folded in jeans

{PART 17} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; As Taehyung finally reveals his creation to you - you find yourself sharing soft, tender and heartfelt moments with both him and Jimin; before being reunited with Jungkook - The Prince and Princess of the Ball.

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} // {Part 16} {Part 17} {Part 18}

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nathaneilwesniski  asked:

Maggie! my #1 question of all time: how do you write things in a way that's so colorful and living and *real*? in the raven boys where blue notices a pair of boxers still folded into some jeans, I was so blown away. I know it's a tiny detail, but it was so significant to me. those tiny little details are what set TRC apart from any series i've ever read- it's the scene I remind myself of when I write, and it's something I can't figure out how to master. tips? comments? concerns? gimme ur secrets

Dear tvvinyard,

Why thank you.

As a reader, my favorite kinds of books are those that strike me as cunning and curious mirrors of the real world. I like nothing better than reading a line in a novel and thinking — yes! that is just exactly how that feels/ looks/ tastes! It’s like a currency. The more the author throws tiny truths like that out upon the page, the more willing I am to invest myself in everything else.

Because it’s something I like to do as a reader, it’s also something I try to do as a writer. There’s that old wisdom that you should write the books you would like to read, after all. 

It’s hard, though, because it requires both good observation of the world and a willingness to consider how the reader is feeling at all moments. Take the boxers in the jeans moment, for instance. I knew what I was trying to paint: that feeling of being an outsider among friends who know each other well, and also that feeling of being a teen girl among a stereotypical pack of boys. To do that, I had to think back on what kind of moments would make someone feel that way, then I had to scour through my observation of life to see if I could find a real-life example, and then I had to try to double check my instincts to make sure that whatever moment or behavior I’d observed was universal enough to have a good effect on the reader. 

Boxers tucked into jeans does a lot of lifting, I think. It’s the classic oh-god-underwear-has-touched-your-privates situation, for starters, and the tucked inside the jeans indicates a sort of familiarity among the inhabitants of the room: whoever removed those jeans had no problem stripping and leaving the stuff right there. 

tl;dr underwear does a lot of work.

urs,

Stiefvater

Rest Stop Part 4

When Lance woke up, his arm wasn’t a bloody mess anymore and he could hear something other than his heartbeat trying to dash out of his body. Exhaling, he scanned the room and realized the quite chatter he heard was from upstairs. It was probably the refugees. He blinked.

The refugees. Wait.

Sleep chamber knees or not, Lance scrambled out of the pod, his armor ruining the impact of the floor when he tripped. Lance kind of needed something to smack some sense in him as he frantically ran for the door.

Keith? Is Keith okay? Is Pidge? Where’s the team? I don’t see anyone in a pod, so that either means everything’s okay or someone’s dead-

Where’s my helmet?

Really, Lance? Now? Of all times?

The itch for to find it doesn’t make much sense until Lance remembers there are communication systems in his helmet. I’m a genius!

After three seconds of looking around the room like an idiot, Lance spots it on top of his folded jacket and jeans. His shoes sat next to them. Someone must have thought to leave them there for him, which was nice, but he wasn’t going to take off his armor until he knew no one was dead or in danger. Picking it up, he pushes it on his head and sighs as it turns on at his DNA signature. “Hello, anyone there?”

“Lance!” Allura’s pleased voice overwhelms him for a second, but he focuses on what she says. “I’m glad you’re awake. All the prisoners are located in the ballroom, and there were only a handful of injuries. Your fellow paladins are safe and doing recon at the moment. You can change into your regular clothes and join them in you wish, but Coran and I wouldn’t mind you hanging back.”

He smiles. Good, everyone was accounted for. “Nah, I’ll go.” He says, shucking off the armor on his calves. He pulls it off while Allura chatters on. “Okay, I’ll send them a message to let them know you woke up and will be joining them shortly. They’re on the coast of this island, which is relatively small, so you’ll be fine walking out the castle door and straight. Rest up when you’re done. We can’t have a paladin tired from battle injuries. Don’t think you can get away with it either. Hunk has a drone with him that monitors the rescue and I will see if you try anything reckless.”

“Okay, Allura.” He laughs, removing his chest plate. She huffs, and says goodbye, the switches off the coms. Lance pulls off his helmet and peels away his flight suit. His back is wide, exposed, and easy to see.

He knows. He knows. He should hurry.


Keith toes a thick chip of metal, flipping it over in a pile of rubble. They’ve just cleared out another jetty, reeling in prisoners with Pidge’s bayard on the floating escape pods, and pointing out the direction they should walk for help. A furry pile of three distinct round mounds hops past quickly, fluffy pastel fur tickling the other colors. It chirps in thanks before speeding up. Cold, dry hands pat Keith on the arm in gratitude as a leathery mix of tree and human walks past, thin legs extending to move the whole body like it’s floating above it.

He huffs. He wants Lance.

Yeah, he could admit it. Lance, was a solid person to have beside him. He always had Keith’s back, he was loyal and funny, and he had just taken a bullet for him. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wouldn’t stop looking back, searching for a rustle in the bushes and a bright smile, his heart lighter but impatient without Lance.

Keith sighed and crossed his arms, smiling tiredly.

Yeah, he really couldn’t wait to have his sharpshooter by his side again.

After all, a good team takes two.


Lance tugs on the waistband of his jeans and slips on his shoes.

His armor is a heap on the floor in front of the pod - he’ll have to come pick it up later. Anxiety twirls around by his feet and dances up towards his back. His exposed back. There’s a problem. He needs to cover his tan skin immediately. But he hadn’t been left a shirt. He’d have to wear just his jacket and not take it off.

They did “salvage” in casual clothes for a reason. The armor, as protective as it was, added weight. It might have been light and flexible, but it still got in the way of some maneuvers, and if someone fell in water, it would weigh them down. Even if the helmet had life support, it only lasted so long. There were too many “what if’s” when it came to the armor and water. Their best chance at surviving was getting to the surface as fast as possible. Unnecessary weight would slow them down.

Funny how Lance was only physically light. He sunk like a rock everywhere else.

It was ironic how many people would want him to drown when he was the only one who could swim.

Stuffing his arms inside, Lance shrugged on his jacket, and zipped it up. He passed through the halls like a ghost, the survivors busy chattering around him. Demon held inside his jacket, he walked out into the semi tropical rainforest.


It was the worst possible situation.

Lance had just brushed past a leafy bush to have the sea roar in his ears and salt hit his lips. The team was hovering over the rocky coast that disappeared into the blue ocean, craving to save the pod tittering on a small cliff of rock, but unable to risk crossing the water. The pod was absolutely trashed , the spike of obsidian piercing the buoyancy - if it fell, it’d sink to the bottom. Flying out would get them both killed - the pod could fall and take one of the team down, trapping them in the waves, and both the prisoners and them would drown. But what made it horribly, horribly worse was who was in the pod.

“Dad! Matt!”

Two recongzinable faces peered out the door way, the door probably having been ripped off in the crash. Matt was gripping the edge, bracing himself and using his leg to hold back a weary Samuel Holt. He was definitely injured, unconcious, the small trail of dark blood dripping off into the ocean. The sea rocked and churned underneath them, an uncomplete death sentence, and the pod creaked ominously, ready to give in and crash at any second. Dread sat heavy on Lance’s tongue.

“Katie…”

Shiro was grasping Pidge by a hand, his face terrified but trying to gain control. Pidge wasn’t struggling against Shiro- she was struggling against herself, desperation written in her features, but the menacing roll of the ocean warded her away. All she wanted was to save them, Lance could tell, but her body was screaming to flee the water, to fly, to escape being dragged from the sky, dragged to a heavy, wet death. Hunk and Keith looked like a watered down version - scared, cautious motions back and forth, unsure and scared.

Lance’s hand was already playing with his zipper.

Everything about Matt screamed tense and near frantic. Tensed like a cat, his body locked against the open air, sagging like an acrobat on ropes, Matt clearly was trying to find a way out of this without killing himself, his dad, or his sister. But he hadn’t found a possibility. If he moved, the pod would tilt with his weight, or his dad would fall into the water. No one could fly out to them - he’d have to get off himself. But he couldn’t move, the floor of the pod wrecked with a spike behind him and Samuel supported by his leg.

Lance could be that possibility.

Like a sick bird that had finally had enough, the pod plummeted in the water with the screech of torn metal.

Pidge’s heartbroken scream matched it.

Lance was tearing out of his shoes and jacket, tossing it in the sand, head leaps and bounds ahead of him. Sand kicked up from his sprint sprayed the droid and the team as he raced past. Lance could feel their incredulous stares go from the flooded hunk of metal to his bare back, but it didn’t freeze the determination in his veins. He dove in the water with a splash.

Calm was the first word in his mind when the swirling blue washed over his head. It was calm here, the gentle roll of the current miles below him. He was light, weightless. The second word was control. In water, Lance was in command, a quiet authority. He pushed and pulled himself along, arms scooping out his way. Quick, strong kicks brought him to the submerged metal ship, and he pressed two hands to the metal, looking for the window. This ocean wasn’t his, wasn’t theirs’s. They needed to get out soon.

Gliding in through the empty window frame, Lance slinked up to search over the jagged metal and broken, dead wires. Matt’s transfixed face meet his. His eyebrows furrowed, and for someone who should be drowning, he was doing remarkably well at staying calm.

Matt stared at him as if he was a mirage almost, but Lance could tell Matt was the kind who didn’t care as long as they didn’t die. Tapping the roof of cramped pod, Lance waited for Matt to nod before reaching over and working Samuel over the barrier with him, pulling the older man into his arms. A cut craved out a thin line across his calf, a blood came from a smaller one of his head. He was clearly passed out and needed to be brought to the surface ASAP. Lance smiled and held up one finger, then two. Realizing Lance would come back for him, Matt nodded sagely and floated back.

Propelling off the wall, Lance left water dragging behind him. The weight in his arms was incredible - the man wasn’t much shorter than him but had to weigh almost twice as much with his wings.

Thick and waterlogged, they curved and looked fluffy like Pidge’s. Lowered with age, his wings dragged behind him like a pair of broken airplane wings. Streaked with brown and gray darker than Pidge’s, they’d ironically cause the man they made light to drown like an anchor if Lance let go.

He doesn’t dare tempt this new ocean.

Breaking past the surface with a gasp, Lance clutches Samuel to his chest and awkwardly swims to shore with one arm. Scrambling up the loose, wet clumps of sand, he ignores the stricken staring of them team and flips Samuel on his back.

He starts pumping Samuel’s chest.

Come on, come on.

He’s on a time limit, damnit!

He pushes harder, and Samuel suddenly jerks against him, coughing water out of his lungs. Lance takes the second to arrange him on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, then dashes back into the ocean. His kicks are a last-ditch effort that pay off, literally almost ramming himself into the pod. He yanks himself through the window and nearly slices his hand open on the broken metal wall. He might not be able to fly, but he can swim and save someone drowning. He can. He can, no matter how worthless he is. It is called a trash can - not a trash cannot. (He thinks that’s a line from some anime, but he doesn’t have time to really ask himself if he made a refrence while saving someone drowning. He probably did).

Matt’s lips are turning blue when Lance arrives. His jaw is set and cheeks ballooned out, precious oxygen held inside. Quickly, he reaches out to Lance, who helps him over the wreckage. Wrapping his arms around Lance’s neck, he tucks himself against his body. Lance latches an arm around him, careful to hook it under his wings. They are near replicas of Pidge’s, though clearly entering the final stages. Less childish, more rectangular in design, with darker hints of brown. The tops poke Lance gently in the face, but the bottoms are pressed to Matt’s knees.

Using the smooth sheet of metal as a boost, Lance rushed up to the surface, leaving the pod to sink even faster than before. The distance was greater, the weight heavy, and the time less, but he’d have wings before he let go of Matt.

Bobbing to the surface, he gulps in air. Matt is sucking in giant breathes against his neck, giggling and trembling with relief. He even happy kick-spams to shore with Lance.

But relief is far, far, away from Lance.

The weight of a wingless world crashes on his back, so, so much heavier than Matt or Samuel.

His shoes are too far away.

Shit.

He doesn’t wait for the team to ask questions, doesn’t give the anxiety and self hate a chance to strike, snatching up his jacket. There’s a quick “Hey-” before water is filling his ears again, and he’s swimming out, swimming away. Desperation and adrenaline sing in his veins, overruling this sea’s temper. This isn’t his ocean. The pushes and pulls are closer to shoves and yanks, semi-aggressively telling him to leave, but Lance makes his way through anyhow. Currents a similar shade of blue to the ones from Earth twirl around him, tiny air bubbles decorating them like stars. It’s frigid, a cold, agitated embrace that makes Lance burn in a satisfying way. He wasn’t like the others, he couldn’t be. No one wanted a wingless. Nothing was ever permanent, not even love.

Lance comes up for air, swallowing a lungful before smoothing back down into the deep. The few seconds he’s up, he hears the team,incomprehensible , but they’ve figured out he’s leaving. Fear pounding at the brittle door calm forces up in his head, Lance dives deeper, the water turning darker without the sunlight. He can still see, but the water is a murky, dusty blue, not the clear, aqua where the light reflects easily. His speed is probably breaking any records he’s had before. Nothing like the people you came to love hating you to make you have a lighting fast exit.

Rocketing through the water, Lance left giant disturbances in his wake. Air bubbles burst out of existence behind him. He had already shifted when he came up for air - his hands curved out his path with the webbing, and the water pressure boxed gently on his ears. His knees weren’t knees anymore, just two long, flat masses of flesh and bone that shot him through the water. The second pair of eyelids he had blinked out any grime in the water, the rhythm different and more pronounced than his first pair. His tongue pressed against the sharp eyeteeth in his mouth, the threat of nicking his tongue grounding him.

He doesn’t know how long he swims, limbs throbbing with fluid energy. He goes until rocks start to spike up, some gentle curves and other sudden daggers slicing through the water. Miles below, he can spot the muddled, bright light purple and galaxy red glow of underwater volcanoes in the darkness. Lance hasn’t seen anything alive yet, but he knew better than to test it by exploring near lava.

Gliding up against the smooth rock, Lance spots the openings to caves, pretty corals fanning out from them and shells dotted here and there. Clutching his jacket tighter, he twists through one. It’s small, and hallow, the water pooling much lower than the majority of the rock. The roaring of the waves crashing washes over the cave, but the cave shelters him. Coal black rock juts out here and there, blocky, but gorgeous in the way only sea caves were. Soft colored crystals lit up small patches of shadow, a handful clustered around an alcove.

Carefully, he clambers up the dry rock to the opening and settles back into it, his knees pulled to his chest, cheek resting against the even rock. The anxiety coils up inside his neck.

Now they despise you.

I mean, why wouldn’t they?

Even you despise you.

Useless, ugly, waste of space. Wingless.

Just drown in that goddamn ugly water you call home.

It suits you.

Nothing but extra weight.

God, why do you exist?

Chilly air pricks at Lance’s bare feet. He tucks himself tighter, wriggling his toes. His jacket is drenched, but he drapes it around the exposed parts of his back. He clings to the rock, hoping the warmth will come back. He’s not freezing, but numb, like rain soaked pavement.

Leave already!

He could stop here, lulled by the tune of a sea that wasn’t his, void emotions filling up his silhouette, abandoned by himself, half asleep in a crevice with a mundane storm brewing over head.

Yes, this would make a good rest stop.

To the high school graduates ...

Here is something I wrote a few years ago that is still quite applicable, especially re:Hot Pocket™ safety.

Hello, high school graduates! All of you are likely close to collapsing under the weight of well meaning old-people’s advice, which for the past few months has piled up like so much smug, well-meaning snow. Allow me to add my own dusting.

1. Leave high school behind you, now. Whether you were the most devastatingly cool guy in all of McNary High School or the most excruciatingly awkward girl at Sprague, once you leave high school, no one will know. Or, more importantly, care. Most really cool people who do interesting, creative things with their lives didn’t have super happy high school careers. Many really cool people had great high school experiences. But any reasonably cool person over the age of 19 knows that what you earned, or endured, in high school has zero bearing on who you are the day you graduate. I know. It seems SO IMPORTANT now. But … it’s not. Not even a little.

2. Manners count, and they’re free. You can get away with murder if you do it politely, because whoever expects a polite murderer? Manners make other people feel comfortable and happy and respected, and when people feel comfortable, happy and respected they are 8,000 percent more likely to let you get your way.

Say please, thank you, excuse me, it was so nice to meet you, hope I see you again soon. Whatever you do, send thank-you notes so people are inclined to keep doing nice things for you.

3. Chew with your mouth closed. In fact, sometime when you’re alone, go sit in front of a mirror and watch yourself eat, then make any necessary adjustments now before it becomes a permanent habit.

4. If people expect you to go to college, but you’re not super-excited about it, skip a year and work before you head off. It’s not the end of the world, and it doesn’t make you a failure. That time is too expensive and too precious to use on something you’re half-assed about. Also, I speak from experience — folding jeans at a store in the mall for minimum wage for a few months made me feel very differently about how tedious and mindless sitting through a lecture class feels.

5. Unkindness, from here on out, becomes less and less attractive. Cruelty is one of the four main currencies of high school, along with attractiveness, athletic ability and actual currency provided by your parents (I see you, West Salem kids!). In high school, a profoundly mediocre person can rule — or at least maintain a position at the periphery of the popular kids’ group — through fear.

But once you get into college, you begin to leave that b.s. behind you. You don’t have to be mean to be funny. You don’t have to be mean to disagree with someone. You don’t have to be mean to someone powerless to prove your power. All meanness showcases is that you have ugly internal architecture. And as the facades that were so important in high school fade, that is what others will see when they look at you.

6. Know which classes you have to go to, and which ones can be skipped in lieu of more important things. Yes, if you want to go to Harvard Law or John Hopkins Med, you need to ace all your impossibly difficult classes. But if you want to do something post-college that doesn’t involve grad school — if you want to work in non-profits, if you want to write for a paper, if you want to do public relations, if you want to run a business — then instead, look for ways that you can get those experiences in college.

Join extracurriculars that mimic the experiences you someday want to get paid for. If you hate doing it for free, then chances are you’ll resent it even when you get paid for it. Also, this way, when you graduate college, you can prove to employers that you did something, not just wrote compelling papers on the metaphysical nature of being.

7. If you’re a person for whom the hooking up thing doesn’t work, then don’t do it. College is a time of lots and lots of casual sex. This, I think, plays pretty well into what many — not all, but many — 18-year-old guys want, and terribly into what most — not all, but most — 18-year-old girls want. Know what you want, and don’t feel bad if that’s not in line with what someone else wants. Also, know that after freshman year, people begin to date again rather than just drunkenly coupling and uncoupling.

8. Freshman year, you can and should be friends with everyone. Sophomore year will tell who is actually worth keeping.

9. After you microwave a Hot Pocket, be sure to gently tug open the end and let the steam out, and wait a couple minutes, because there is nothing more painful than a Hot Pocket steam-and-molten-cheese burn to the top of the mouth.

10. Don’t tell the internet too much about your love life, or deep innermost feelings, or secrets. It’s none of the Internet’s business, but the Internet has a big mouth and a long, long memory. Make good friends, and tell them in person when you hang out in each other’s dorm rooms and watch movies and eat Funfetti frosting straight out of the jar. Do this a lot. It doesn’t seem important, but it is.

High-Waisted, Short-Tempered - h.s.

My friend went to a disaster of a family reunion and my other friend went to a concert and wore uncomfortable shorts to look nice and for some reason those two things got stuck in my head during my flight and so therefore I wrote a blurb about it while I have time and I think this is probably how my writing will go on from now on instead of seven part series so yay here we go! 

—–

—–

You hadn’t talked for almost an hour, and though many would have figured you were asleep, Harry knew better than to think so. He’d been working with you for almost two years now and that meant spending every single day with you 365 days give or take a couple. And he could tell when you were really sleeping … because it was absolutely adorable.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked to come with you. He knew that even though you were in good standings with your grandparents, it was the cousins that always got you agitated. But he couldn’t help himself when you’d talked about the initiation to the family reunion and how your older cousin now married, Tiff, had told you to, “Bring a friend!”

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Day 2 - Purring

Something was rumbling in her ear. 

Marinette woke slowly, the soft rumble reeling her out of a pleasant dream and the unmistakable vibration of her pillow steadily grounding her in reality. But even when she blinked open her eyes it still took a moment to place the sound. At first she thought it was her phone. 

But then she remembered what had been happening before she fell asleep.

Root beer floats on the balcony. Video games until well past two in the morning. Giggling at a comic book on her bed until no, that was definitely the last thing she remembered. As if in response to this, she became aware of a glossy page plastered to her cheek. Sitting up, she peeled the comic book off and tossed it aside, afraid to look behind her at the other side of her bed. Because if he’d simply left, then what was that suspiciously purr-like sound? Man, they’d fallen asleep on accident again, hadn’t they?

In the darkness Marinette peeked over her shoulder at him, then immediately sqeaked in terror when she saw his bare arm and wrenched her pillow up to press it over her eyes. 

He isn’t transformed. Oh my god, he detransformed in his sleep! 

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2

Kissing Dean Winchester

Characters: Jensen x Reader (Stay with me, you’ll see)

Warnings: fluff, drinking

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This just popped into my head. I don’t know where it came from. I’ve written this trope a lot, but this time it has a little different twist on it. Hope you enjoy. :)

Feedback Appreciated

Tags at the bottom

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▪Folding stool (pliant) (one of a pair).
Maker: Jean-Baptiste-Claude Sené (1748–1803)
Decorator: Carved by Nicolas François Vallois (1738–1788)
Maker: Gilded by Louis-François Chatard (ca. 1749–1819)
Maker: Rosette-shaped bosses on bolt ends gilded by Chaudron
Date: 1786
Culture: French

Not Her, Please

Originally posted by thugshawn

Requested by anonymous: one where he’s getting married but not to u

Note: thanks for playing with my emotions with this request!!!! lmao, I liked writing this actually I had fun

-

It shattered you when he told you he couldn’t devote enough time to you, and that it wasn’t working.

You begged him, to not throw what you had away. He wiped any tears that slipped onto his cheeks away, trying to seem as if it was harder for you than him.

He was lying to himself.

You were messed up for weeks, for months. You weren’t the same; you would cry, a lot; you would be incredibly isolated; you would get so angry and lash out; you would get drunk and call him, leaving various messages that you would hate yourself for in the morning. And yet, you couldn’t bare to say his name. He threw two and a half years down the drain.

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Let My Baby Stay (M)

Originally posted by jonginssoo

Writer!Baekhyun x Reader (x CEO!Junmyeon)


I was made to love her. 

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The Montreal Pad

Summary: You join Sam as he visits his brothers and Haz in Montreal. Mid-trip, Tom and Haz move houses to make room for the guest…But this also means that you and Sam will be sharing a bed for the first time.

Warnings: Fluff & BOYS BEING DUMB

Words: 1,212

A/N: THOSE BOYS DON’T DESERVE THAT HOUSE BUT AT THE SAME TIME THEY DO. WHAT EVEN???? ALSO SHORT AND NOT THAT GOOD. BUT OKAY.


“IT’S MOVING DAY!” Tom exclaims as the crew piles up into a car after loading the luggage that they had been living out of for the last couple of months. You sat in between the twins, having a view of the journey across Montreal to the new housing arrangements the producers had set Tom and Harrison up with. Harry sat to you right and Sam, your boyfriend of three months, sat to your left. You laughed as Harrison turned on a song with a loud beat and a low bass drum kicking out of the car’s sound system, the boys dancing in their seats as they cruised down the back roads of Montreal, making an absolute foul of themselves. 

The group dialed down as the song finished, a slower song taking it’s place to ease the hectic action that was just taking place in the car. You sat there, facing the road in front of you and letting your eyes trace the trees that lined either side of the road. The outside looked dreary with the autumn chill that was resting in the air. As you examined the sky, you felt long fingers intertwine with yours from the left of you, Sam had taken your chilled hands in his warm ones. When you turned your head to look at him, his own eyes were trained on the grey sky and changing trees, his side profile almost like a picture against the dark sky. You smiled lightly, brushing your thumb over his hand and bring it up to kiss the side. Sam turned slightly to look at you, peering from the corner of his eye and giving you a small smirk before lifting your own hand to kiss. 

Not long after you had placed your head on Sam’s shoulder and had began to doze off, the car came to a stop and Tom let out a loud exclamation about being home. You reluctantly lifted your head to look at Sam, who only chuckled at your lazy demeanor and planted a kiss to your left temple before opening the car door and helping you out of the car. You shivered slightly at the chill in the air and hurriedly went to grab your luggage, but before you could even think about taking it inside, Sam had yours and his duffle bags over his shoulders, his backpack on his back, and the luggage cases in his hands. 

“Sam! Let me help you!” You chuckled out as his waddled towards the door, he only laughed at you as you chased him inside the home. You stopped in the open foyer, gazing at the chandelier that glistened with a warm light, the tile floor reflecting it. Sam kept trudging on, not completely phased by the home, towards a staircase that led upstairs. 

“Tom, what room is mine and what is (y/n)’s?” Tom looked up his phone, eyes widening humorously as he looked at his brother and the bags he carried. Tom’s eyes moved to look up the staircase, then back to his brother before looking back to his phone, “The both of you can take the room at the end of the hall to the right.” 

Sam paused his venture up the stairs, looking down at Tom over the banister, “You’re putting us in the same room?” 

Tom looked at the empty space in front of him blankly with an innocent look on his face, “Yeah, why not? You are boyfriend and girlfriend…Right?” Tom looked at him expectantly, holding his phone with both hands, with that same innocent look.

“Yeah, we are but I’m not sure (y/n) will be comfortable with that…” Sam said a he shifted the bags. The thought of being in the same bed with you for the next two weeks made a blush rise to Sam’s freckled cheeks, thinking of holding you in his arms all night long made his heart flutter with anticipation. Not that he wanted you in a sexual way, of course he did, but even just to actually sleep while holding you in his arms could please him. 

“I’m sure she won’t mind, and if she does, you can always go sleep with Harry,” Tom shrugged. Sam nodded slowly before making his way up the rest of the staircase and walking to the room at the end of the hallway. He opened the door to see taupe walls with a bed that had light cream bedding, the room giving off a calming aura. Sam let out a small sigh as he placed the bags at the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge.

You, on the other hand, knew nothing of the sleep arrangements until you had finished walking through the whole house and giving yourself a tour. Finally you had made it to the upstairs, looking in each room until you found the one that Sam had been in. Now, he was hanging up the both of your clothes in the closet neatly and he didn’t hear you walk into the room. You smiled at his back as he stood in front of both of the suitcases, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his torso. He paused his work and turned slightly after placing his hands on yours, “Hello, darling.”

“Hello, love,” You said lowly as you moved to help him get to work, “So does this mean I’m sleeping with you?” You joked openly as you moved to place your folded jeans in the dresser drawers, he chuckled lightly as he moved to hang up a couple of his button ups. “Yes…Tom put us in here together. If you don’t want to be in the same room, I can-”

You turned and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows and confused eyes, “What made you think I didn’t want to share a room with you?” 

Sam shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, stuttering as he thought of a reason, “I-I don’t know. We’ve only been dating for a little over three months. I just didn’t know if you were comfortable with that, love.” He said as he moved his duffle bag and suitcase into the closet, taking your own from you and doing the same. You looked exasperated at him, and he almost confused it for anger.

“I don’t care, babe. Whatever you want is fine with me.” You say as you move towards him and wrap your arms around his torso, looking up at him as you hand his arms that wrapped around your waist. He slightly crouched down and picked you up from the ground lightly, the tips of toes barely touching the ground. Your eyes closed as he put his forehead on yours, his own eyes hooded as he looked at you through his eyelashes.

“Hey,” He said as he nudged your nose with his own causing you to look up at him. He was wearing a small, shy smirk with a blush beginning to creep up his cheeks, “I think I’m in love with you.”

You tensed slightly for a moments before leaning into him and moving to press your lips to his. He smiled into the kiss as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other moving a hand to your cheek. 

“I love you too, Sam.”

“Good.”

No Bliss in Ignorance [Chapter 1]

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (LOOK AT THIS MOODBOARD)

Pairing: Jongdae x Reader x Junmyeon

Genre: College AU, Love Triangle

Rating: R (cursing, drinking, future smut?)

Word Count: 2,062


“Deep breaths, deep breaths. You got this,” Jongdae whispers.

His voice is soft, tickling the shell of your ear. His scent is clean and light like a warm spring day- a starch contrast to the smell of cheap beer and faded sounds of bumping music in the next room over. He’s planted himself directly behind you. Hands rubbing your shoulders to prepare you. His hips are square and pressed to yours. “It’s all in the wrist”.

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Something New Is Going to Happen

Summary: Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.

Notes: Written for the @sterekreversebang! Inspired by adorable art by @mysticmystery! (Fic on AO3) (Link to art)


Stiles sighs as he glances around the empty locker room. It’s completely trashed. And it’s his job to clean it up, because Coach dubbed him “worst player of the game.” Usually Greenberg held that dubious honor, but he’d tripped Stiles three times tonight just to avoid it.

Everyone else has already left, most of them wearing their Lacrosse jerseys so they can get a free slice of pizza at Vic’s. Scott had apologetically offered to bring him one, but Stiles had waved him off. He just wants to get this done and go home.

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Ask Again

Originally posted by hiddened

Request: Uh, open requests! Maybe a DeanxReader, where Bobby, the readers father died because of Dean , and the reader just can’t forgive dean and she doesn’t trust him anymore, but it ends with Dean winning her back? Just some Fluff and angst, maybe?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Gah, I remember when I didn’t do any angst. How times have changed…


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Day out

Okay so first of all I’d like to appreciate those who take a minute to appreciate me. Like this really means a lot. Though I still need to learn, learn to polish myself you guys praise me. It really feels nice to know that you guys do read and like my self to some extinct. Thank you so much for supporting me peaches. Love you all xx Ria.

Here I present you some family fluff. Hope you guys like it :). Feedbacks are appreciated

Word Count :: 1067


“Daddy!!! Mommy wake up!!!!” You heard your eldest five year old yelling with excitement laying between you guys. You grunt and rolled over pulling your little baby girl to your chest. 

“Sleep Rose bud.” you mumbled massaging her scalp trying to get her to sleep as well. But being the hype girl she was, refused to settle down and sat on Harry, who was fast asleep yet. 

Harry’s been busy the past days, promoting Dunkirk all over the Europe and America. He hasn’t been able to give time to his children. Rose who was 5, Noah 3 and little baby Snow who was 5 months old. He’s tired no doubt and needed sleep but he loved his kids way too much so he promised them to take them to the beach the coming sunday. Poor man didn’t know that the time would fly so quickly.

“dada !!!!” Rose whined pulling on her father’s tee shirt in order to wake him up.

“bubba sleep” Harry said the same as you and pulled her to his chest but this time she didn’t struggle. She quietly laid on his chest. Harry smiled to self still eyes closed as she pulled covers over her body, cuddling her to him. Now you were fully awake. The sight of Harry asleep with now sleeping Rose, wrapped in blanket on him was heartwarming. Seeing Harry with kids has always been a weakness of yours and when you had your own, it turned to your strength.

Getting out of the bed, you leaned down and pecked the forehead of your husband and daughter and made your way to Noah’s room. Opening the door, you found your boy sitting on the floor, with toys sprawled on the floor.

“watcha doin’ baby?” you asked crouching down.

“packin mumma. To go to the bweach.” he said busy in packing the stuff. You giggled and picked the little boy up. You set him on your hips and kissed his nose.

“Do it afterwards. Help mommy to make sandwiches first” you said. Noah loved helping you. He loved to help his mommy being momma’s boy he’s.

“okwayyyy” he said squishing your face and placed sloppy kisses on your lips. You giggled and carried him downstairs to the kitchen and sat him on his baby chair.

You were cutting the vegetables, when you heard loud screeches and giggles erupting in the house. Immediately knowing of who they were you chuckled to self and poured Noah a cup of milk.

“save me mommy!!!! The tickle monster is here″ Rose laughed running to you as she clutched to your leg. You picked her up giggling. She wrapped her arms around your neck tightly, shirking away from her Harry trying to hide herself in you as he approached you with wiggly fingers.

“where’s my baby boy???” Harry asked to god knows who as he pretended to not see Noah sitting on his baby chair. Noah laughed loudly bouncing in his chair trying to get his fathers attention.

“Herre daddy here!!!!” His baby giggle filling the house along with Rose and Harry’s as Harry picked him up.

“hi baby!!” Harry said showing his dimples which Noah happily poked. Noah always had a thing for cheeks, he loved squishing, kissing, poking the cheeks of you both. Even sometimes you’d find him poking Rose’s cheeks who’s fast asleep in her bed.

“Mornin t’yeh too beautiful.” Harry said leaning over to kiss you. Mornings without kissed were never completed. 

“ready for today?” you said setting Rose down as Harry did the same with Noah. Giving him a gentle smile, you rubbed his side. Tiredness written all over his face. His eyes had bags under them, his shoulders lumped. Baby did needed to rest.

“it’s okay boo. We can go next week. You need to rest.” You said. ed about him

“no baby. I promised poppets. can’t break it” he replied with a smile. One of the traits you loved about him. He never stepped back from his words. He’d always stay committed to his words and this time this was outta love. This was for his babies and he wouldn’t break the promise at any cost.


“Don’ go far baby.” Harry said from behind with a sleeping Snow in chest carrier.You had Rose and Noah holding each of your hand as you three walked along the shoreline. Everything was perfect. The moment was perfect. The deep sound of the ocean mixed with the cool breeze hitting you face was perfect. The two munchkins jumping in the water along with the one sleeping was perfect. The man who has his shades on, glistening under the bright sun wearing a white plain tee with his jeans folded was perfect.

Coming to a halt, you allowed the too monkeys to built a sand castle while you walked with Harry along the shoreline, keeping an eye on the kids. You held his hand and kissed the smooth flesh of it.

“this is so perfect isn’t it?” you asked him. You started at the ocean and turned your face to look at him as you expected an answer in turn. But, Harry was already staring at you. His eyes adorned your face with so much love. With love that was meant for you and only you.

”thank yeh. It’s yeh who made it perfect baby. Thank yeh so much” Harry said as his eyes started to tear up.

“hey hey. what’s wrong?” you asked him collecting the tears under his eyes with your thumb. 

“It’s jus’ I’m a very lucky man. I’ve yeh my love, This litle baby and those two monkeys.” Harry chuckled through tears as he looked at the two siblings covered in sand. You smiled softly cupping his right cheek as your rubbed the apple of it with your thumb.

“i love you” you said ever so softly that only he could hear.

“i love yeh too.” Harry said. Within few seconds, his lips were on yours. Your lips fitted in so perfectly, so lovingly. Each of your kiss expressed your conditional love for him. You were so into it hen tiny fingers pulled on Harry’s cheeks. Looking down he saw that Snow was awake. Her big green staring at his face giving him a toothless when she realized who that man was.

“hey beauty” Harry said cooing the little girl. Happiness couldn’t fill you more.

“God i love yeh all so much” 

Sterek A-Z: one word prompts

Week 9: I - Illegal

Traipsing through the woods in Central Park at night during the full moon probably wasn’t the most brilliant idea Stiles has ever had. Not that he felt unsafe. Wandering off the path into the woods with a grumpy, former alpha werewolf added certain level of security. Most of the supernatural in New York avoided Central Park. Too many people. The danger in the park was human.

At least until a t-shirt smacked Stiles in the face. He pulled the light grey Henley off his head and glared at the werewolf stripping in front of him. He’d gotten over his embarrassment of seeing Derek naked long ago.

“This is so many levels of illegal,” Stiles said when Derek kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans. Yes, shimmied. Derek Hale knew how to work his hips, which never failed to get Stiles a little hot.

Derek glared at Stiles, and balled up his jeans to throw at him. They knocked the wind out of Stiles when they collided with his gut.

“Okay, well. Public indecency for one,” Stiles said. He gestured to Derek, then fumbled to catch the boxer briefs aimed at his head. “Not that I mind, but hey, you know.”

Derek cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, apparently set on ignoring Stiles rambling, and he shifted into his wolf form. If Stiles had blinked, he would have missed it. One second Derek was there, and the next, there was a large black wolf with glowing blue eyes staring at him. Even as a wolf, Derek still managed to look annoyed.

Twigs snapped underfoot. Stiles hurried to gather Derek’s shoes. “Also, a dog off leash, big no-no,” he said. He folded Derek’s shirt and jeans and set them on top of Derek’s sneakers under a tree.

Derek growled.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles said and threw his hands up in the air. “Wolf. Like owning a freaking wolf is any less illegal.”

Derek huffed and tossed his head.

“Yeah, whatever, big guy.” Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s fur when the wolf brushed against his side. Stiles recognized what he was doing; scenting. Derek loved when Stiles reeked of him.

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