Summary:You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 3923
Warnings: language, talk about injuries, sarcasm (sometimes jokes are okay)
A/N: Thank you all for the amazing feedback and support on the last chapter. I’m completely blown away and ecstatic that you like the story. I hope you like this next part, it’s a little drawn out but I had some angst I needed to get out. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you again for your patience between updates.
Natasha didn’t actually want you to answer that question. She was ranting and raving, throwing her
hands in the air, pointing a polished, accusatory finger in your
direction. She switched from English to
Russian so quickly that it seemed as is if she were a one-woman show playing
all the parts. You couldn’t get a word
in edgewise though. Every time you
opened your mouth to reply she merely answered herself or spoke right over you
with a barrage of “what were you thinkings” “you could have dieds” “I’ve never
seen anything do stupid in my entire lifes” “what the hell is wrong with yous”
and what you suspected were several rude and explicit Russian insults.
[A/N: The aftermath of that scene, smuttiness because we all needed it, this is only my second Bughead fic so I’m still finding their voices a little so please bear with me! The song used below is the song from that very scene, it only seemed right. Only briefly proof-read but I will probably go back sometime later tonight and fix any errors I’ve missed, hopefully not too many but I did make the decision to swap tenses halfway through writing this.]
I was broken from a young age Taking my sulking to the masses Writing my poems for the few That looked at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me Singing from heartache from the pain Take up my message from the veins Speaking my lesson from the brain Seeing the beauty through the…
-Imagine Dragons - Believer
The worn leather nestles itself warmly against his neck, fingertips grazing against the frayed polyester cuffs and the smell of faded cigarettes and liquor envelope the air around him.
‘Juggie-’ Her voice wavers with uncertainty, the small smile that had crept its way into the corners of his mouth falls in an instant.
‘Sorry kid, I didn’t realise you had a lady-friend over.’ The broad Serpent chuckles throatily.
‘Uh, Betty-’ he offers lamely with an outstretched arm to the door, ‘my girlfriend.’
The Serpents in unison stretch to peer around the door, meekly Betty remains hidden, her slender fingers with periwinkle polish grasping firmly at the edge of the door with knuckles turning white.
‘My-my,’ smirks the leader of the pack, ‘don’t you just paint a familiar picture.’
Betty steps back cautiously as the larger man strains to get a better look, instinctively Jughead’s arm raises against the door-frame offering the bearded man a stern look. Taking a step back he rocks on the heels of his feet, his own hands raised in surrender and a curious gaze playing on his features.
harry fiddles with your fingers, seeing your nail polish has almost completely chipped off when he decides he wants to go out. “love,” he says quietly. “wanna go to the store.” he slots his fingers in between yours and you groan. only in harry’s joggers and a t shirt, you’re reluctant to comply with harry’s wishes.
“do we have to go now?” you ask, snuggling closer, hoping harry will change him mind and will wait until the morning. he chuckles softly and says he really wants to go now. you find a sweatshirt to put on and harry slips on a shirt before heading out to brave the middle of the night. your hands never part as he drags you through the store to the beauty section.
“wanna paint yeh nails.” he kneels down to look at all the colors on the shelves. “do yeh have black?” harry asks. you shake your head, telling him you like bright colors on your nails. harry nods and he picks up the black and a baby pink. “will yeh paint meh nails if i paint yours?” you attempt to plant a kiss on harry’s cheek as a way of telling him yes, however you only reach his jawline so you suppose that’ll do. his lips curl up and he places a kiss on your forehead.
back home, harry sets the two polishes on the table and you go to retrieve the nail polish remover to rid your nails of the blue that still remains. “okay, babe,” you begin. “who’s going first?”
“you!” harry cheers. he takes your hand and examines how petite they are compared to his. he puts your palms together and laughs. “your hands are so small!”
“your hands are so big!” you retort. harry beams and tells you to stop laughing because he can’t focus when you make so much noise. “why baby pink?” you ask when he touches the brush to your nail.
harry’s tongue is peaking out of his lips as he concentrates on only getting the polish on your nails and not all over your fingers. “’cos you’re meh baby,” he answers. you blow on your nails when harry finishes painting them and he opens the black nail polish. “my turn,” he says, jumping in his chair with excitement. he claps his hands together before setting them out in front of you. you examine your nails and you’re completely impressed with how well harry has done.
“haz, how’d get so good painting nails?” you inquire, beginning to paint on harry’s.
“mitch ‘nd i would paint each other’s nails sometimes,” harry shrugs.
“why do you and mitch have a cuter relationship than you and me?” you ask.
harry’s jaw drops, feeling like you were serious when you said he and mitch have a cuter relationship than the two of you. you’re a little serious, because they always do things together but nothing you say about their bromance is too serious, anyways. “tha’s not true,” he defends. “you’re paintin’ meh nails now aren’t yeh?” you shrug and finish up with harry’s left hand. he scrunches up his nose for a fair amount of time, hoping you’d notice. he finally tells you that he has an itch on his nose and asks you to scratch it. after scratching all over harry’s nose, you finally find the spot that’s been bothering him. “see we’ve got a cute relationship,” he says. “yeh scratched meh nose for meh.”
you roll your eyes and paint the last coat of polish on harry’s pinky. he thanks you for painting them for him with a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then hovering over your lips. “don’t ever say that me and mitch are cuter than you and meh,” he orders before pecking your lips. “remember, you’ll always be meh baby.”
authors note • *cue mariah carey* hahaha this was so dumb i hate myself
Summary: In which everyone gets a name tattoo of their soulmate on their wrist when they turn eighteen but Y/N doesn’t believe in it and wants hers covered up by the male tattoo artists whose shop is right down the street
Warnings: Smut……….. I know. I don’t know where it came from.
Author’s Note: A few things, I really never thought I would write smut for this series. I am just as surprised as all of you. I tried to keep it less explicit than usual. That was my compromise with myself. What else… oh um, if you ever go to Burbank, go to Salsa And Beer. it is legitimately the best Mexican food i have ever fucking had. those flautahs… i have dreams about them. also, yea, uh, enjoy. there’s only about ten chapters left so relish it while you can.
Summary: Dylan talks with Posey about what happened the night after his first appearance at ComicCon, before returning to New York and having a night that he never expected and will never forget.
Dylan handed his menu back to the waitress and smiled as she walked away. He then turned his attention back to his best friend sitting across from him, examining the lunch hour crowd around them in the busy Burbank restaurant. “Thanks for coming down here for lunch, man.”
Tyler turned his head as he heard Dylan’s voice and he smiled. “No problem, bro. I was just chilling today since all the Comic Con craziness from last week is finally over. How long do you have until you have to be back at the hotel for the rest of the American Assassin press?” He asked, leaning back as the waitress brought over their beers.
“They gave us like two hours, or something. We’ve got time.” Dylan clarified while smushing his slice of lime down the neck of his Corona.
“So what happened on Thursday night?” Tyler asked, getting straight to the point of why Dylan frantically texted him the other night asking if he could have lunch with him that Monday.