either to hand this in or set fire to the place

“My Neighbor’s A Jerk” Part 6

Summary: Modern-Day (AU) There’s this mutual feeling between you and your neighbor, called hate. And since your first meet you both commence that feeling with a burning passion. You don’t know the reason behind his hate and you know for damn sure that he will never tell you. But what happens on the first day of your job, when you find out that you even work together? Maybe you will learn to co-operate?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: nightmares, brief mention tho, a lil’ fluffy Bucky but as always don’t get used to it 

Author’s Note: tags closed for now! sorry ALSO, i will be altering the tag list and deleting those who don’t care to leave feedback sorry, but i can’t waste my time on tagging a hundred people when some of you don’t even care to write back simple as that :/

“My Neighbor’s A Jerk” Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

(gif isn’t mine)

There is only one thing in our life that is constant. And that is change. It keeps happening and before you know it, you’ve already been accustomed to it. Change comes in two ways – it either leaves you with a choice or it forces you to adapt it. Both ways, it happens and you know you cannot stop it.

Change could be good or bad. In your case it wasn’t something you liked. It wasn’t your choice to leave Washington. It wasn’t your choice to leave your family and friends and live on a foreign land, with no one to accompany you but your college best friend and a lovely jerk of a neighbor who practically holds your entire career in the palm of his hand.

The past two months of your life – the old life you lived in Washington had been horrible. The people you had grown fond of, the people you trusted had shown their true color and you realized that this world and the people in it are here for nothing but for their own selfish reasons.

They’re least bothered with what you want, what you feel and what you’d go through. What you experienced was something you’d never imagined would happen to you and it left you trembling with the haunting nightmares that were now resurfacing, showing you its ugly head in the middle of night for two days straight in a row.

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The day after the battle, Hermione Granger got up before the sun did. The Lake was covered in fog, and she was used to having somewhere urgent to go, to be, to fight. 

She closed the tent flap up behind her. Hogwarts had something like enough beds, but Hermione hadn’t had it in her to climb those moving staircases, to step through the painting’s open frame and make her way to the Gryffindor girls’ seventh year dormitory. Her bed would have been there, months untouched except for the bras and scarves and bottles of sparkly purple nail polish Parvati and Lavender had strewn onto every open surface. 

The fog rolled in off the Lake and Hermione stood at the damp shore and shivered until the sun rose and burned it all away. 


-


The day after the battle, they buried their dead out on an island in the Lake, the day after the battle. Madame Pomfrey fretted and hovered, but every injured witch, wizard, and squib made it out to those conjured chairs. They might sit with assistance– with spells, with braces, with a friend’s shoulder– but they sat quiet and they listened to Flitwick read out the names. 


-


The day after the battle, Ron Weasley stood on tiptoe when he stepped back into the Great Hall, looking over a sea of bent heads to find a cluster of red. They’d brought the tables back. 

The cluster was only a tiny blip of three– Bill and their parents were flitting about, helping Flitwick float steaming bowls of pasta down onto each table. But Ginny and Percy were sitting on either side of George, keeping up a lively conversation about Gilderoy Lockhart’s hair. 

Ginny was sitting half in Harry’s lap, like if she didn’t he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting up to help, or to pace the castle, or to walk out to the Forest and not come back. She was holding his hand, her freckled thumb running over the words written into his skin. 

Ron thought about sitting with Luna, instead. Percy tried to laugh at one of Ginny’s jokes, and Ron didn’t know how to be kind like that. Ginny held Harry’s hand. Ron had thought for a long terrible stretch of heartbeats that he had lost two brothers yesterday. 

He could sit with Dean. He could walk out to the Forest and punch Aragog in his ugly eyes, because normally when he walked away from everyone he loved it was because he was scared and maybe change was good for the soul. 

Ron pushed his hands through his hair. He crossed the Great Hall, swung into a seat next to Harry, and filled his plate with lukewarm pasta. 


-


The day after the battle, Luna Lovegood climbed up to the Astronomy Tower, because it was the furthest she could get away from everything. She laid on her back on the cold stone and cast balls of light and enchanted birds to chase each other across the ceiling until she felt like descending down to the ground again. 


-


The day after the battle, Neville Longbottom went down to the greenhouses to see what the damage was there. He had sat all night and all morning in the infirmary, fetching water for Anthony Goldstein and holding Dennis Creevey’s hand and folding extra blankets down over Professor Sprout’s cold feet. Madame Pomfrey had banished him to go get a spot to eat and some sleep, so he walked down to the greenhouses to see what was salvageable. 

Whole panes of greenish glass stood jagged and shattered. Protective spells had put out any fires, but stray blasts of magic had killed beds of vegetables and flowers and taken almost all the silver-green leaves off an olive tree that twisted in the corner of Greenhouse 4. 

Neville went in through the door, even though there as a broken hole in the glass wall big enough for him, and almost fell back through it when Hannah Abbott stood up from the row of pots she’d been crouching behind. Dirt streaked every crease of her hands. “Hey,” he said, and let the door click shut behind him. 

“Hey.” When she saw where he was heading, she added, “The olive’s still alive.”

The bark was rough under his hand, gnarled from decades of slow growth. He could hear the green magic whispering down its xylem. 

“I was thinking I’d try to mend up the walls, close this place up again,” said Hannah. “But I wasn’t sure I could do it alone." 

"Alright,” said Neville. When Professor Sprout argued her way out of the infirmary and thumped downhill with the wind throwing her cloudy hair in her face, she found every pane of glass healed and Neville and Hannah asleep on the softest patch of moss in Greenhouse 2.  


-


The day after the battle, Parvati Patil sent an owl to Lavender Brown’s parents. 


-


The day after the end of it all, Hermione skipped lunch and found her favorite secluded corner of the library instead. The chairs stood silent and sober, all gouged dark wood. The high windows threw light gleaming across the polished table, catching on the dust motes drifting through the air above it. 

She dumped her carry-all down on it and reached inside– up to her elbows, her shoulders. She tried not to feel like it was eating her alive and she pulled out protein bars and unicorn horn and crumpled wanted flyers. 

She wasn’t sure when it had gotten so cluttered– sometime before the night in the ditch outside the little Scottish village with the awesome curry shop. Sometime after the time they hid out from a storm in an unknowing Muggle’s barn, wrinkling their noses at the itch of hay as they ate their dinner. Hermione had taken first watch, listening to the thunder roll over the shallow hills outside, and she’d gone through her bag pouch by endless pouch. Harry had twitched in his sleep with every flash of lightning, but everything in her bag had been where it was supposed to be. 

She summoned a wastepaper bin to hover beside her and got to work. Quills and ballpoint pens went in a neat heap to her left. Books she stacked by subject matter around her, except for the ones she flew back to their homes on Hogwarts shelves. She checked potions ingredients for decay, tossed the bad ones and wrapped the good ones back up in their oiled cloth and ziplock bags. 

She ate a protein bar while she piled duct tape and the radio and a travel-sized magnetic foldable Muggle chess set and a depleted first aid kit all up around her. She threw the wrapper away and wondered if the smell would ever come out of the bag’s insides, or if she should just buy another one.  


-


The day after the battle, they started putting the stones of the castle back into place. They put bones back together, first, skin and knit muscle and tendons. McGonagall escorted every statue and suit of armor back to where it belonged. 

Sue Li sat atop a pile of rubble and ate the biggest chocolate bar she’d ever seen her life. She thought she could still taste a film of Polyjuice on her tongue, but she told herself that was dumb. She dropped little pebbles down the ragged tumble of stones, counting their bounces and calculating averages, until Astoria Greengrass showed up with a glass of water and a pasty and put them down beside her. 

Astoria got her hands dirty every chance she got, put her back into sweeping up glass shards or hauling bandages or Wingardium Leviosa-ing stone blocks the size of a horseless carriage. She would stay in the castle as long as she could, finding odd tasks and errands and corners to lurk in. When she finally went back to the Greengrass family estate, it would be to pack her bags, kiss the old house elf on the cheek, and steal her dog away with her. 


-


The day after the battle, Ron went out to Hagrid’s cabin in the stubborn chill of the afternoon and sat in his pumpkin patch. He didn’t go knock on the rough-hewn door, and Hagrid didn’t come out, but after twenty minutes Fang trotted into the yard and patiently got slobber all over his shirt. 

Ron watched the sway of the shadows beyond the Forest’s edge. Buckbeak’s old tying post stood among the twining squash vines and their giant fuzzy leaves, the metal ring hanging empty against weathered wood. He thought about Ginny brushing her thumb over Harry’s scars and wrapped 
his hands over the pale marks that curled around his wrists. 

When the air started biting and the sky started darkening, Ron pulled himself back to his feet and climbed up to the library. He had never lived there, never really liked its labyrinth of stacks and dusty air, but he knew the way there better than he knew the way to the Quidditch pitch or the Room of Requirement or all those other places he liked so much more. 

It was empty, except for Hermione, and he was glad. She squeezed her last book into her bag and looked up at him, shoving her hair back off her forehead. 

“They doing dinner down there?” she said, her dry throat rasping on it. 

He shrugged. “Mum’s organizing, I think. It– helps, I think." 

She nodded, looking down to do the clasps up slowly, one by one. 

"I just wanted to go back to the tent,” said Ron. “Be alone. It’s quiet." 

"I won’t get in your way,” she said. “It’s still pitched down there." 

"I know,” he said. “With you, I meant.”

“That’s not alone,” she said. “I’m not quiet,” she said. She clasped and unclasped the bag. 

“Words. Accuracy. I never claimed to be the clever one." 

"But you are, Ron–" 

"Hermione,” he said. “Come with me? You shouldn’t be sitting here alone. Come home.”

They went down the grass through chilling air. Ron could hear his mother in his head, telling him to take her bag and carry it for her, but he just reached out for her hand. 


-


The day after the end of it all, Ron laid on the floor of the tent, counting stitches in the canvas, while Hermione read Hogwarts, A History like she didn’t have it memorized. She read her favorite parts aloud, stopping mid-sentence when the tent flap rustled and opened. 

“Ginny’s sitting on Neville until he agrees to sleep in a real bed and not a pile of shrubbery,” Harry said, stepping inside and shutting it up behind him. “She got Luna to help because she says otherwise Luna will just fade into a corner and not come out for food.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m not intruding, right?" 

"Don’t be daft,” said Ron and patted a bit of floor next to him. “C'mon, join in, Hermione’s trying to bore me to sleep. I suspect it’s an act of caring concern.” Hermione threw a pillow at his head without looking up from the pages.  

The day after the battle, they fell asleep in a tangle in the center of the tent that they had lugged across their country, across these long, cold days of the war. They had danced here to the radio, had chewed protein bars, played chess and bled and yelled at each other. 

But the war was over and they were growing into it, slow, staying up too late as they leaned into each other and whispered on this threadbare rug. They meant to wobble to their feet and get to bed, but Harry was clinging to Hermione’s hand and none of them wanted to go. 

They would get too old for this– hard floors and the way Harry’s neck was cricked up on Ron’s bony shoulder. Hermione’s snoring would get worse and Ron would have to sleep with four carefully arranged pillows to stop his back from aching in the mornings, but Harry would always have a place here. He had slept on Ron’s bedroom floor at fourteen, leaned on Hermione outside his parents’ broken home. 

In the weeks after the battle, Hermione would track down her parents and move back home, and they would all help the Weasleys rebuild the Burrow. Harry would move in Andromeda Tonks’s spare room. “We’re almost like family, after all,” she’d say briskly, shooing him into the house and showing him where she kept the tea, Teddy’s diapers, and the whiskey. They’d come for visits and talk through the night in each of those homes, curled up under Molly’s quilts or out on the Granger’s back porch swing or over fingers of firewhiskey with Andromeda. 

In the months after the war, he and Ron would get a flat while they went through Auror training and Hermione would crash there five nights out of seven. Her university textbooks would take over their countertops, shelves, tables, and floor and Harry wouldn’t tease them (too much) for how hilariously long they tried to pretend it was the couch Hermione slept on. 

Every home Ron and Hermione lived in, for the rest of their lives, would have a place for Harry– a spare room or a patch of floor or an old sofa. He would know how Hermione took her coffee, and his favorite cereal and Ginny’s favorite oatmeal would always been in the cupboard, and their children would have giggly cousin-sleepovers in magical tents they pitched on the living room rug. 

When the kids came shrieking in to wake them at absolutely unacceptable, ugly hours, Ginny would groan curse words they’d repeat gleefully among themselves, but Harry would let them grab his hands in their little sticky ones and pull him barefoot and messy-haired out into the morning.

starved

billy hargrove

summary: billy is used to rough slaps, hard punches, nails scratching his skin and teeth biting his shoulder, but he’s never experienced soft, delicate touches that warm the heart. that is until he meets you and he can recollect all the moments where he fell in love with your touch.. and slowly with you

disclaimer: me writing this is not me excusing his racist, abusive and impulsive behavior.

warnings: swear words bc this is a diana written story lol, some innuendos to smut?

an: im so overwhelmed by the response ive received from ‘starstruck’ it really warms my heart to know that you guys enjoyed it so much! i’ll make sure to have the next part up sometime next week since im currently out of town. love you all, my doves. (yes im working on requests, thank you for sending some in)

words: 3.6k+ literally the longest thing ive ever written oh myyy


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How To Blend Cultures (Without Making Impossible Mixes)

This is a guide specifically about fantasy worldbuilding. WWC gets a lot of questions around “I’m mixing two cultures together, how do I do that?” and this is to explain both how to do that and when you very much should not.

For starters, you should avoid blending empires with their surrounding properties, especially if there is recent political strife along those lines. This is why Japan/China/Korea (or even China/Tibet) mixes should not be done. For more information on that, take a look at Research:Large to Small Scale, Avoiding Homogenizing East Asian Cultures, & Paralleling Regions Appropriately.

Next up, mixing Greece/Rome with far-flung cultures gets a little bit eyebrow raising. Unless it was a direct trading partner/conquered property, Greek/Roman cultures do not mix with non-European cultures. The Greek empire only went to the Northern regions of India at its very peak, and that is limited to the ancient world. Rome stopped in the Middle East, so, again, you don’t have the cultural backing for a mixing of anything outside of its borders. 

Depictions of Rome and Greece in ancient literature shows other ancient cultures found them quite backwards, and were adverse to mixing with them. By many standards they were very backwards, and it’s only Europe (and, as an extension, America) that revered them to the extent they do. Asia and Africa had no reason to see them as advanced, because they made many more technological advancements than either. North America and Oceanic cultures hardly interacted with either, and had both their own technological advancements+ cultures closer by to borrow advancements from, instead. 

Outside of that, cultures are born out of the environments that made them. As a result, places with wildly dissimilar climates and resources pools will not be able to blend harmoniously unless you’re taking a modern analogue society where globalism has happened. This is plain old because resources only travel so far, and people are more likely to build culture around resources they have easy access to (even well-established trade links can lead to people re-creating things: Han purple and Egyptian blue point to an ancient trade link, but they were made with local materials processed differently).

Roman architecture exists because the Romans had access to copious amounts of concrete materials/marble and lived in the Mediterranean, which got very hot summers, heavy rains, and not a whole lot of cold. As a result they created structures that worked for this, which included open airways, pillars, easy to clean floors, shade, and ventilation. Places that lack these resources will not be able to replicate Rome.

Their resource pool was very specific to their regions, and there’s a reason Rome had the rule that anybody who did’t live like Romans were slaves: it was really hard to live like a Roman, and they wanted their slave pool as large as possible. 

Different cultures with different resources formed in wildly different ways, and might not even have anything similar to Greece or Rome. Because of this, you need to look really close at why culture developed the way it did. If it’s because they had extremely dissimilar resources pools, it’s wise to not blend the cultures (or at least not think they’ll look anything like their original cultures) 

Which brings me to value systems. Cultures put value on different things. Each culture ends up with a base philosophy for what they esteem and how they use resources, which proceeds to influence how it develops. Architecture has meaning to it. So does what colours you use in different applications. Because these things are sacred and/or practical for certain social orders. “Sacred” in cultures ends up becoming a shorthand for “this ritual helps us survive.”

There is no such thing as “aesthetic” when you get down to the root of each single item, because that aesthetic has a practical purpose. There is also no such thing as a “solely religious reason” under the same logic. Cows have become sacred in most varieties of Hinduism— because cows (and oxen) have been the main farming animal in the Indian subcontinent for millennia. They provide milk for sustenance, power for ploughing fields, and dung, which can be used as a floor polish and, when dried, a source of fuel for fire that gives off a more even heat than wood. As a single provider for crucial elements of agrarian life, their sacredness developed from their practicality. Having cows roam freely meant absolutely everyone could have access to an efficient cooking fuel.

Chinese brush painting has meaning. Jade sculpture has meaning. Pagodas and sloped roofs and gates have meaning. The philosophy, environment, history, and present circumstances of a culture is built into every. single. little. thing. about that culture, meaning you cannot just change it out.

Unless you learn the very root of culture, their values and stigmas and honours and shames, you cannot modify it accurately. Cultures survive because that was the best way to respond to the world at the time. A long-standing culture such as China’s has to be functional and incredibly well suited for the environment, otherwise it would not have survived. There is something about Chinese culture that works extraordinarily well for it to perpetuate itself, and you cannot disrespect that.

Learn the “why” of culture. Learn how it came to manifest and the reasons behind its manifestations. Study the geography and resources available to the people at hand. Know a culture so well you can explain how it works in real life and how your world’s history parallels the circumstances that created a similar culture in fantasy.

Only then will you be able to pull it off with respect.

~ Mod Lesya

The Signs as People I Know

I, as in a Sagittarius sun, Aries moon; I’m going to focus on one person I’ve personally known having each sign, so no offence.

Aries: Absolute sweetheart. She is shy and a little bit awkward in social settings, but if you’re troubled and come to her, she really listens. And she tells you things you’ve always known, perhaps, but in such a way that understanding comes in a whole different light. Passionate. Goofy. Childlike. She notices things that startle you; she’s a living, breathing poem. Honestly quite a bit of a rule-breaker, because oppressive regimes were never made for her bodacious soul.

Taurus: One of the wisest people I’ve ever known, and will ever know. Would tell you that everything in life should be tried at least twice. Loves all animals so ardently it’s inspiring. Careful. Sensitive. Brave. Doesn’t trust easy, but will carry your heart in his hands through a forest of thorns without ever letting it fall. Is such a child sometimes. Extremely ticklish. Loves ham, beef, and beautiful women. Has the most graceful writer’s stance.

Gemini: Genuinely can be such a prick sometimes. Has all these brilliant ideas but almost never follows through on execution. His mind is lightning quick and jumps from topic to topic in a manner that you are left reeling. Innovative. Inquisitive. Fickle. So ridiculous sometimes. Is in love with Heath Ledger’s Joker. Has brilliant arguments, but makes them in such a way he ends up earning enemies. Probably has a God Complex and is secretly planning to take over the world.

Cancer: She feels like solace. She will know your heartaches even before you have them, she’s that brilliantly empathetic. Everybody relates to her, so much so that at some point or the other, they’ve named her soul sister. Understanding. Soft. Smart. Achieves because she wants to, does well because she takes responsibility and handles it well. Cares so, so much. Is occasionally, um, crabby, but will never leave you hanging. Is beautiful but will not believe it. Gives the nicest hugs.

Leo: Oh my God, the literal best! (I’ve known so many and had such good experiences will nearly all, so I should know). We vibe on a different level altogether. Awesome applies to her so perfectly. Dramatic. Loyal. Bold. All she wants to do is make people laugh and be loved. Enjoys baking and make-up and exercise. Fragile self-esteem, but never lets anyone around her feel down. Cranky when she’s hungry and someone has shifted her things around. Snaps easy all the time, but comes back to her clown self just as quickly. She doesn’t like food, she loves it; a rare gustatory creature.

Virgo: Classy as fuck. Quiet, keeps to herself, reads books in class, but is capable of bat-levels of squealing when you get her going about her favourite things. Stylish. Meticulous. Poetic. She is a monster when you leave her in charge of organising something, will stress and get everything perfect to the last detail. Loves fabric shopping, is so particular about giving gifts, and makes heads turn when she walks by. Her words go through your soul like arrows.

Libra: He reminds me of Santa’s elf, he can be so merry and spreading sunshine and daisies all over the place. But he can also be so deeply unsettled about himself sometimes. Gracious. Indecisive. Friendly. Tries so hard. He’s extremely achievement-oriented and always dedicating himself to causes. But there’s a sense of being lost in him, like he doesn’t know where he’s headed. Talks to strangers. In love with love.

Scorpio: Even after so much time knowing her, it seems so hard to pin her down in words. There’s so much more to her than ever seems in my sight. Uncanny. Perceptive. Deep. She is so utterly real, yet there seems to be something so ethereal about her. Every conversation you have with her, you come out feeling like a new person. She just gets you. There’s never any awkward with her. She loves cats, takes me out for long drives and is my best friend. There’s something inherently wild to her, like a forest fire quietly burning.

Sagittarius: I’d rather have her on my team than the most accomplished person in the world, because she will trump them. She gets shit done. My undying admiration for Gal Gadot aside, she is a true Wonder Woman. Perfectionist. Hard-working. Fun. She is my foul-weather friend, the one that gets me out of my deep ruts. Honestly, she would make you feel bad for whining–she has dealt so bravely with worse stuff. Skips breakfast. Craves chocolate. Jumps into bouncy beds. Gets drunk only on gin. Adorable.

Capricorn: Now she is something else. So sorted and set in life, even though her ambition is a quieter one, it is crystal clear to her, and that’s inspiring. She lives and breathes K-drama. Organised. Cautious. Sarcastic. Her family is her number one priority, nothing comes before her love for them. Secretly a hopeless romantic. She will discuss the most serious shit with you one moment, and make you smile wide with a sardonic quip the next. Gives the best advice. Watches her diet and plans for every day so her works gets done in time for her beloved K-dramas. Pizza is her bae.

Aquarius: In all my time of knowing him, I’ve never seen him lose his grip on himself, neither crying nor getting crazy mad. You get the sense though, that if either happened, the reasons for it would have to be monumental. Unexpected. Solitary. Observant. You would never think he’s around, until he lets lose some insightful comment, or flirts based on some inconspicuous quirk. Takes pictures of his friends on the sly. Has the most aristocratic nose and stunning eyebrows and so fucking handsome, really. Secret crush.

Pisces: He’s an angel who wears the Devil’s horns with glee. The things he cares about are embedded in his heart, and since he wears it on his sleeve, the ways to hurt him are always on display. Sweet. Lonely. Lovely. Little bit of a fuckboy, but only because the world fucked him up first. Still has so much love to give. In a committed relationship with alcohol come the weekend. Smokes, and makes you itch to paint him when he does. The best goddamn hair. Books are his only religion. Terrible nicknames for people. Problematic fave.

Cozy

A Bucky Barnes One Shot

Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,287

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Smut! Oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), NSFW Gifs, dirty talk, language, mentions of prostitutes, bit of angst and fluff. 

A/N: Such a tropey one shot… but it was stuck in my head and had to come out! Enjoy my lovelies!  

Masterlist

If you heard Bucky snore one more time, you were going to smother him with your pillow.

How can the man be asleep in this bitter cold?

You were frozen.

Frost bite was creeping into places it shouldn’t be in.

You couldn’t feel any of your limbs and you were pretty sure that your heart rate was slowing.

A rock was poking into your backside through the padding of the sleeping bag and your pillow was lumpy. You also thought that a spider had taken up residence in your little cocoon of warmth. But you couldn’t be mad at it, it was fucking cold.

Hunkering deeper into your sleeping bag, you grit your teeth as another rumble from Bucky echoed in the small space.

You watched the canvas of the tent shake with the force of the wind outside. The bright moon offering the only light.

This mission had gone bad from the start and even gotten worse as the days went on.

This was the rock bottom.

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prompt: “i had a nightmare about you and i just wanted to make sure you’re okay” + “hey, i’m with you, okay? always” + “do you want me to leave?” + “i think i’m in love with you and i’m terrified” + “i shouldn’t be in love with you” + “kiss me”

pairing: tony x reader

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: nightmares, 2am confessions of love, purest form of fluff

prompt list: click here

a/n: i wanna give tony all the love he deserves he’s the purest soul in this world and he needs to be reminded how wonderful he is every hour of the day x

SPOILER: THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE EVER WRITTEN

It was just past 2am when Y/N’s eyes shot open, her heart going 120 miles per second in her chest. Her fingers were gripping the bed sheets firmly and there was a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

She was never one to suffer from nightmares but the dream she had just violently woken up from could surely be on the top ten list of the worst ones she ever had.

She slowly relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.

It was okay. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real.

But as she continued to look at the vast expanse of space above her head, barely being able to make out the shape of the chandelier in the pitch black room, she realised that the feeling of dread simply wouldn’t go away and allow her to go back to sleep.

Something felt horribly wrong. It was like that feeling you get right before you get your results after a test you didn’t study for. Except multiplied by twenty.

She reached under her pillow and searched for her phone, squinting at the screen as she attempted to read the time. She knew everyone in the compound was asleep but the idea of staring at the ceiling until morning, feeling this awful sense of doom, wasn’t a good idea.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” She whispered, too quiet for any person to hear.

“Yes, Ms Y/L/N?” The voice sounded through the room and as strange as it was, Y/N was glad this computer system was watching over her and would inform someone if she was in trouble.

“Do you happen to know what Tony is doing?”

“Mr Stark is currently sleeping in his bedroom. Would you like me to wake him up?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You are more than welcome.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair as she pushed the covers off and sat up. She looked around her room; there was a soft beam of light coming in through the curtains that relaxed her a little but she just felt so damn alone in her room after that nightmare.

She slowly stood up and made her way to the bathroom where she splashed some water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror for a moment.

The horrid feeling just wouldn’t leave her chest. It was as if the world was closing in on her and she couldn’t do anything about it until she knew he was safe.

F.R.I.D.A.Y had told her he was. He was asleep in his room. But computers could crash and even Tony’s tech could break down every once in a while. Knowing this, Y/N also knew she wouldn’t fall back asleep until she saw he was really okay.

So she dried her face with a soft towel and shut the lights out in her bathroom before exiting her room and beginning her descent towards Tony’s quarters.

The walk was long and Y/N’s bare feet were cold as they padded across the white tiles of the hallways. She liked living in the compound but walking through it alone at night felt like wandering the halls of a hospital when everyone else was sleeping. The walls were white, the floors were white, and there were elements of steel and glass everywhere.

It wasn’t surprising; the building acted as a headquarters for one of the biggest businesses in the world and only a small fraction of it consisted of living spaces. It seemed, however, that her bedroom was miles away from where Tony’s quarters were located. She had to take a long hallway, then a set of stairs, then another hallway, and climb another two floors before she reached it. By the time she was standing face to face with his door, the feeling of dread in her chest had grown by a thousand.

She knocked softly and when she didn’t receive a response, she pressed down the handle and gently pushed open the door. Because of how new the building was, the door did not creak and Y/N was beyond thankful. She pushed it open just enough to squeeze her head through and see if Tony was around. Realising he wasn’t, she pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The living area of his apartment was lit up by moonlight which seeped in through the giant windows. As F.R.I.D.A.Y. had told her, Tony wasn’t on the sofa, or in the kitchen, and the door leading down to his lab was closed, meaning he wasn’t in there, either. The only place left was his bedroom.

Y/N shut the door behind her quietly and tiptoed towards where she knew his room was located, almost walking into the corner of the glass coffee table.

When she finally reached his room, she noticed the door was ajar, and just like before she stuck her head inside. She scanned the room, quickly realising that from where she was standing she could not see Tony’s bed. So she lightly pushed the door open and to her horror, the hinges creaked as if they were fifty years old. Y/N cursed under her breath because a second later Tony’s concerned voice rang through the room.

“Who’s there?”

Y/N inhaled sharply and emerged from behind the half closed door. Tony was now sitting up in his bed, the white covers bunched around his waist and his face displaying mild apprehension. Next to his bed stood one of his suits, eyes glowing, left hand outstetched, ready to fire.

“It’s just me,” Y/N murmured, seeing Tony visibly relax. He expelled a breath.

“Power down.” The suit dropped its arm, took a few steps back to stand in the corner and its eyes stopped glowing like two burning torches.

Y/N remained standing where she was, her fingers shyly curling around the hem of her pyjama shorts. She casually studied Tony’s face to make sure he was okay.

“Why are you here at…” he glanced towards the clock on his bedside table. “2am?”

Y/N hesitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She could feel the softness of Tony’s white furry rug between her toes, the pleasant heat of the electric fire place burning in the corner of the room, and the innocent curiosity of his eyes as he waited for her to answer.

On top of it all, she could also feel her cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

“I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He remained quiet for a moment but his expression softened as he studied her from across the room. She looked spooked and Tony wanted to ask her what the nightmare was about, but he figured this wasn’t the right moment. She already seemed uncomfortable after having been caught checking up on him.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly and Tony nodded softly in response.

“Yeah, and are you?”

She bit her lip and then shook her head. And in an instant she was rushing across the room, climbing onto his bed and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“What’s wrong? What did you dream about?” He asked quietly, recovering from the shock and slowly beginning to stroke her hair. She moved to sit on his lap, her face buried in the crook of his neck, feeling so much more relaxed now that she could feel the warmth of his skin, hear his quiet breathing, his hands wrapped tightly around her. Y/N never wanted to let him go, afraid that if she did, he’d vanish like he did in her nightmare.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” Tony assured her, honestly kind of confused by why a nightmare about something happening to him would affect her so much. They were friends, sure, but he was also friends with the rest of the team and not a single one of his other co-workers had rushed into his room at 2am because they were scared for his safety. Something felt different about this situation, and as he continued to hold her, feeling her grip him so tightly he’d find it painful if the situation was any different, Tony began to wonder why she was so shaken.

She remained sitting in his lap for minutes, and when she hiccuped quietly Tony realised she had been crying. He tightened his grip on her, threw his bed covers over her shoulders and pulled her down to lie down with him.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N apologised suddenly, sniffing a little and feeling so damn silly. But Tony wasn’t laughing at her, and he wasn’t teasing her for being an idiot. He just held her tight, let her lie down with her head on his chest and continued to stroke her hair as she attemtped to calm down.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s going to be okay.” He kissed her forehead and in response Y/N released a shaky breath and closed her eyes. It was fine. He was safe. Nothing bad had happened to him.

“It just seemed really real. I got scared that something might’ve happened to you,” she muttered into his chest, and Tony could feel her fist the fabric of his t-shirt. He kissed her head again.

“I’m alright. Nothing has happened so you don’t need to be scared,” he assured her softly, and when Y/N sniffed, Tony placed his hand over her own. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

She nodded softly, squeezing her eyes shut so that her remaining tears fell on her cheeks and then she promised herself she was fine. It was just a bad dream.

“Do you want me to leave?” She questioned, her voice barely audible but Tony was so close he heard every syllable clearly. Y/N silently hoped he’d let her stay; she didn’t want to go back to her room and sit in the daunting silence. She felt too at peace right where she was.

“Do you want to go?” He asked instead of answering her previous question and when she shook her head, Tony’s lips curved up into a soft little smile and he pulled her even closer to him. “Stay then. You’re more than welcome to.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he kissed her head one last time before feeling her relax in his arms. Tony took this as his moment to go back to sleep so he shut his eyes and savoured the feeling of her arm draped over his stomach, her head on his chest, her legs tangled with his. She was breathing softly, the sound lulling Tony to sleep and soon he could feel himself beginning to drift off.

“Tony?”

The sound of her voice pulled him back to reality.

“Yes, dear?”

She remained silent for a moment. Y/N bit her lip and for a moment, she wished she hadn’t called his name. But she did, and now Tony was waiting for her to say something. And other than the one sentence which had been flashing in her mind like a bright neon sign for the past month, she didn’t really have anything else to say.

“I know it’s silly but…” She paused, inhaling sharply and Tony stroked her arm, scared she might cry again. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

He didn’t respond immediately and a moment of strangely peaceful silence lingered in the air. It felt good to have it off her chest and surprisingly, Y/N didn’t fear getting rejected because even if he didn’t feel the same, they’d still be friends; and that was more than enough for her. Just knowing he was happy and safe was enough for her.

The sheets rustled as Tony moved under her. For a moment she thought he was going to remove himself from the bed, but instead, he rolled over onto his side so that he was facing her, and pushing Y/N to lie on her back instead. He looked down at her and instead of lying motionless and waiting for his response as any other person would after confessing their feelings, Y/N reached up and cupped his face in her hand.

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her touch. He smiled softly, and when Y/N noticed, she smiled, too. They didn’t move for several seconds, but then Tony opened his eyes, removed her palm from his face and brought the back of her hand to his lips instead.

He pressed a long kiss to the soft flesh, looking at her face while his mouth was still against her skin.

“Why are you terrified?” He asked then, his voice quiet, laced with curiosity.

“Because,” she whispered back. “I shouldn’t be in love with you. But I am, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Tony smiled at her words, turning her hand and then kissing the inside of her wrist. With each kiss he moved his lips lower, leaving at least fifteen kisses on the inside of her arm alone.

“There is one thing you can do,” he told her, and when Y/N quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth curled up. “Kiss me.”

And just like that, Y/N was reaching out to cup his face again, using what little strength she could find at 2am to pull him closer. Tony held himself above her by placing his hand on the mattress next to her shoulder and leaning down to finally capture her lips with his own.

She held his face above her, lifting her head from the pillows to bring herself closer to him, and when their mouths met, she felt all her worries evaporating into the air. Tony’s lips were soft and his breath warm on her face.

They kissed softly, their mouths meeting time after time, and soon Tony was humming quietly at the feeling of her fingers running through his hair. He reached under the covers, carefully tracing her side and cupping the back of her thigh, slowly lifting it up and wrapping it around his waist.

He wanted to feel her closer and as the tips of his fingers lightly skimmed her skin, Y/N hoped that he would never retreat.

But like most things in life, the kissing had to end sooner or later, and when both of them found themselves struggling for air, their lips parted and Tony pressed his forehead to her own. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and when Tony looked down, he noticed the shadow that her lashes had cast over the tops of her cheeks.

The room was quiet for a while with the exception of the sound of their breathing and the crackling of the logs in the fire in the corner of the room. Tony shifted his weight to one arm, still hovering above her and when she opened her eyes, he tucked a stand of hair behind her ear.

She smiled at the gesture, but then Tony leaned down and kissed her again, and her smile grew wider.

“If you’re terrified of loving me, then we can be terrified together because holding something as precious as your heart is a thousand times more difficult than any fight I’ve ever fought,” he told her solemnly, and she watched him in awe, letting a quiet giggle escape her when he kissed the tip of her nose.

“I love you, too,” he added quietly, and when she smiled, he returned to his previous position and pulled her in closer. Her head fell to rest on his chest again and this time, when they closed their eyes and began to feel themselves drift off, there was nothing at the back of their minds trying to overshadow the complete contentment they both felt.


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Six Years and Seven Days

This is pretending that Bellamy could hear Clarke talking all those years, she just can’t hear him responding, and that the ship at the end is them coming back to Earth. 

So…pain. 


Day Three

“Bellamy…are you up there? Are you alive? Is anyone alive?”

Static.

“I only woke up yesterday. At least, I think it was yesterday. I barely made it into the bunker in time, but I made it. And the computer says it’s been three days since the radiation hit, and I was so hungry I thought I might die. Please tell me you didn’t die.”

Silence.

“Bellamy, my mom was right. In a way. My face is disgusting, covered in boils. You’d be laughing at me…probably. Because she was right but so were you. I’m not dead Bellamy. I hope you aren’t either.”

His fingers slammed on the respond button, pushing it down to the point of it feeling like it would crack from the pressure.

“I’m not dead, Clarke. I’m not dead.”

Keep reading

Sally’s True Love Spell

Originally posted by untitledqueen

A spell I wrote inspired from the film Practical Magic

This is a fire free spell used to draw in your ideal lover.

This is NOT a spell to make a specific individual fall in love with you.

This spell can also be altered to search for the ideal platonic partner. See the notes section at the end of this post!

Items needed:

- Pick any of the following flower petals and dry them* if you have the time. But fresh petals are also okay. (you don’t need the whole flower just a a couple of petals) You don’t need all of them, I’m just providing as many options as possible:  White Carnation (pure love), Dark Red Carnation (Deep Love),  white Chrysanthemum (truth and loyal love), Red Chrysanthemum (love), Red Rose (deep love), Yellow rose (friendship/ caring), Orange/Coral rose (passion/energy/desire), Lavender Rose (love at first sight),  Tulip (declaration of love/ perfect love) - Any other flower you can think of that symbolizes love + companionship. You don’t need a lot. Maximum 2 petals for each flower of your choosing.

- Hot water (like just barely hot enough for tea. As long as there’s steam, you’re golden)

- water soluble paper (get rice/wafer paper OR look for the brand print-stitch-dissolve in a local craft store. I’ve found it in Michael’s and staples for around $10) IF you can’t fine the paper, just write on your flower petals, provided they are large enough.

- pen(s)/ pencil(s) in any color(s) of your choosing

- mug or bowl

- an open window/ outdoor space

What to do:

- Start boiling your water. Feel free to put it on low heat, this may take some time.

- Take your pen and paper, list the qualities you seek in a love (be they physical or personality related). If you do wish to use a visual element you can print out images/ draw the qualities you seek. There is no need whatsoever to glue items together

- As you write each quality, rip it up from the page so it’s on it’s own strip, place it in your mug/bowl

- when you are finished writing, take your dried petals and crumble them/ tear them up, toss them into the mug/bowl as well

-take the mug/bowl into your hands and speak/whisper this chant

“Lover hear me. Lover know my name. Lover come find me. Lover follow my heart’s flame.“

- put the bowl down, by now your water should be hot. Slowly pour in the hot water, repeating the chant if you wish. Let the steam send your wishes out into the world. Feel free to chant until you no longer see steam/ until the water cools.

- When the bowl/contents have cooled, pour out the mug/bowl. Be sure to wash it when you are done if it’s one you consume from.

Additional Notes: If you’d like, keep a copy of your list should you choose to keep an eye out for your person. Or if you’d like to perform the spell again. Feel free to copy any imagery as well and hold onto it if you wish.

* To press + dry flowers you can either iron the flowers between sheets of parchment paper OR press them under some heavy books (this can take several days. But since it’s petals you’ll probably need a week max.). If you use the iron method, make sure the iron is on the lowest possible setting and there is no water in it. Don’t iron across the paper like you would clothes, just dab for 10-15 seconds in each spot. Let it cool . Maybe go over with the iron 1 more time, you don’t want to scorch/ burn the petals.


PLATONIC PARTNER ALTERATIONS: change the the word “lover“ to “partner“ in the chant. Look for flowers that have friendship/ familial/ unconditional love related meanings such as yellow rose, Jasmine, pear blossom, primrose, yellow chrysanthemum, forget-me-not, blue violets, ect. Obviously make more changes as you see fit <3

The Boys Dormitory
  • In first year, the first time the five boys ever walked into their new home for the next seven years, could have been mayhem. But they had all eaten muchhhh too much food and so the fighting and mucking around was, thankfully kept to a minimum.
  • Sirius immediately dived onto the bed furthest from the door, not even bothering to unpack or undress before falling into a wriggly sleep. James bagged the bed next to him, mostly because it was also next to the window with the best view of the Quidditch pitch. Peter managed to sneak the bed next to James. Remus just lay down and quietly closed the curtains on another bed, far away from any window views that may show a certain grey orb. 
  • The next morning, however, everyone in the room was woken at 5 in the morning by James jumping up and down on his bed and running around the dorm in a nervous/ over-excited state.
  • Sirius tries to keep his bed as messy as possible, it was a strange way he used to piss his mother off at home, but his aristocratic nature glitters through sometimes and some of the boys can catch him plumping his pillows or straightening the sheets occasionally. He also leaves his pyjamas under his pillow each morning but mention it and you’ll get hexed. He is usually pretty good at cleaning up after himself and he always has his clothes in the right places, oh, except for his underwear, for some reason that just ends up everywhere?? under the bed, on the floor, in the shower, in James’ bed??? But other than that and the fact that he keeps trying to do homework in his bed and spills ink everywhere every time, he’s pretty good.
  • You would be proud of James if you saw his area, all nice and clean, nothing lying around… and then you would look a little closer. Every. single. item. he owns is jammed either under the bed, in his trunk, in the bedside table. I mean stuffed, it’s dirty and disgusting and packed full the brim and there is a funny smell coming from one part??? But somehow he just knows where everything is. Quidditch robes? Sticks his hand into the pile at the top of the bed and out they come. Borrow a quill? Sticks his hand into a jar rolled under a mound of unfolded clothes and out comes three. He does it in that way mums do with their purses, because you know.. he’s mum friend™. You don’t need to hide anything when it’s such a jumble only you can understand it.
  • Peter tried to copy James with his piles of shit, but it really stressed him out so he had to go and fold everything after like half an hour. He is the only cleaner in the room, going around picking dirty towels and clothes up off the floor for people. All his stuff organised and well kept and very aesthetically pleasing for some reason? He also always seems to have food somewhere, usually bedside table draw that he will pull out whenever it is needed, which is a lot.
  • Overall our boys do pretty well, nothing too unhygienic, pretty clean considering they are teenage boys.. oh wait I forgot Remus.
  • Remus is a fucking disaster. Like actually helpless/useless. His crap is e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e… except his bed. Ties on top of beds, shirts all over the floor every time, trousers hanging on the shower, hairbrush where his toothbrush should be, jumper on the outside of the window??? I mean he just can’t even get it together enough to find his own set of clothes because god knows where he threw his shit last night so mostly he just wears James’ school uniform until he is too embarrassingly tall for it and then every morning James has to dive into the shit and pull out Remus’ stuff from under the carpet or tangled in the drapes while Remus lies face down on the pillow and refuses to get up. He keeps his bag nicely packed but that is it. Also used to keep a massive stash of chocolate under his bed but he forgot it was there one day and it all melted and was fucking gross so now Peter looks after it for him.
  • Shower routine is James at like 4am because dis boy does not sleep and goes running when you shouldn’t. Peter is usually next, he gets up in time to have a nice shower. Remus usually doesn’t bother in the morning because he can barely make it to breakfast. Sirius takes a year in the shower every morning but may start crying if you leave without him so you just have to pound on the door and hope he can hear you over his singing. it’s dreadful btw.
  • The boys usually convene on James’ bed but once they are too big to lay on top of each other on it, they make a cute little circle in the middle to sit up and plan pranks/eat snacks with one of Remus’ mini, not flammable fires in the centre of them.
  • James once tried to fly his broom in the dorm on a dare and broke Peter’s bed.
  • Remus once fell asleep on the steps in front of the dorm because.. he is Remus and it was almost a full moon, so the boys just draped him in blankets and left him there.
  • There about fifty stains in places you can’t even imagine all over the room and they were all Sirius.
  • Peter sticks sticky notes and pictures and sheets of parchment all over the walls all the time.
  • There are numerous scorch marks in the ceiling. Enough said.
  • From fourth year they have an ‘if the curtains are drawn don’t open them’ rule because James tried to get into Sirius’ bed to chat about three times without noticing that Sirius was in bed with Remus and was deeply offended that they were scheming without him until he realised they weren’t doing much talking…..
  • there were also many other instances of each of them walking in on each other in very private situations with other people because all four boys were much too comfortable with each other.
  • they then had to instigate a no walking around the dorm naked rule because Sirius kept doing it when there were girls in there.
  • They all carved their initials into their bedposts in 6th year and then went back and added ‘i solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’ on James headboard and ‘mischief managed.’ on Sirius’ in 7th year. it was that lucky guess that let fred and george guess the marauder’s map passwords
  • the window sill is semi-permanently covered in cigarette and joint butts.
  • Sirius left about a thousand lipstick stains on the mirror.
  • Lily kept leaving her shampoo in the shower in the seventh year and Peter liked it so much he wouldn’t give it back.
  • They all share one spray on deodorant for some reason?
  • They had a routine of not going to sleep until every one of them was back. They also said ‘goodnight’ to each other every night with out fail, no matter how bad the argument or problem.
  • They were basically so comfortable, so in-sync with each other that you would have walked into the Gryffindor boys room and thought it was a family.
  • And in a way.. it was.


Click here for my post about the Girls Dormitory!

Ever Since New York

Originally posted by riverdaleselite

Check the Ever Since New York Masterlist for series updates!

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: After his junior year, Jughead goes to New York for a writing internship.  

Warnings: some swearing, you might cry

Word count: 4,574

A/N: umm first of all thank you for 7000 followers?? holy crap. anywho wowowow this is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written. It’s based off of the song “Ever Since New York” from Harry Styles’s album (which I love btw).  This is probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written tbh. Hope you all enjoy!


Tell me something, tell me something
You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do

After years of saving the money he earned at the Twilight Drive-In and other odd jobs, Jughead finally had enough to buy a plane ticket to New York.  He had discovered a writing internship there that he knew he had to do. It didn’t take much effort to convince his dad to allow him to go; in fact, FP even offered to pitch in some money. Jughead refused, claiming that he wanted to do this all on his own.  He wanted to deserve this internship as much as possible.

He started talking to Veronica frequently, asking her about her time in New York.  She, of course, gladly answered all of Jughead’s questions.  She was glad to finally bond with her boyfriend’s best friend.  

Jughead also pestered Betty with questions, seeing as she had done an internship similar to his two summers ago.  It was a bit awkward at first, since the two of them used to date.  However, they both got over their awkwardness for the sake of preparing Jughead for his internship.

“It’s really amazing,” Betty told him.  “It’s a great experience, and you’ll learn so much.”

“What are other people like?” Jughead inquired.  “Are they pricks?”

“Sometimes,” Betty laughed. “It depends.  Do you know how many other people are participating in the internship?”

“Just one,” he answered, shrugging.  “I don’t know who it is though.”

“Well, if they’re a jerk then that’s gonna suck,” she offered.  “But if they’re nice, they may become one of the closest friends you’ll ever have.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Betty replied and nodded.  “You’re gonna spend all summer with this other person.  They’re either gonna drive you up the wall or become your new best friend.”

I need something, tell me something new
Choose your words, ‘cause there’s no antidote
For this curse, oh, what’s it waiting for?
Must this hurt you just before you go?

“Have fun in New York, Jug.” FP patted his son on the back as they stood at the airport gate.  Betty, Veronica, Archie, Fred Andrews, and Kevin stood behind FP, all wearing supportive smiles.  Jughead glanced around at the group who followed him to the airport, filled with admiration of his friends and family.

“Thank you guys,” he said, fighting back a giant grin.  “You didn’t all have to come, though.”

“Of course we did,” Fred Andrews argued.  “We’re not gonna see you all summer, Jughead.  We have to give you a proper send-off.”

“Well, proper send-off achieved,” Jughead laughed.  He watched as others in the line began to move.  “I guess I should go now.  Thanks for this.  See you all in August.”  As he turned on his heel and walked away, the group of six gleefully waved at Jughead’s retreating figure.

“You aren’t worried about Jughead all alone in a giant city?” Fred asked FP as they exited the airport.

“Nah,” FP responded, waving his hand.  “He’s a smart kid, he’ll find his way.”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

“Hi, I’m Jughead Jones,” he introduced himself at the front desk.  “I’m here for the writing internship.”

The lady sitting behind the desk glanced up at Jughead.  “Ah, yes! We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed, standing from her chair.

“Oh, am I late?” Jughead inquired.  

The lady shook her head. “Oh no, not at all.  Your counterpart just got here early, so we’ve been waiting for you to start.”

“My counterpart?”

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she gestured to a girl sitting on a chair against the wall, flipping through a magazine.  The girl perked up when she heard her name, and saw Jughead and the receptionist staring at her.

“Is this him?” (Y/N) questioned, standing up and setting the magazine down.  Jughead noticed it was a TIME magazine.  

“Yes,” the receptionist answered.  “(Y/N), this is Jughead Jones.”  Jughead stuck his hand out to shake, and (Y/N) firmly shook his hand.

“I hope you’re not an asshole,” she blatantly said as they released hands, “because we’re gonna be stuck with each other all summer.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he quipped.  

(Y/N) raised her eyebrow in interest.  “Quick-witted,” she noted with a smirk forming on her face.  “I like it.”

“You better,” Jughead fired back, biting back a grin.  “Like you said, we’ll be around each other all summer.”

“If we were together any longer, I’d worry about you falling in love with me,” she jokingly warned. “So be careful.”

Brooklyn saw me, empty at the news
There’s no water inside this swimming pool

“When’d you get here?” (Y/N) asked as she and Jughead exited the building, their first day of the internship finished.

“Two days ago,” Jughead answered with his hands in his pockets.  “What about you?”

“Last week.”  Her pace was quick, and she seemed determined to get somewhere.  “Are you hungry?  Because I’m starving.”

“I would love some food,” Jughead almost moaned at the thought of food.  He was only able to scarf down a small lunch in the midst of the business.

“I know this great burger place,” (Y/N) explained as she led the way to the restaurant.  “It’ll make every other burger you’ve ever eaten seem like a pile of shit on a bun.”

“I doubt that,” Jughead scoffed.  “There’s a diner where I’m from that makes the best burgers you’ll ever eat.”

“Where are you from?”

“Riverdale,” he said. “Pop’s diner, that’s what it’s called. If you ever find yourself in Riverdale, stop by Pop’s.  Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

“Well we’re not in Riverdale right now, Jughead Jones,” (Y/N) reminded him.  “So you should thank your lucky stars that I am your counterpart, because I’ve been here for the past week. You know what I’ve been doing for that week?  Exploring, Jones.  I have tried and evaluated twenty-one restaurants, and I know where to go for whatever you’re craving.”

“What if I’m craving Korean food?” he quizzed.

“32nd street, there’s a great Korean grill,” she immediately responded.

“Ethiopian?”

“There’s a quaint little place on 135th street.”

“What if I want to get wasted?” Jughead smirked.

“There’s a club a couple of blocks away with shitty security,” (Y/N) answered with a smirk equally as wide.  “Or maybe I was just an exception, seeing as how attractive I am.”

“I think you overestimate yourself,” he scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.  

(Y/N) lightly slapped him on the arm.  “I do not!” she retaliated.  

“Whatever, keep lying to yourself.”  Jughead quickened his pace, leaving (Y/N) behind him.

“Hey!” she called out, rushing to catch up to him.  “You better not leave me!  You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“You’re still here,” he noted, casually wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  “Lead the way, (Y/N).”

Almost over, had enough from you
And I’ve been praying, I never did before

“God, this food sucks,” (Y/N) whispered, gesturing towards the plates of Japanese food sitting in front of her and Jughead.  “That place we ate at last week was so much better.”

“True,” Jughead agreed with a mouthful of food.  “But this place is cheaper.”

“Rightfully so!” she exclaimed, jabbing at her tofu with a chopstick.  Jughead silently laughed and shook his head, continuing to eat his fried rice.  He watched as (Y/N) picked at her dish, examining each aspect of the meal.  

It had been three weeks since their internship had begun, and Jughead and (Y/N) quickly became close friends.  They bonded over the overwhelming amount of work at their internship and their food-discovering adventures.  Jughead didn’t know how he would’ve survived an entire summer in New York without (Y/N) by his side.  They even stayed at the same hotel, so during a sleepless night, one would wake the other and stay up all night talking.  On those nights, they would drink hot chocolate.

“I’ve got the check tonight, Jug,” (Y/N) said, snapping Jughead out of his thoughts as she took the bill from the waitress.  Jughead furiously shook his head.

“No, (Y/N), you got dinner yesterday,” he protested, reaching out towards the bill.  “I’ll cover it tonight.”

“You got lunch!” she exasperatedly exclaimed.  “I can handle it.  Dinner wasn’t even expensive last night or tonight.”  

Jughead huffed as the waitress returned and took (Y/N)’s money.  “Fine,” he pouted, “but we’re gonna go out for desert, and I’m paying for it.”

“Fine.”

“Ice cream?” Jughead offered, standing from his chair.  (Y/N) followed suit, and they exited the diner.  She slowly grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I’m feeling frozen yogurt tonight,” she countered his offer, grinning up at him.

“What’s the difference?” Jughead playfully scoffed, trying not to blush at their hand-holding.  They had started doing it last week after he almost lost (Y/N) in a giant mass of people.

“I swear to God, Jug, you said the same thing last week, and I explicitly explained it to you.”  (Y/N) rolled her eyes.  “Ice cream is-”

“Made with cream, whereas frozen yogurt is a yogurt-based treat,” Jughead quoted what (Y/N) had told him last week.

“I knew you paid attention to me.”

Understand I’m talking to the walls
I’ve been praying ever since New York

In the middle of the night, the phone started ringing.  Jughead, still half-asleep, answered it with his eyes remaining shut.  

“You can come over,” he said, not waiting for the caller to initiate the conversation.

“Okay,” (Y/N)’s quiet voice responded, and she hung up.  A few moments later, a soft knock resonated through Jughead’s hotel room.  He rolled off of his bed, throwing on a t-shirt, and opened the door.  (Y/N) stood in the doorway, slightly shaking.  

“You cold?” Jughead murmured.  (Y/N) wordlessly nodded.  He gently grabbed her arm and led her inside, shutting the door behind them.  He stripped the blanket off from his bed and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping (Y/N) in the soft white material.  (Y/N) smiled up at him.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asked, sitting on his bed.  Jughead mimicked her actions and sat next to her.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

“How are you not sick of me?” she elaborated.  “I mean, we’ve been constantly hanging out for, what, a month and a half now?  You know if I’m annoying you, you can just tell me. I’ll back off.”

“Why would you annoy me?” he asked, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. “You’re the best part about this internship.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” Jughead lightly laughed, slightly nudging her.  “I’m serious, (Y/N).  Before I came, I was asking my friend Betty about internships.  She did one two years ago, so she knew what she was talking about. She told me that the people I’ll meet during this internship will either drive me up the wall or become one of my closest friends.”

“So I haven’t driven you up the wall?” (Y/N) inquired with a tentative smile.

“Of course not,” Jughead laughed loudly this time.  A moment of silence ensued, both (Y/N) and Jughead overwhelmed by sleepiness.

“Is Betty your girlfriend?” (Y/N) broke the silence, staring up at Jughead.

“No,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.  “She was,” he admitted, “but not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” he shrugged. “Sometimes things just don’t work out, you know?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) muttered. “I had a boyfriend.”

“Really?  That’s shocking.”

“Shut up!” she whined, elbowing him.  “Yes, I had a boyfriend.  He was actually a total dickhead.”

“How?” Jughead asked, growing concerned.  

(Y/N) looked up at him and giggled.  “Oh, you’re worried,” she cooed, placing a hand on his chin.  Jughead swatted it away.

“Sue me,” he retorted, but then grew serious.  “But really, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” she replied, facing away from Jughead.  “We were dating for a while, and… I don’t know.  He never really supported me in anything.  He wasn’t nice to any of my friends, and I didn’t notice for so long because I was so fucking smitten.  Eventually it hit me one day, and I realized that he was horrible.  So, naturally, I dumped him.”

“As one does,” Jughead nodded, nonchalantly tracing patterns on (Y/N)’s right arm with his thumb.  

(Y/N) slumped and sighed. “What time is it?”

Jughead glanced at the clock with its blaring, bright red numbers.  “Three o’clock.”

“Jesus,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes.  “I should… I should get back to my room.”  She jumped off the bed and trekked towards the door, her bare feet dragging on the carpet.

“Wait,” Jughead commanded, grabbing her arm.  “Don’t go, it’s too late.”

“You say that as if I have to walk across New York City,” (Y/N) joked.  “It’s fine, Jug, my room is down the hall.  I’m not gonna get mugged.”

“No, but you may fall over before you reach your room,” he countered with a lighthearted smirk. “Just stay here tonight, okay?” (Y/N), too tired to argue, needed no more convincing as she turned around and climbed into Jughead’s bed. He laid down, patting the space next to him.  (Y/N) tentatively settled next to him, slowly resting her head on the neighboring pillow. “You can get closer than that, you know,” he told her, amused by her unusually timid nature.  She hesitantly scooted closer to him, until she was near enough for Jughead to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against his chest.  “That’s better,” he whispered into her hair.  She draped one arm around his torso, the other arm tucked under their now-shared pillow.

“Night, Jug,” she murmured, eyes already closed.  He smiled at her.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

“Oh, Jughead, how is it?” Betty eagerly asked, her face displayed on his laptop screen.  

“It’s been great,” Jughead answered.  

“What restaurants have you tried?” Veronica questioned from her spot next to Betty.

“A bunch,” he vaguely replied.  “(Y/N) is attempting to try every restaurant in New York City.  I think it’s impossible, but she’s determined.”

“Who is (Y/N)?” Archie inquired, popping his head into the camera’s view.  

Jughead laughed, “Where do I begin?  She’s my ‘counterpart’ for the internship.  We’ve become very close.”

“I told you,” Betty grinned. Jughead nodded.

“You were right,” he admitted.  “Right when I met her, I… I don’t know, it just felt like something clicked between us. We’re inseparable.”  Betty’s expression slightly darkened, but Jughead waved it off as a bit off jealousy.

“Ah, you’ve got it bad, bro,” Archie laughed at his best friend.  Jughead rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like that, Arch,” he explained.  “It’s like Betty said, you grow really close to people when you spend so much time together.”

“But you don’t blush when you talk about them,” Veronica noted, pointing out Jughead’s dusty pink cheeks.

“You’re imagining things,” Jughead scoffed.  Betty, Archie, and Veronica shared a knowing glance.

“If you say so,” Veronica sing-songed.  Before Jughead could respond, there was a knock on his door.  A smile subconsciously grew on his face.

“Speaking of (Y/N),” he said, standing up and walking towards the door.  He opened it, and, as expected, (Y/N) stood there.

“Are we going or not, Jug?” she pressed, grabbing his hand.  “I told you the line for the rainbow bagels is super long.  I don’t want to spend all of Saturday waiting for one, even though they’re so fucking pretty.”

“I’m video chatting with my friends right now,” Jughead told her, gesturing towards his open laptop. “Can you wait like five more minutes?”

“Fine,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms.  She stepped into his room, allowing him to close the door behind her.  She followed him as he sat back down in front of his laptop, resting her chin on his shoulder as she peered at the screen. “These are your friends?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “That’s Archie,” he gestured towards the redhead, “the blonde one is Betty, and that one is Veronica.”  (Y/N) smiled at Jughead’s Riverdale friends.

“You must be (Y/N),” Betty smiled.  “Jughead was just talking about you.”

“Of course he was,” (Y/N) joked, nudging his arm.  Jughead playfully shoved her back.

“So how’s it been? Three months with the infamous Jughead Jones?” Veronica inquired with a smirk dancing on her lips.  

“Well it hasn’t been three months quite yet,” (Y/N) corrected her.  “I’ve only gotta deal with this guy for two more weeks.” Jughead’s face slightly deflated as this realization hit him.  “Let me tell you, he’s quite the handful.”

“We know,” Archie laughed. Jughead opened his mouth to say something, but (Y/N) interrupted him.

“Shit, I left my phone in my room!” she exclaimed, standing up.  “I’ll be right back, Jug.”  She turned and faced the laptop.  “It was great talking to you guys.  I hope we can meet sometime!”  She quickly exited Jughead’s room.  Immediately, Veronica, Archie, and Betty bombarded him about (Y/N)

“She’s perfect,” Veronica cooed.  “She’s actually flawless, Jughead.”

“You lucked out, bro,” Archie told him.  “She’s a keeper.”

“She’s absolutely amazing, Jughead,” Betty smiled.  Jughead grinned and shook his head.

“You guys, I told you-”

“Don’t even go there,” Veronica interrupted him.  “That girl is absolutely perfect for you.  The way you two look at each other is… it seems like it’s from a fairytale. You two are soulmates, Jughead.

“She does seem great, Jug,” Archie agreed with her.  “I mean, I’ve never seen you like that with anyone.  No offense, Betty.”

“None taken, Archie,” she waved his comment off.  “They’re right though, Jug.  You never looked at me the way you look at (Y/N).”  Jughead couldn’t think of a clever retort.  “But be careful, Jughead.  Like (Y/N) said earlier, you two only have two more weeks together. If you haven’t done anything up to this point, you might want to consider whether or not it’s worth it to start something now.  Just ask yourself, is it worth the heartbreak that’ll happen when you have to leave her?” She pursed her lips as she watched Jughead’s face darken on her screen.

“Thanks guys,” he said halfheartedly.  “Really, thank you.  I’ll see you all in two weeks.”

Tell me something, tell me something
You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do
Tell me something just before you go

“Our last day!” (Y/N) exclaimed, prancing into Jughead’s hotel room.  After the video call he had two weeks ago ended, he decided to give her a key to his room.  “Our internship is over, and we have one last night to spend together, Jug.  Out of every place in all of New York City, where do you want to go, Jughead Jones?” she asked seductively, a coy smirk growing on her face.

“I’m feeling burgers tonight,” Jughead answered, trying to stop his expression from deflating.  “And then maybe we can get some cupcakes?”

“I like it!” she grinned. She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room, beginning the trek to their favorite restaurant.  “Jesus, I can’t believe it’s been three months already.”

“I know,” he agreed.  “It seems like my plane landed just yesterday.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) breathed. They spent the rest of their walk in silence, choosing to listen to the bustling New York traffic.  

The waitresses at the restaurant, at this point, knew Jughead and (Y/N) as regulars.  They didn’t even bother giving them menus, knowing exactly what each of them would order.

“You two are my favorites,” the waitress whispered as she set their burgers in front of them.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) grinned. “I’m sorry to say, but it’s our last day here.”

“Oh,” the waitress sighed. “Well, you two better visit.  I don’t know what I’ll do without my favorite regulars.”  She walked away, leaving (Y/N) and Jughead to enjoy their burgers.

“You know,” Jughead noted through a mouth full of burger, “I don’t know how you’ve tried almost every restaurant in New York City while becoming a regular here.”

“Talent, Jug,” she told him, wiping her mouth on a napkin.  “It takes a hell of a lot of talent.”

They finished dinner and went to their favorite bakery to get cupcakes.  On their walk back to the hotel, they fell into silence once again. It wasn’t broken until they entered Jughead’s hotel room.  By now, almost all of (Y/N)’s stuff ended up in here.  They found it easier, rather than constantly having to switch back and forth between rooms to grab their stuff.

“So that was our last day,” (Y/N) claimed, flopping onto the bed.  Jughead stood by the bedside, crossing his arms with an amused smile.

“Unfortunately, it was,” he nodded.  He jumped next to her on the bed, earning a shriek from (Y/N).  He swallowed as he stared at her, knowing what he had to tell her. “Do you remember what you said to me on the first day we met?”

“That I know where to go for whatever you’re craving,” she answered with a grin.  Jughead laughed and shook his head.

“No, the other thing.”

“I hope you’re not an asshole because we’re gonna be stuck together all summer?” she offered.  He shook his head again.

“Nope.”

“I called you quick-witted?”

“No!”

“What is it?” (Y/N) demanded, sitting up so that she was hovering over Jughead as he remained laying down.

“You told me that if we were together any longer than just the summer, I might fall in love with you,” he explained, sitting up so that they were face-to-face.  (Y/N)’s grin slightly faded.

“Oh,” she murmured.  “Yeah, I did say that.”

“You were wrong,” Jughead said, trying to keep his voice steady.  He slowly grabbed her right hand.

“Really?” she asked as her eyes followed Jughead’s hand.

“Betty told me to be careful,” he explained, “because we’re not gonna be together that long.  And she was right.  I mean, why would we risk an immense amount of heartbreak just for the sake of a blissful few weeks together?”  When (Y/N) said nothing, he continued.  “So I figured I could just suck it up and get through the rest of our time together and not say anything.  It was a good plan, but you… you ruined it.”

“Sorry,” she quipped with a small smirk.  Jughead lovingly rolled his eyes.

“No you’re not,” he laughed. “You’re not sorry, and you shouldn’t be. Within the three months we’ve spent together, I’ve grown closer to you than I ever have with anyone else.  Hell, my ex-girlfriend said that we were great together.”

“She did?”

“Yeah,” he responded, grabbing her hands.  “Jesus, (Y/N), I’m in love with you.  I’m fucking in love with you, and it sucks.  It sucks because I don’t know if I’m ever gonna see you again.  And this is gonna cause so much heartbreak, for me at least, and maybe you too.  I just… I can’t keep it from you anymore.  But I also think, deep down, you already knew how I felt.”  Tears clouded (Y/N)’s eyes, and her lips quivered as she quickly enveloped Jughead in a hug.

“Fuck,” she whispered into his neck.  “Fuck, of course I love you, Jughead.”  He pulled himself out of her grip and stared at her, stroking his hand across her cheek. They both leaned in, pressing their foreheads against each other.  Their lips ghosted over each other, only millimeters apart.

“If I kiss you-”

“If you kiss me, everything is gonna go to shit, Jug,” she interrupted him.  He nodded but didn’t pull away.  They sat there like that on his bed on a minute, (Y/N) sitting on Jughead’s lap with her arms around his neck, foreheads touching and lips barely brushing.

The tension grew unbearable, so (Y/N) closed the gap and pressed her lips against his, trying to express what she had been feeling for the past three months.  

Jughead, too, attempted to convey every pent up confession he had, wishing that kisses could speak. He wanted his hands, which were encircling her waist, to tell her how she charmed him with her wit.  He wanted his eyes, which were closed with pleasure, to tell her how beautiful she was, especially when she trudged into his hotel room at three in the morning.  He wanted his lips, which were pressed against hers, to tell her how much he loved her.  He loved her, he loved her, and he wanted to keep saying it for the rest of his life.

For the sake of oxygen, the two pulled apart.  They kept their foreheads resting against each other.  

“Everything’s gone to shit,” (Y/N) whispered, and Jughead burst out into laughter.  (Y/N) followed suit by giggling, and their still-entangled limbs caused them to fall onto the bed so that (Y/N) was laying on top of Jughead. This only caused the pair to laugh harder.  

When their chuckles finally died down, (Y/N) climbed off from on top of Jughead and laid next to him, resting her head on his chest.  She combed her hand through his raven locks.

“I’m sorry that I fell in love with you,” Jughead apologized, kissing the top of her head. They were slowly falling asleep.

“Thank you for falling in love with me,” (Y/N) whispered, eyes fluttering shut.  “It may have all gone to shit, but it was worth it.”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

Jughead stepped off the plane and saw his dad and friends standing at the gate, excitedly waiting for him.  He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even bother smiling.  Immediately, everyone understood.  

While they were awaiting Jughead’s plane’s arrival, Betty, Veronica, and Archie explained to the rest of the group about (Y/N).  They told them about how Jughead spent three months falling in love with this girl, and they explained that they had never seen Jughead look so smitten before.  

“How was New York, Jug?” FP asked, taking Jughead’s suitcase from him.  Jughead shrugged.

“It was nice.”

“Good food?” he questioned, trying to get his son to open up.  Jughead nodded tiredly.

“Yeah, food was great,” he replied monotonously.

“And the internship?”

“Helpful,” Jughead responded.  “I think it’ll help me improve as a writer.”

“That’s good,” FP said, raking a hand through his hair.  “You had another person with you, right?”  FP noticed Jughead tense up at this.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Yeah, I had a counterpart.”

“What was she like?” Jughead looked up at his dad.

“You already know who it is,” he replied, shaking his head.  “Who told you, Betty?”  FP pursed his lips.

“Yeah, her and Archie and Veronica.  But listen, Jug, you’re going to have your heart broken countless other times.  You’ll get over this girl,” he attempted to comfort Jughead.

“Dad, she wasn’t just a girl,” he protested.  “She was amazing and quick-witted, and I fell in love with her and then everything went to shit.  But the worst part is that it’s okay, because she loved me too.  She fucking loved me, and I kissed her, and now I may never see her again.”

“Well if you loved her that much, you may see her again,” FP shrugged.  “Fate is a tricky thing, son, but the universe seems to cooperate better if you love someone.”

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Better Latte than Never

it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3

read it here on AO3!!

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.

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Can’t Get It Out Of My Head (Peter Quill x Reader)

Originally posted by bukcybarnes

For @ravingmadstark to whom I’ve owed this since January. 

In which you slow dance with the one and only Star-Lord. (insp.)


He so desperately wanted to be called Star-Lord, but everyone called him Quill. Except for you. You preferred to use Peter, and maybe that was why he fell in love so hard. Rarely did anyone address him without a tinge of sarcasm or playful banter in their voice—something he was very guilty of reciprocating—but when you spoke to him, he felt validated in ways he never knew he could. You gave him a sense of responsibility. A feeling of warmth and excitement. A drive in life, fueled not by a desire for the admiration of others, but rather, a need to make you feel the same way he did. Happy.

Your initial glimpse of Peter was the day of Ronan’s defeat. Hair disheveled. Clothes torn. Face scratched up. He was dancing to a song you’d never heard, and your entire body reacted. It tingled and shook from your toes, to your heart strings, up your throat, to your brain where the sensation settled, leaving only one thought. Shit.  You’d gone through life thinking love at first sight was nothing more than a myth. But there you were. In love. Or something like it. You were stubborn when it came to things like that, so you chalked it up to lust—somehow that felt more dignified.

There was alcohol involved in your first encounter. That was always how these things seemed to go. The big hero, off to celebrate at a local bar; you, the plain civilian, coincidentally at the same place, standing in a corner.  Music was playing, but the melodies were foreign, and you could only assume that they were his. Most of them were upbeat, but occasionally things would slow down a little, and that’s when he shined the brightest. He’d move about the room fluidly, pulling the other patrons close. Dipping them, spinning them, pressing his body against theirs. Leaving a trail of longing eyes in his wake. You couldn’t help but feel jealous, but at the same time, you were grateful. Unless you were alone in the safety of your room, dancing was not your forte. And so you nursed your drink and watched.

He moved closer and you got a better look at his face, confirming that he was the most unrealistically handsome man you’d ever seen in your life. It was the sort of thing that held a hypnotic element, capturing your eyes and refusing to let them free of his spell. The sappiness of it all was enough to make you inwardly wretch, but as the gap in proximity closed, it became harder to deny fact.

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i like you already.

Originally posted by skarsgardangel

(dacre montgomery x reader)

summary: dacre montgomery should not be allowed to look that good. ever. what’s worse is that he’s a good and decent person, too. the reader doesn’t stand a chance at not being into him.

request: A dacre fic , where you meet during your coffee break because you walk into him (he’s in his Billy costume) and you say “woah the 80s called they want their wardrobe back” and later you meet again and he’s in normal clothes and you’re blown away etc romance ensues Sorry if that didn’t make sense 

word count: 2, 262

a/n: i actually had a lot of fun with this one! dacre’s a cocky little shit though okay i love him. also, brief mentions of cocaine and ODing. 


It wasn’t like you didn’t know that Stranger Things 3 was filming on the same lot as you. It’s just that you hadn’t actually thought about it. There had been more pressing things to worry about, like the fact that you’d been hired as the personal assistant on set for a notoriously difficult actor on a project that was already two weeks behind in filming and well on its way to overbudget.

You’d already been screamed at twice that day (once for not anticipating the fact that said actor would trip and tear a large hole in his jeans, and the second for getting his coffee order wrong. Because apparently, he was lactose intolerant that day) and getting screamed at for a third time was not on your list of things to do.

But of course some mullet-wearing asshole had to be taking his grand old time in front of you. Who the hell wore nothing but denim, honestly? Whoever the costume designer was obviously hadn’t been thinking that through. No one could pull of all denim. No one.

“Oh, my God,” you mumbled, letting out an annoyed huff. You were going to get chewed apart, and it was all because of this idiot.

But then the idiot turned around.

In all your time of being alive, you’d never actually come across someone who could pull off a mullet, but this guy was coming pretty close. The all denim outfit was still a little too much, but it wasn’t horrendous on him.

“Do you have a problem?”

“No, take your time in ordering. I’ve got all the time in the world.” The sarcasm dripped off your words. You knew that that wasn’t a smart idea at all. Personal assistants were supposed to kiss everyone’s asses until their noses were a nice brown color. But you were just tired. This was supposed to be your dream job, your foot in the door. But instead you were babysitting an adult who was constantly trying to sneak in a little snort of some white powder when he thought no one was looking.

It was an indie film, too. Not even a blockbuster.

“You see, that sounds like you have a problem, but you said you don’t have a problem. So what is it?”

“Well, if I did have a problem, it’d be with your outfit.”

“Oh, really?” The corners of his lips ticked up into a small smirk. “And why is that?”

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wonder (m)

Originally posted by dear0901

summary: that was the snag, the inconvenience if you will, Jeon Jungkook had next to no experience with girls. It was his best friend that insisted on dragging the poor boy from the safety of his dorm and to the nearest frat party. But now Jungkook no longer attended the parties instead taking refuge on your couch. He’d find comfort there, stretched out upon his back with your legs on either side of his body, your fingers threading lazily through his hair. virgin!kook

word count: 6,028

warning: usual filth, basically sex ed with kook

It’s the way he stares. Eyes almost childlike, shining with an innocence so pure and wondrous. Resisting the urge to indulge in such vulnerability becomes a daily fight because you stare too, except it’s not sheer curiosity that is fuelling you, it’s unadulterated lust. A passionate yearning that has your heartbeat racing and skin setting alight, a fire so intense you ponder on whether or not he’d soothe it or ignite it further.

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Dark Lovers [2]

An AU Series

Character Pairing: AU!Demon Bucky x AU!Demon King Steve x Female Angel Reader

Word Count: 3,119

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Smut! M/M/F threesome, Oral (male and female receiving), mild bondage, slight dominance, orgasm denial, sexual penetration, dirty talk, and language. Some plot, a lot of porn. 

A/N: So, @apolla62200 and I are working together to bring you this amazing series! I’m excited for where this is headed and I hope you will be too! Enjoy! ;) 

Part One


2005

“You have no reason to be here angel.”

Pulling out your white blade, you twirled it around your fingers. “You are the one that has situated yourself in the middle of my mission demon.”

His eyes turned black, “I don’t take kindly to you halo bitches killing my kind.”

You pointed to your head with the tip of the blade, “Do you see a halo anywhere?” You walked toward the tall demon, “That’s a horrible stereotype. And I haven’t killed him… yet.”

“You’re a mouthy little thing,” he said, bringing out his own knife. “Don’t you have any idea who I am?”

You shook your head, running the tip of your blade over his cheek, “I don’t care who you are.”

With that, you moved to sink the knife in his neck. He was faster. He ducked away and knocked you off of your feet with his leg. You landed flat on your back, the wind knocked from your lungs. His black boot came down to press on your chest.

“Oh little angel,” he said as he leaned down over you. “You have to be smarter than that. And actually, a bit faster.” Placing the tip of his knife under your chin, he tipped your face up, “Does the name Bucky ring a bell?”

Shit.

Palming your knife, you slung your arm up with all your might and plugged it in his thigh. He yelled in pain. When his foot moved off your chest, you scrambled to your feet. Facing him, you knew you had screwed up.

“Fucking bitch!” he said as he grabbed for you.

You closed your eyes and willed yourself back up to heaven.

What greeted you was even scarier than what you had left on earth…

“You have failed us, sister.”

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16 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 4,529

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as mental physical abuse, violence, blood, gore, dead bodies, grief and death

Originally posted by herthealbum

masterlist | ask | prev | coming soon

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Dreaming of you

Originally posted by darkness-on-me

Loki x reader

Prompt: Soulmate a where you see you each other every night in your dreams

 

Loki smiled and pulled the covers up, settling into his bed. It had been a long hard day and he couldn’t wait to sleep —and it wasn’t just for the bit of escape, peace and rest it afforded him.

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Something I think is very interesting about Lance, Voltron Legendary Defender, and the archetypal “five hero ensemble” that the show plays into…

Roughly, there’s usually the hero, the hero’s rival/right hand man, the brains, the brawn, and the fifth ranger- sometimes a healer, other times generally identified by compassion, and virtually always in older continuities, the Designated Girl of the team.

In prior continuities of Voltron, the breakdown is such:

Keith is the Hero, with Lance as his Rival Right Hand, Pidge is Brains, Hunk is Brawn, and Allura, stepping up to the plate rapidly in the fifth episode of DotU, is the Token Girl.

This is true for GoLion, it’s true for DotU, and it’s true for Force, though Force “matures” Allura from the ‘soft sensitive one’ to more of a mediator figure- a more motherly take on the Token Girl role to reflect Force having an older take on all of the old school heroes.

Sven tends to take a back seat, as whether he lives (DotU, Force) or dies (GoLion), he’s pretty much shuffled off the team from the start, but his early role as a counselor and wiser, more patient head to Keith paints him with a bit of a similar brush to Force’s take on Allura.

However, in VLD?

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Cursed Child AU: insomniac additions.

Another thing (because yes we’re just going to go back to talking about the Cursed Child AU like we never left) that annoyed me about The Cursed Child was how the Adults treated Scorpius Malfoy in the text. 

Like I get it, nobody is perfect and everyone has issues, especially when you take into account the things the original trio endured. But, and this is a large but I cannot lie, I also feel it’s entirely out of character for Harry Potter, the boy who survived twice and lived to become the man who would name his second son after two of his arguably worst abusers* (after Voldie and the Dursleys of course) in recognition of their bravery and…whatever…redemption I guess, to only then turn around to his son, point to another child and say “they come from an evil family, don’t be friends with him”. 

It just…it doesn’t feel right.** 

Just like how Ron pitting his daughter against the Malfoy off-spring doesn’t feel right either. “Here sweetheart, we fought this entire war based on opposing those who thought they were better than others because of how they were born, and we made the world a better, more fair place. Now go kick that other kid’s ass his dad was a dick. Also don’t come home if you get sorted into Slytherin, bye honey loooove yoooou!”

Like….that is just not Ronald Weasley to me. It’s maybe Ron at the start of the series when we see him coming from a place of…not monetary privileged to be sure, but definitely perhaps cultural in terms of his bloodline? Like they might be dirt poor but the Weasley’s are a pure-blood family and that matters in this world. 

But it’s not who Ron is at the end of the series. 

It’s not who any of them are at the end of the series. Yet somehow we just see the continuation of “all adults are awful, yes even the good ones” and it just…it’s mediocre writing for one thing, but it’s also a continuation of validating shitty adult human behavior for Reasons, which Rowling is infamous for, and maybe it’s just me. But I’m tired of that shit.

I’m so, gods damned tired. Both as a reader, an editor and a writer.

Which is why I’d like you to consider: Cursed Child AU Molly Weasley meeting Scorpius Malfoy for the first time. 

In my head, for whatever reason, the new trio are soaked, just, drenched to the bone and guilty as hell, and Rose isn’t too worried by her grandmother’s stern look, she knows the shouting and the hand waving is from concern and not a threat. And Albus too, who has gotten into his own fair share of trouble with his brother and cousins and been on the receiving end of his Grandma’s tongue lashing more than once has just sort of, switched off, eyes glazed over as he takes the reprimand as he takes all others.

But Scorpius has no reference for this. His own mother and father have never disciplined him, not really, they’ve never had cause to. But he’s seen the fights between his father and grandfather, and people have walked away from those burned. He’s felt this anger before, this shrill frustration, but it’s never been directed at him before and honestly he’s not sure if he’s about to vomit or cry—until suddenly it stops. And when he looks up, Mrs. Weasley is looking at him, just for a second she’s looking just at him. And then she sighs, wiping a weary hand over her face as she waves them towards the stairs. 

“Go to bed, all of you. Albus, show your friend where everything is. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

So they climb the stairs and say good night, and Albus lets Scorpius borrow some old but clean clothes from a chest at the end of a bed that looks like it hasn’t been slept in for years but is still kept pristine. And he feels like an intruder in this cramped wonderful space that feels lived in and loved from the ceiling to the floor. But Albus is already falling asleep face down on the other bed so he can’t ask if this is okay and instead just peels back the covers and falls asleep thinking if a house could feel like a hot cup of tea on a rainy Autumn day then the Burrow would be mid-October with two sugars and a ginger snap on the side.

The next morning he awakens to find his own clothes not just dried but cleaned and mended, folded at the end of the bed. Not wanting to wake Albus (snoring gently on his back, dark hair sticking out at all ends in a nice way that makes Scorpius’ stomach do a funny swooping thing he’s not ready to think about just yet) Scorpius creeps out of bed in search of the privy, somehow managing to get turned around in this tiny house that’s smaller than his grandfather’s study and finds himself on the threshold of the kitchen again, where a fire is already lit and something bubbles gently on the stove. He doesn’t mean to stare, but there’s just so much stuff, brick-a-brack and clutter his mother would never allow, mementos, moving pictures on every wall, the clock gently ticking on the wall…

“Cup of tea, dear?”

He jumps, feeling like he’s been caught somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“Come along dear, sit down,” Mrs Weasley continues, placing gentle hands on his shoulders and guiding him towards the kitchen table where the table is already set. “One lump or two?”

“I…” Scorpius stutters, looking around, desperately hoping for one of the other two to appear, even Rose who he knows only tolerates him because of Albus. “Two?” he asks. “Please?”

“There you are dear, help yourself to milk. Sleep all right?”

“I…uh, yes, thank you?”

“Good, good. Toast?”

“Uh…”

“There you go. Help yourself to butter and jam.”

He’s halfway through a second slice when Albus appears in the doorway, still in the rumpled clothes he’d slept in and yawning loudly until Rose pushes him out of the way and sits down heavily in the empty chair next to Scorpius, glaring, as though daring him to say something about her frazzled hair and the pillow markings on her sleep-pinked face. Scorpius wisely takes another bite of toast and pushes the teapot towards her. Albus stumbles over next, still so half asleep her nearly face plants into the jam the moment he’s sitting. It’s only the joint efforts of Rosie and Scorpius that keeps it from happening.

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing blearily at his eyes. 

Scorpius glances to the clock—not the family one of course, though he can’t help but feel a little envious at just how many spoons it has. His parents have one, but it only has three hands.

“Time you were up and about,” Mrs Weasley comments before Scorpius can answer, swooping in over the table with a platter laden with breakfast food and dishing it out in heaps like she’s used to feeding an army. Glancing again at the family clock, Scorpius can see why. “And time to tell me what in Merlin’s Beard is going on.”

The trio glance between themselves, suddenly far more awake than they were mere moments before. With a mouthful of tea, Scorpius makes a hard swallow and braces himself.

“I’m really sorry, but this is entirely all my fault.” He starts when Mrs Weasley laughs, eyeing her two grandchildren with a knowing look.

“Somehow I find that hard to believe, dearie. Here have some more bacon.”

Somewhere between second, third and quite very nearly fourth helpings (Scorpius has never eaten so much in his life, not even at the Hogwarts feasts) they tell the truth. Or rather, they omit certain details and confess they found the car in the woods while having detention and wanted to see if it would work. How were they to know the doors would slam shut and the car would take them home. Molly Weasley listens quietly, with none of the previous shouting of yesterday, even when they recount the part about the doors falling off. Scorpius is relieved. He doesn’t think he could handle it, and he has no desire to see all that good food come up in reverse. 

“Well, I can’t say I’m pleased.” she says when they’re done, fixing them all with a pointed look. “But I am glad you are safe. Now, why don’t you go get ready and head on outside. The gnomes are in the herb patch again, and I need to contact the school and let them know you’re safe.“

The other two groan and slide out of their chairs to stomp up the stairs. Scorpius also stands and thinks about following them, but he’s already dressed so doesn’t see the point, he’ll just wait here by the door and go outside when they’re ready…he’s oddly excited by the prospect of de-gnoming the garden. He’s never done anything like it before…

“Everything all right, dear?” Mrs Weasley asks him, voice light as she clears away the breakfast table with a flick of her hand. “With school?”

He’s puzzled by the question, but he nods. “Yes, thank you Mrs Weasley.”

She hums politely, drawing her wand again and pulling over a scroll of parchment and a quill from a nearby table. “And what about home, everything all right there?”

The nausea is instant and for one horrible moment he thinks he might actually be sick. His mouth is watering, his head feels hot, his hands are cold and his eyes are blurring as he tries to quell the terror such a question brings because how, how can he answer a question like that while knowing the truth of what is yet to come...

He doesn’t even realize he’s sobbing until warm arms surround him. He’s been hugged before, but never like this. Everyone in his family is rail-thin and formally stiff. Physical affection often feels like an obligation to be endured, not warm and enveloping like sunlight through a glass pane on a cold winter morning. 

“There now dear,” she soothes, patting his back and holding him close like one of her own—a Potter or a Weasley, not a Malfoy. He doubts a Malfoy has ever been held this way. “I’m so sorry Scorpius. It’s not easy grieving…but you’ll be all right…it’ll be all right…shhh”

Later in the garden no one says anything. He knows they know, he can still feel the evidence of it streaked down his face, sniffling loudly in a way that has nothing to do with the chill Autumn air as they run after the scurrying gnomes. Instead they are stoically silent. But it’s a united sort of silence. Even Rosie looks grimly determined as she nods to him, just once, an unspoken version of the promise Albus had uttered in the small hours of the Slytherin Dungeon.

They have a curse to break. And it’s bloody well going to get broken.


(cut for foot notes)

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