Yeah, some kind of hotshot news editor by the looks of it,” Polly explained, pushing off the counter and bending down to fix an out-of-place pastry in the display case.

“Interesting,” Betty muttered, turning back to the door and looking out the window intently. “I wonder if - uh oh.”

An object on the floor in front of the welcome mat caught Betty’s attention, and she hurried over to investigate.

“What is it?” Polly asked, her brows furrowing together as she took in the old journal that her sister was gently holding in her hands.

“Looks like Cinder-editor left his notebook behind,” Betty concluded, holding up the journal for Polly to see.  

“Well, hurry, go track him down before he turns into a pumpkin!” Polly joked, gesturing to the door and ushering for her to leave.

Betty knew that there was no way he would still be around, but she also knew that she had to take a chance. Pushing through the front door, Betty hurried out onto the streets, searching both ways for any sign of the journal’s owner. Spotting the same old beanie that she remembered seeing the man wearing at the end of the sidewalk one street over, Betty moved quickly to catch up to him.

“Wait!” she called out to him, but he was already joining the crowd of people in front of him and crossing the street. “Wait, you forgot you’re-”

With all the chaos happening around her, Betty got swept up into a group of school kids heading to their bus stop and ran straight into a woman walking her poodle in the opposite direction.

“Watch where you’re going!” the woman snapped, glancing back at Betty to glare at her before heading into the apartment building behind them.  

“Ow, why does that keep happening to me?” Betty rubbed her shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to see if she could spot the beanie again, but it was nowhere to be found.

Glancing down at the journal in her hands, a thought crossed her mind that she knew was unethical, but kept popping back up to the forefront the longer she stared at its worn cover.

“Betty, don’t read it, that would be an invasion of privacy,” she muttered to herself, quickly shaking the thought from her mind and tucking the journal safely under her arm. “But then again, maybe he has his name written somewhere in the front cover. I mean, how else am I going to get this back to him if I don’t know his name?”

Betty slowly slipped the journal back into her hands, glancing behind her shoulder in case anyone passing her on the street could tell how much of a snoop she was being.

“Oh, what the heck,” she conceded, flipping open the book to check for a name. Written in thick letters were the words: Property of Forsythe Pendleton Jones III and scribbled underneath it in tinier, childlike handwriting was the name Jughead.

“Odd,” Betty mumbled, thinking about how strange the name Jughead sounded in her mind. Yet, there was a familiarity to it that made it seem ordinary somehow. Like it was the most common, natural-sounding name she had ever heard.

Having found the name she was hoping to find, Betty prepared her hands to close the journal and head back to her sister’s coffee shop. But before she could follow through, and even though she could never explain it, something stopped her. It was as if there was a pull in the universe causing her eyes to wander over to the next page and read the story that was scribbled carelessly onto the white paper.

“No way,” Betty breathed, letting the words sink in as she flipped to the next page. After reading several entries all about the same girl, Betty slammed the journal and sprinted back to the coffee shop.

“Polly!” she exclaimed as she threw open the door, dodging several customers as she made her way back to the counter.

“What?” Polly’s eyes went wide as she took in her sister, all wild eyes and heavy breathing. “Did you give that guy his journal back?”

“Not yet,” Betty admitted, her breath coming in heavy spurts as she tried to slow her heart rate. “But I was looking through it and-”

“You read it?” Polly gasped. “Elizabeth Cooper, you should be ashamed.”

“I know, I know, but listen to this,” Betty opened to a random page in the journal and started to read the man’s words that had made her heart lurch in her throat.

“’She wanted to shape young minds. To show them that there was a place for them in the world that was better than what they might have seen in the past. And while she was never quite sure of her ability to succeed, she was positive in her ability to teach them that they could.’”

“Okay, that’s beautiful and all, but I’m not really sure I’m getting your point,” Polly told her, tossing a rag over her shoulder and leaning against the counter.

“This entry, and every entry after that, they’re all describing this girl,” Betty explained, holding out the journal for her sister to see. “But the way he writes about her - it never seems like she’s someone that he knows. She’s just this person that exists in this journal but not in real life except-”


“Except I think that she does,” Betty concluded. “And I think that I’m her.”

“Betty, you realize you sound psychotic correct?” Polly threw the rag at her sister, who lunged forward to catch it at the exact wrong moment and let the piece of cloth fall to the floor.

“I know how it sounds, but do you remember that story I wrote for English class in the tenth grade?” Betty asked, bending down to scoop up the rag and set it on the counter. “The one that mom hated?

“Yeah, it was that piece about the boy who’s father was never around because he was some sort of drug dealer or something. And then he gave the boy a present for his birthday that changed his life before he left town for good and never came back,” Polly recounted the story and looked up to raise her eyebrows at Betty as if to say, ‘so what?’ “Yeah, I remember. Why?”

“Read this,” Betty shoved the journal in Polly’s direction and pointed to the description on the back cover. Rolling her eyes, Polly quickly read about how the owner of the journal got that very book from his father on his sixteenth birthday and then never saw him again after that day.

“It has to be some sort of coincidence,” Polly concluded, shutting the journal and handing it back to Betty.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Betty whispered, running her fingers along the etchings on the front cover. “I think that I was writing about this man - Jughead - and I think that he was writing about me.”

“That’s insane, Betty, you don’t even know each other,” Polly reminded her.

“I know that,” Betty sighed. “But I think that this is a sign - finding this journal, meeting him today - I think that I was meant to know him.”

“Okay, let’s say that’s true,” Polly cautiously gave in, folding her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Betty. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find him,” Betty declared, grabbing her purse from the stool she had left it on and shoved the journal safely inside. “And then he’s going to explain to me how he’s been writing about me for eight years when I only just met him this morning.”

Before her sister could protest, Betty headed out the door and made her way to the only newsroom in town, determined to find the man who owned the journal. The man who, she knew in her heart, she was meant to know. And the man who was about to change her entire world.

january 19

part of the valentines exchange for the @upperclassmennet written for the lovely @aronminyards :) i know your favorite characters are aaron, matt and jean but i’d started writing this and when i saw ur favorite pairing is andreil i just had to do this, hope u like it !!

Neil Josten was not one to make his birthday into a grand affair. In fact, he would have been fine if it weren’t an affair at all. January 19 was just another day; the only thing that made it remotely remarkable was that he’d created Neil Josten today. Neil Josten, a bundle of well-crafted lies and half-truths. He knew he would never be an honest man; he would always have a lie ready at the tip of his tongue, but he was trying. He was trying to become something more than Neil Josten, the boy who came to the Foxes with only one duffel to hold every one of his possessions. So, no, he didn’t exactly consider January 19 to be of any significant importance.

If he had to celebrate a day, he would’ve picked the day he forever said goodbye to Nathaniel Wesninski. When he cut the one identity that tied him directly to the Butcher. When he made Neil Josten a tangible reality rather than an imposter looking for a temporary relief. When he decided, in front of multiple witnesses, the person he was and who he wanted to be. When he made the conscious choice of accepting the family he knew would always be by side, if only he let them be.

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Take Your Child To Work Day

SPN FanFic

~Daddy Jared and Uncle Jensen get conned by your cutie-pie daughter~

Jared x Reader, OFC Juliana, Jensen

846 Words

Warnings: Daddy!Jared Fluff Feels? Idk. Nothing bad. 

A/N: I’m having feelings after the Padafamily picture, OK? Sue me. 

“Daddy are you gonna take me?” your daughter Juliana looked up at her father, wide eyed and inquisitive as always; her hazel eyes a perfect match for his.

Jared smiled his curious smile and shook his head quickly in confusion. “Take you where Jules?”

“To the work,” she said, sticking out her hip and leaning her hand on it just like you did. You laughed from your spot in the kitchen as you watched the scene unfold. For a five year old, she was sassy as hell.

“To my work?” he asked, holding back a laugh.

Jules rolled her eyes, “Yeah Daddy, it’s ‘Take Your Child To Work Day’. So you take your child to your work.”

Jared nodded, pretending to consider her question. He rubbed his chin and hummed. “Huh, well, it just so happens that Mommy has some scenes this week, so we’ll all be going to work tomorrow.”

It took a moment for the information to make it’s way past all the attitude, but finally Juliana understood and a bright smile grew on her little face. She clapped and ran into Jared’s open arms, squealing as he lifted her into the air with ease. “Thank you Daddy!”

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My Father Was Like You

Request: “Omg thanks can you do one where Teddy meets a loner Gryffindor girl that disappears every now and then and then find out that she’s a werewolf and like he feels that it’s some kind of “sign” from his father. Pretty pretty please, I so love your writing 💕”

Pairing: Edward “Teddy” Lupin x Reader

Word Count: 1848

Warnings: None

A/n: I literally know -67826% about this character so I hope I portrayed him alright :) thank god 4 the harry potter wiki

“Why do I do this to myself.” Teddy spoke to himself, running up the Grand staircase. His hair transformed into a darker shade of blue as he puffed up the stairs, taking two at a time. He was head boy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t accidentally sleep in once in a while. As he whizzed through the corridor he had almost made it to his Potions class, only to stop abruptly at the door. He was still, trying to pick up the hurried voices that were echoing through the empty hallways. He followed them, knowing he was getting nearer, as the voices went from a hushed echo to a loud whisper. He recognised the Headmistresses’ voice, but the other was unfamiliar. He had his back against the wall, not daring to peer down the hallway, in case he would get caught.

“We will take care of you, no need to worry.”

“But Professor, what if I hurt someone? I don’t want to put anyone at risk.”

“My girl, we have a hefty supply of Wolfsbane potion, and I will watch over you in my office, with the door locked and guarded.”

Teddy had to prevent himself from audibly gasping with shock. Wolfsbane potion? But that was only used by…

“You must prepare for the full moon this coming week. Don’t miss a day, make sure of it. It’s your responsibility to take a potion every day of the week.” Headmistress McGonagall instructed.

His suspicions were proved true by that final sentence, and he pulled himself away from the scene after it was revealed. He had heard stories about how his father attended Hogwarts, being aided by Dumbledore during full moons. And now there was another werewolf student that was being hidden.

A student at Hogwarts was infected with Lycanthropy.

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Having A Field Day + A CS One Shot

A/N: Here’s a smutty little continuation of ‘Physically Fit’ and ‘Extracurricular Activities’ because as a teacher, I hate Field Day and PE Teacher!Killian seemed like a good way to cheer myself up after managing the mayhem! Happy summer, everyone!

Rated: M - this is seriously straight filth
Word Count: 3K

The texture of the wood door at her back wasn’t completely unlike the several other smooth surfaces Emma had found herself pressed up against over the course of the past few very heated months. Sure, it was a bit colder and the drag of the sanded oak against her bare shoulders was sending shivers down her spine, but it was honestly a shock that it had taken her this long to make such a sensory discovery.

How they’d avoided the dim lighting and slightly dusty space inside the school storage shed was truly something she couldn’t provide an answer for, especially because there were very few locations they’d skipped since the first time she let his firm hips push her into oblivious ecstasy.

Killian’s hands felt rugged on her sides as they slid downward, his thumbs pressing firmly on her hipbones until she moaned that sound of warning he seemed to enjoy so much. It crossed her mind briefly as he sent a trail of kisses down her neck that maybe he loved her and not just the noises she made when they found themselves in close circumstances like their current ones. It was a thought she had tested a few times before - once when he spent two hours grading essays for her after she’d fallen victim to some plague obtained from her students and then again when he’d asked her to dance with him during their repeat chaperoning duo at the winter formal. Of course, that sweet and almost tender request came right before he pulled her back into a nearby well known locker room where he really made her shiver.

Yeah, January temperatures had nothing on Killian Jones and his ability to chill every inch of her body. The scorching numbers as they currently neared the end of May, on the other hand, seemed to have them both in quite the unprofessional bind.

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Don’t Care About the Presents (M)

Originally posted by holy-yoongi

Summary: It’s that time of year again, and for your friend group’s annual secret Santa this time, Namjoon has you. Which means that this year, his gift has to be perfect. However, sometimes it’s not the material gifts that are the best ones.

Member: Namjoon

Word Count: 6.2k+

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warning: Smut, Painfully cheesy fluff to the point that characters call themselves out on it

A/N: Part of the Christmas collab with @cremesuga, @jungkxook, @haniwritesbtsstuff, @jiminniemouse, @inktae, and @jungblue! I also have an unhealthy obsession with those damn Ryan pajamas help me. Also I hope no one’s lactose intolerant because this is filled with cheeseeeee.

Namjoon is glad that there are websites that do secret Santa drawings for you now, because if he had drawn your name while in the same room with you, there’d be no hiding how he felt about this current situation. Which was a complete mess. Hands shaking, heart racing, red in the face kind of mess.

However, now he has to deal with his roommate judging him as he flails in front of his computer screen, which now displays you name. And Min Yoongi knows how to judge.

“Calm down. You look like one of those things they put outside car dealerships.” Yoongi flicks the back of Namjoon’s head as he passes behind him, on his way to flop down on the couch.

“You don’t understand, man.” Namjoon lets out a groan before burying his face in his hands. “Like, I know I can’t tell you because it’s supposed to be secret Santa—"

“You got Y/N, I knew it the second I heard you squealing from my room.” Yoongi’s tone is flat, almost bored, as he picks up the remote and starts flipping through the channels.

“Squealing, what? I wasn’t squealing.” Namjoon’s arms cross over his chest as he lets out a huff of air.

“I mean, that was the highest I’ve ever heard your voice go.” Yoongi sighs as he shuts the TV off, unable to find anything to watch. “So, when’s the wedding? I know a ring is probably outside of the price range for a typical secret Santa but…”

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I Hate You, I Love You

For the anon who asked: for a enemies to lover fic (sorry lovie I can’t find the actual request and I usually write them in bullet points in my book)

Author’s Note: In Microsoft Word this is 18 pages long and has a word count of 7344 words. Hope you guys enjoy it!

y/n = your name

y/f/n = your first name

y/l/n = your last name

I Hate You, I Love You

Originally posted by sonjackcarl

The waves lapped softly under the bridge. The light from the street lamps reflected off the water like orange jewels. I huffed a heavy sigh and raised my face to the glittered sky, allowing the chilly, wind to caress my face and toy with the loose strands of hair on my head. I swallowed the lump in my throat, the saliva in my mouth thick making it almost impossible to go down. I crunched the picture in my hand and leaned against the cold metal railings. A slight wetness from the afternoon shower clung to the metal and soaked into the forearms of my jacket.

I lowered my eyes to the crumpled picture in my hand. Dark almond male eyes stared back at me. Gently I caressed the photo, following his long straight nose with my thumb and tracing the outline of his strong bearded jaw. I looked up again and stared out at the horizon, it was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I’m sorry John,” I whispered and let the photograph slip from my fingers into the water below.

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About places where the reality is a little bit altered: A guide to gas posts at 3am

  After the streets are empty and dark, and almost no cars can be spotted around except for an occasional noise in the distance, it’s possible to see gas posts with their lights on. If you want to go in, make sure that you have some food and water, because you won’t be able to leave until the sun rises.

  At the right moment that you step into the gas post, you will hear a single car passing behind you. Do not look back at any circumstances. The noise will disappear into the distance after some seconds. Play around all you want while waiting for 3 am. This is when the small convenience shop will open it’s doors and turn on it’s lights. Go in.

  There won’t be a cashier, just a good amount of snacks and other souvernis that you can touch and play with, but do not unpack them. Do not open them.

  Depending on your gas post, you might also find bathrooms. In this case, the water in the sinks will be warm, and you’ll hear some music in the distance, as if you were outside of a club. Once you step out of the bathroom, though, the music will stop.

  It’s not normal to see any movement behind the counterback. If by any reason you acidentally opened one of the snack packages, you might notice that the bathroom song will not start to play inside of the convenience shop. Run. Get out of the shop as fast as possible, and wait outsite, in the gas post, for the sunrise. Do not look at the shop until you can leave.

Taehyung Scenario: When Times Get Hard.

Request: Can you please do a scenario where V is married and as we know he likes children& he wants to have one but after many tries he and his wife found out that she cant have children and she refuse to adopt one!i want smth angst but romantic,maybe v buy a lil pup after some time?Thank you girls,kisses!💕

Genre: Angst / Fluff.

Your hands were trembling and your stomach had felt better, you were arriving home and you knew your husband was already there, maybe hoping for some good news, some light for the questions you had been having, why after so many years and tries without any kind of protection you had not been able to get pregnant. The first months your doctor had said that you were just stressed about the pregnancy process, that you just wanted it too much and that you should relax and let it happen naturally, so Taehyung and you had done just that and waited, but it had been a total of two years and there was no baby in your sights.

You were worried, and you knew Taehyung was too, both of you wanted a family and with the passing time you felt like that wasn’t going to happen and it was heartbreaking. You clutched your purse, your tests were buried somewhere inside. You had gone to an obstetrician expert in fertility to know what was going on, Taehyung had gotten everything faster than you because his exams were easy, and everything was alright, he was happy and hopeful ever since he knew it and you bit your lip, taking a deep breath and closing the front door behind you.

-Babe? - your husband’s voice reached you, he was clearly waiting for you. Taehyung appeared at the receiver and went for a hug, you wished he didn’t notice your trembling just yet.

-Hi Tae - your voice was raspy and you freed yourself from his arms, making your way towards the living room while he followed you closely behind.

-I ordered Thai food for dinner, thought you might want some - he was eyeing you curiously, you nodded, taking a sit on the couch to not go around the place nervously. -What’s going on? -

Taehyung was by your side in an instant, sitting next to you and passing his arm behind your back. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, you didn’t have the strength so you focused on your coffee table instead. You knew you had to tell him right now, this was as good of a moment as any other and you doubted you or him would ever be fully prepared, so it was better to end with this.

-I had a talk with the doctor, he’s got my results - you gulped, clasping your hands together in a sheer attempt of grounding yourself, one of Taehyung’s hands held your forearm softly.

-And? - Your eyes moved to him for a brief moment and then you looked away, feeling the lump inside your throat growing to the extent of asphyxiating you.

-I can’t…- Your voice broke and you choked with the first tears that shook your body violently, bringing your hands up to cover your face while you broke down right there.

Taehyung tried to soothe you but you were crying so heartbreakingly between his arms, out of nowhere. -You cant what babe? is alright…- he ran his palm up and down your back but it did nothing to calm you down.

-I can’t have them, the doctor confirmed it today… I…. I can’t have babies….- you shuddered again, doubling over yourself with sorrow and Taehyung felt the reason of your despair.

His hand stayed frozen midway while reaching for your back again, the rest of his body was frozen too, you weren’t looking at him and his breath got caught somewhere between his throat and his lungs, suddenly the ground beneath him wasn’t that steady anymore, his tongue was like cement inside his mouth with the harsh reality of these news. He finally moved his hand to the small of your back but it wasn’t even a second after that and you stood up, walking away from him because your future was crumbling and you didn’t know how to handle it.

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This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 2

SPN FanReality

~Let me tell you about my weekend…~

Beka ( @impala-dreamer​ ), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Steph ( @torn-and-frayed​ ), Bill (my hubs) 

3,330 Words

Warnings: Nothing really. Language?, very mild show-type violence. Mentions of blood (crime scene).

A/N: Hope you’re enjoying the insanity. The weekend’s not nearly over yet. Hell, we didn’t even finish Friday yet…

Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight

Chapter Two: Friday Night…

The Impala. The fucking Impala was parked in my carport. My carport. The wide strip of cracked gray cement that separated my pale blue house from the one to its left. The place where my husband parked our used Honda Minivan every night. Dean Winchester’s beloved 1967 Chevy Impala was parked in my carport. I nearly squealed as I followed the boys down my front steps towards it. The rain glistened on the hood, illuminated by the streetlights, and my heart skipped wildly in my chest.

I ran my fingers gently over the hood. It was real, solid, shiny. “Baby,” I whispered in quiet reverence. This was the Holy Grail, the heart of the show, their home away from home, the most important object in the history of the universe. The Impala.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Dean stood next to me, his eyes sweeping over the car’s frame just as lovingly as mine did.

“She is.”

“Hop in,” he said, pulling open the back door for me. A moment of pure joy and panic swept over me, but I did just as he said. I hopped right in.

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An Unforgiving Park (M)

You love him, but it’s not your feelings he wants.

Note: This has nothing to do with any Park Jimins.

Namjoon X Reader

Word count: 2,590

Warnings: Angst, public sex, I have a thing for playgrounds I guess? 

An Unforgiving Park

You stared blankly through the window displaying an elegant blue gown. You had approached it subconsciously on the street, mind elsewhere as your eyes window-shopped. It was beautiful, but you weren’t thinking about that. Instead, you mulled over how fucking depressed you were, you lousy sack of wasteful shit.

 You laughed suddenly. Oh good, now you’ve lost your wit. Your eyes have run dry these past few days, so despite how much you wanted to cry and scream at the world, you were incapable of it. You were too busy dwelling on the past. Stupid, right? Everyone tries to forget the things that make them feel horrible, and there you were recounting every little detail.

“I am an idiot.” You stated. Yes, you were. And hopefully Kim Namjoon thought so too, so you never had to see his face again. You pinched your forearm, forcing yourself to be lost amidst the crowd of city-goers again. 

“Keep going, and going, and going, and going…” Your mantra began as a mindless thought, then was being recited without charisma as a soft whisper. That was the plan. Keep walking; go where your feet would take you. 

You ended up at an uncannily familiar park, sometime around when the sun had waved its final goodbye. The streetlamps shadowed your raw skin, much like it did your hopes for having a better future. 

You found your way to the swings, staring at one for an entire minute before deciding to sit down and sway gently against the breeze. Hmmm… Quite nice. It was peacefully quiet, empty, and inviting. You decided to stay there a long while. 

The birds chirped in the distance, the light of the sky growing dimmer by the minute. A long while sounded delightful. 


You froze. No way, you’re seriously crazy now. Hearing things? You continued swinging. Then the deep voice said it again, firmer this time. “Y/N.” 

You wanted to cry as you saw him approach; maybe you were hallucinating, or maybe he was actually there. Either way, the image of him did no justice for your despair. You should have remembered his walk home from work took him past this park every evening. Oh, joy, another mistake you made. 

“Hey bud.” You spoke. Smiling. Maybe that night you dreaded hadn’t even happened. Maybe that was the real hallucination. “Long time no see.” 

Namjoon looked at you with uncertainty. His hands removed themselves from his coat pockets, balling into fists at his side. “Why are you out here this late?” Time must have gone on its own accord, the moon shining through clouds above. You stifled a laugh. 

“Oh, I guess it is pretty late, isn’t it?”

 He frowned as you released a string of giggles. Then, you stood up suddenly, chuckling something along the lines of how you needed to go home and feed the fish. 

“Y/N…” He caught your wrist as you went to move around him. “Don’t do this to yourself.” His voice was gentle and, maybe a little frustrated. You carefully pried his fingers from your skin, without looking back or meeting his eye. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; I am not doing anything.” Your resolve was to hightail out of there, another breeze catching your hair and revealing your teary eyes for all to see. Good, good, this is going fucking GREAT. You moved again, and he caught you from behind, slamming your back against his chest. You inhaled sharply, shock passing over your features. 

“You know what you’re doing. I told you I’m sorry. I just don’t feel the same way.” You found yourself biting the inside of your cheek, a little flame being ignited after his words. You turned and gave him a pointed look, suddenly annoyed with him, with the cold air, with yourself. Goddammit. 

“Yeah, I heard it before. Please refrain from telling me again. It was my fault for confessing anyway.” That’s right. Three days before, confessing to him in this very park, after four years of friendship. You don’t know when you even caught feelings for him; maybe they were there the entire time, and going out on a whim suddenly seemed sensible. That was obviously not the case, though. 

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to—” Your lips snapped shut when you felt his large hands groping your bottom, clenching the soft tissue through your jeans as you went doe-eyed and glanced upward in question. 

Namjoon’s orbs were darker in the moonlight then they’d ever been, at least as long as you knew him. You were about ready to scream obscenities his way, mouth opening, but he had a hand on your neck, his lips crashing against yours. Tongue and teeth, he fought his way through, and you were reeling backwards until he had pinned you against the swing set post. 

When he pulled away, his panting in your ear, you were crying and pounding against his chest. “What—the fuck—is this?!” You cried. He didn’t respond, only grasping your wrists and holding them above your head so he could leave marks all over your neck and collarbone. “Namjoon!!” Your tears were rolling down your cheeks as he hungrily maimed your exposed flesh. 

And despite it all—being forced against a swing set in a children’s park on a cold evening—you discovered your core was aflame and you were dangerously wet. It’s because it’s him, you reassured yourself. You still loved him, wanted him. Even if he didn’t love you back. So your struggling ceased. 

His fingers tore your blouse open, and he wasted no time running his hands beneath your camisole, thumbing your nipples under your bra until they were stone hard. You whimpered, he’d managed to bite them through your tank top, unclasping your bra so it was out of the way. 

“Why… are you doing this?” Namjoon’s tongue was flat against your clothed breast, and he looked up at you darkly. He brought his lips to your ear, biting the shell of it before breathing out, “This is what I’ve always wanted.” 

You gulped, and one of his hands roughly unbuttoned your jeans and brought them to your ankles, panties caught up in the bunch, legs flinching against the blast of cool air.

“Shit,” He cursed, and you eyed the straining bulge against his jeans. He was more intimidating in that moment than you’ve ever seen. He grabbed you, fingers bruising your hips as he lifted you and sat you on the swing you were on earlier. 

You swallowed thickly, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as you felt yourself leaning back. 


“Don’t fucking say a word. I am not stopping now.” Deep within you, you didn’t want him to; instead, you really wanted him to cower in fear as you screamed at him about how stupid it was to make a move on you. How you’re actually not easy to get. And how much it hurt that you loved him and he didn’t love you.

You wanted to say all those things, but you caved and bit your lip, forgoing your emotions briefly as he kneeled and sucked your folds and dripping bitterness like an animal. You inwardly cried, outwardly moaned because it was damned uncontrollable and damned good. 

He licked all around, and your eyes snapped shut, your bum feeling tight against the curvature of the molded swing. His plump lips nibbled the flesh of your thighs, then trailed up to your navel where he traced imaginary figure-eights, and then back down to teethe your folds again. 

“Fuck, Y/N… You taste so good.” He nuzzled his nose against your nub of nerves, and you let out a small wail, your toes clenching inside your boots. 

He had pulled away at some point, unzipping his pants and letting them fall with his briefs. You took in his size with cloudy eyes, a sure frown on your lips as you realized he could’ve been waiting for this moment the entirety of your friendship. Waiting, waiting for you to break down a wall and open yourself up to him so when he’d make his move, it would be less of forced sex and more so welcomed on both ends. 

But… if you couldn’t get his love, you could at least be close to him in another way. And that’s why you leaned forward, hands gripping the chains of the swing as your lips closed around his dripping member. His cock was full in your mouth, and you licked him clean of the fluid accumulating on his head, sucking him dry as more tears threatened to spill.

Yes, that much was satisfactory enough. You should have been thankful you were able to do that.

He had bent forward from the sheer momentum and intensity of your bobbing head, his lips exhaling against the back of your neck, one of his hands clenching yours on the chain. 

“Ah, Y/N—damn, you’re amazing.” 

His length twitched, the dark hairs sticking together as your saliva cloaked the entirety of it. It was salty in your mouth, and you couldn’t tell if it was from his leaking fluid or the tears that had streamed in from earlier. But it was tasteful around his shaft, the coarse, flexing skin of it reaching all spaces beyond your lips, even finding its way to the back of your throat until you gagged painfully a few times, pulling back to wipe your lips. He had moaned deeply, a sound resonating in your ears even after you were pushed back to sitting normally in the swing.

This was a ghost of the Namjoon you were accustomed to knowing and spending time with. His actions were rough, selfish, careless… but you found yourself feeling hotter by the second. He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t love you, he doesn’t love— 

“Ah—!” You wailed, instinctively gripping the chains at your sides tighter. He groaned out obscenely, his hard thrust forcing the swing back. The sharp pain had you biting your lip, and you knew it’d be a crime scene had you not been so wet for him. He rolled his hips back, pulling out halfway, and then rammed in again, so hard you could feel the spray of your juices coax the backs of your exposed thighs. 

The swing squeaked, going unnoticed, and you went with it. Namjoon must’ve had it planned or something, but the moment you were swung away after his thrust, at least a foot apart, you were drawn back in with the swinging momentum, and he was a resisting force. You collided roughly, your legs widening on impact as he was inside you impossibly deeper. The pleasure was too much, and you screamed his name into his shoulder as he came forward and gripped the chains himself. 

“Oh fuck!” You bit down on his clothed skin and held your tongue. Your jeans had bunched up at your ankles, lucky they were flexible enough not to rip with every harsh thrust. 

He maneuvered you on his own accord, angling the swing at times so you were freely rotating around him as your walls stretched and you mewled in utter ecstasy. 

Though it was so fucking uncomfortable against your ass, and you took it into your own hands to still the man long enough so you could kick your joined legs over his elbow.

He grinned into your hairline, his first smile the entire evening and it was fucking because you were letting him claim your everything. Not because you told a joke, or tripped over yourself. Not even remotely that; had any of his smiles been real? 

“I hate you.”

 It was a whisper, and it was your whisper. And if he heard you at all, the man didn’t take note of it. Instead, he took the new position as an advantage and pushed you back by the chains, only to pull you forward, hastily plowing into you so you both were gasping and moaning. 

One of your hands fisted his platinum hair, and he hissed in response, his pelvis rocketing against yours like it was his most responsive area. You tugged again and again, his thrusts becoming more stagnated and fluctuating like he was losing control. You continued moaning into the night, secretly hoping to get some rise out of him, like he’d suddenly remember who it was he was fucking. His close friend. The one who had shameful feelings for him. But he grabbed your hands like he’d had enough, clenching them both with a single fist as he regained his rhythm without further disruption. It felt so fucking good, but nothing would take your mind off the fact you had willingly become an object for him to use. 

You were soon to climax after that, your back arching so much you were sure you’d have fallen off, had he not brought your body close so he could feel you up some more. Maybe he should’ve just let you fall; perhaps you would have broken your neck against the mulch below. 

That would have been a sight. 

He used one arm to wrap around your legs, the other hand clenching the chain so tight, his knuckles blended in with the moon above. He lifted your bottom slightly, the swing motionless as he opted to just drill into you and finish off like that, a long groan leaving his lips as his eyes closed and his face was to the stars.

When he pulled out, there was no emotion; maybe weariness and exhaustion from all the hard work he’s done throwing you around, but nothing other than that. No remorse. No guilt. He didn’t even look happy, even though it was obvious he enjoyed it. 


He zipped himself up and found his cap. Then, he looked down at you. The slump of a girl who lazily clung to a swing’s chains, her breasts peeking out from beneath her cami, her clit exposed and dripping mixed substances onto the plastic. 

He pulled your panties up from your ankles, righting them around your hips. Then, he tugged the camisole down so it covered what it needed to. Decent, right? 

Namjoon turned, and began trudging away. 

You don’t know why you were so quiet. You had enjoyed it too much, but you were painfully angry. It was the aftermath you thought it would be, where you regretted your actions. It was great, yeah, but now you feel even shittier than before. He doesn’t love you. 

“Y/N.” He had called, without looking back. You peered at him with your face turned, still unmoving. His hands were in his pockets, his clothing seeming almost as though it had not just be donned in the midst of a genuine fuck. 

You didn’t respond, and you knew he was aware you wouldn’t. 

“Continue to hate me.”

 You watched him in the distance until he disappeared around a corner far off. Damn. You fell forward, where your arms weakly held you in place. Damn it.

You love him.

You sobbed again, crying into the damp mulch beneath you as you attempted to recollect yourself and clothing. 

You hate him. 

You stumbled home, sore legs carrying you into your shower where you cried some more. 

You love him.

You didn’t sleep a wink until it was morning, and you dreamt of that experience because it was so fucking surreal. 

You hate him.

You waited at the park the next evening, timid but patient as the breeze bit your skin like it had the night before.

You can’t get enough of him.


Thanks for reading!

Send asks, requests, flames, anything! I’m an attention-seeking fool!

anonymous asked:

Hi Mom, I'm really struggling at the moment and I know it's your birthday (happy birthday btw) so I don't want to burden you but I have this thing about contact with people I love and sometimes I focus on their hands. It would be cool to see Alex getting relief from Maggie's touch or the way they connect with touch if that makes sense? Sorry if this is weird and thank you for all you do.

It happens when she’s about to gut Mon-El for going after her father.

Maggie’s hands on her body, Maggie’s hands not restraining, not restricting, just… there. Just there, just tender, just loving. Her hands, the extension of her heart.

And immediately, Alex’s body relaxed.

It happens when she wakes up screaming about Jeremiah, screaming that she didn’t mean what she said to Kara, screaming for them not to hurt Kara, that Kara is her sister, her family, her everything.

Maggie’s hands on her too-hot skin, Maggie’s hands sweeping her hair off her slick forehead, Maggie’s fingers tracing patterns of affection, patterns of safety, that sink through Alex’s skin straight into her bones.

It happens in the field, too. When Lilian Luthor is goading Alex, when she’s taunting her with smoothly spoken words about what Jeremiah’s been through all these years, all for the sake of his eldest. Maggie touches her, just slightly, and it’s through her tactical gear, but it’s enough.

It’s enough to calm Alex enough to take the smart shot – the one, not at Lilian Luthor herself, but at the canister of propellant above her, incapacitating every Cadmus agent they were surrounded by.

It happens at breakfast, when Alex is listening to the news and her hands are starting to shake, and Maggie touches the small of her back as she passes behind her to get something from the fridge. Alex’s muscles relax immediately, because her touch mean that Maggie knows.

Maggie always knows, and her hands have become Alex’s anchor.

And she’s never trusted herself to be this steady.

Early Nights, Late Mornings

Wow that’s a bad title. Anyway I got this prompt from bread-lover who wanted domestic 2doc love which I’m pretty trash at but I gave it a shot. It’s pretty short but I hope you enjoy, if you want to see more keep sending me prompts! 

It was always different at 3am. When everyone else was asleep and the world was unconscious to the sounds of two men making love in the early hours of the morning. Things were just easier, with no fear of eyes glaring at them, or whispers behind their back when they passed by holding hands.

Murdoc kissed the back of 2D’s hand softly, “I love you.” He breathed.

He always got like this late at night, very emotional and lovesick, craving the affection from his boyfriend he’d been so starved of in public. 2D didn’t mind, he gave everything not needing anything in return.

The blue haired man smiled sleepily, laid out on his stomach, head resting on his arm. He watched Murdoc as he kissed each finger gently, like they were made of glass, then took the bony hand and placed it on his heart, closing his eyes and sighing contently.

2D loved seeing this side of the bassist, he felt like like it was some hidden secret that no one else got to see but him. “Love you too Muds”

The satanist opened an eye and peered over at him, “You’re perfect y’know. My perfect boy. With a beautiful voice.”

2D knew Murdoc would probably never say those things to him fully awake, or sober, but he embraced him anyway, with his lanky arms wrapped around his bare chest, and his face in the crook of the older man’s neck and prepared to fall asleep.

“G’night Murdoc.”

“G’night ‘D

Vodka & Cotton Candy (PT2)

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Warnings: Language, smut

🌿Tagged for permanent updates🌿

“You haven’t said more than five words to me since we got here.” Sebastian said, locking his hands together while resting both of his elbows on the table cloth.

We had just made it to this quaint little restaurant in Studio City. I had never been to Firefly but when Sebastian made the reservation he swore by it. Sitting at our table, the dimly lit restaurant had a very romantic -garden like ambiance. Out on the patio in our cabana the table was in a more private area. Curtained off with white fabric canopy. The dark vintage setting had a certain aura that was slightly helping me come out of my shitty mood.

I wasn’t upset with Sebastian. Truthfully I had no reason to be. I was more frustrated with myself. My life with Sebastian was certainly far from mundane. Though he had years of practice and adjusting to this constant attained attention. I on the other hand was still struggling with the idea that my personal life at any given moment would be shared so publicly. I could feel the weight of Sebastian’s stare as I looked down at the flickering fame on the candle that was placed between us.

“Can we just pretend the past hour didn’t exist?” I asked, huffing letting out my pent up emotions.

“Yeah, but until it happens again then what? Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment Peyton?”

I waited to answer his question having somewhat of trepidation of what might my answer be. I looked away again unsure of what else to say. The waiter approached the table without either of us noticing. “Hello, my name is Dean I’ll be your server for tonight. Can I start you both with light refreshments?” He pulled out his notepad and pen to begin writing down our orders.

“Two ice teas please and we are ready to start.” Sebastian collected both of our lamented menus and handed them to the waiter.

“Did you take a chance to look at our drink menu? We have a wide variety of delicious choices.” Dean said in his most persuasive voice.

“No the ice tea will suffice, after all she doesn’t drink and I didn’t see the liquor of my choice.” Sebastian finished that sentence exchanging looks with me like it was our own private joke.

Though in our defense it kind of was. Dean proceeded with taking our order scribbling quickly on his notepad everything Sebastian was saying, not missing a single beat. I sat across from him with my hands in my lap taking notice of the way Sebastian conducted himself. My observations also pointed out that whenever we were in public he did most of the talking. Our waiter finally left the table making his rounds to another one in a distance.

“What did you do today?” Sebastian asked me.

“The fun stuff or the boring stuff?” I retorted playfully. I watched his face to see how and what made his facial expressions change. I was beginning to learn what made Sebastian tick.

“The stuff that happened in between.” He said flatly.

“I’m not following what you are talking about.” I said. Underneath the table our legs were a comfortable distance away, but I started to feel his leg reverberate against mine. He was shaking his leg in annoyance to my brisk answer.

“You mentioned you were on the elevator today when someone was gawking at your breast.” His ardent stare was somewhat mixed between sarcasm and intensity.

“No one was gawking at my breast.” I lowered my voice and looked around me as if I just said a promiscuous word. “It was my shirt that had a fucking unmissable logo on the front!” I laughed, or at least tried to.

“Then where did you go?” Sebastian’s question hung in the air.

“Isn’t that for me to know?” I sat back resting in my chair with a raised brow. As his face started to soften he bit the inside of his cheek and I knew our game was far from over. It was only beginning again.

The waiter had returned with two ice teas as requested setting them on the table directly on the coasters placed in front of us. He stood there for a moment smiling with a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Sebastian looked at him in anticipation, with the warmest smile on his face.

“My son is a huge fan of yours and I’d hate to be a bother but he would kill me if I didn’t ask for a picture!” Dean exclaimed.

“Well Peyton and I certainly do not want your blood on our hands.” Sebastian said lightly, joking with him of course. I was quietly observing and listening to them. I pulled the paper wrapper off and started to stir the plastic straw around the ice waiting to hear the following words that were sure to come.

“Would you mind taking our photo Miss?” He asked eagerly. He extended out his camera phone and I reached for it as I stood up. Sebastian wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and Dean held up his thumb to salute.

“I’m going to take another one.” I angled the camera giving him a variety of photos. When they were done Sebastian hugged him and the waiter thanked me as usual. It was all so routine now. When I passed him his phone back I noticed behind him we had caught the attention of two young girls behind us at another table.

They stared at me, conversing back and forth with each other. I assumed their topic of conversation revolved around Sebastian, though their phones were surprisingly pointed at me. I sat backdown in my chair. I couldn’t help but look back wondering about the things they were talking about. Feeling exposed, I sprung from my seat needing fresh air. Even though ironically we were sitting outside.

“I’m going to go find the area for smoke breaks.” I told him.

He looked at me with perplexity. “You don’t smoke.”

“Then I’m going for a break.”

{Part 2 out of 6}