for a time he felt free

When We Collide (Phone Call)
Calum Hood
When We Collide (Phone Call)

Until The End of Time | Calum Imagine

A/N: Inspired by Amnesia, Calum’s cover of When We Collide and Niall’s new song Too Much To Ask!  Don’t play the audio until the prompt!!! 

Warning: Some swearing

Word Count: 1470


With a new album in the works, Calum was spending less and less time with you, going to the studio before you were awake and coming home in the wee hours of the morning. He’d blow off plans with you and was constantly busy when you tried to reschedule. You felt like you weren’t important to him anymore. 

It was one of the rare days that Calum was free and he decided to spend it playing Fifa in the living room. You walked over to the couch and sat down beside him. “Calum…?” you muttered. “Hm?” Calum responded, not taking his eyes off the TV. “Do you still love me?” you questioned, studying the side of his face. “Of course I do,” Calum mumbled, his brows furrowing, “Why do you ask?” His focus was still on his game. “You never spend time with me anymore… You’re always cancelling on me for a day at the studio or with the guys! I’m starting to think you don’t care about me anymore!” you explained. “Are you shitting me? I’m in the middle of making and recording an album, Y/N! Do you realize how much work goes into an album?” Calum retorted, pausing his game. “I just want to spend some time with you, Calum! You leave early in the morning and come home late at night. I never get to see you anymore!” A look of anger washed over his face as he turned towards you. “I have a job, Y/N! I can’t spend 24/7 with you!” he spat. Tears were streaming down your face. Calum rarely ever raised his voice at you. “ Why can’t you understand that? You’re so fucking needy! Have fun finding another guy that can put up with your whining cause we’re over!” he shouted, getting up from the couch and throwing the controller in your lap. “Calum, wait!” you begged as he stormed out of the house, slamming the front door. You could hear his car start and pull out of the driveway as you curled up on your couch, crying uncontrollably. 

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Nothing More [ II ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst

Length: 11.1k

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Summary: Watching the man you love love someone else was the most painful feeling in the world.

Nothing More Masterlist

Originally posted by sefuns

A broken heart was a nuisance, an annoying leech that sucked the life out of you every moment you paused to think about the pain it was spreading through your limbs. Every second you spent with your mind not occupied you wanted to scream and cry. It felt like your emotions were burning embers and anytime you paused to give it oxygen the fire would grow and consume you til you were nothing but ashes.

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Reunion

“You grew up.”

He laughs, rough and edging just slightly on bitter.

“Yeah, that happens when you disappear for two years.”

Derek’s eyes flit downward, and Stiles waits for him to comment on the FBI vest strapped to his chest but he doesn’t. His eyes only go so far as Stiles’ mouth, flicking back to his eyes and then down again, lingering, before sliding away. A warmth blooms out from Stiles’ chest, crawling up his neck and coiling downward, and this definitely isn’t the time for this but they haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, not even pictures because why the hell would Stiles have a picture of Derek (and he’s spent too long cursing not having pictures of Derek) and he finds his own eyes lingering.

“…You look exactly the same.” And that’s not true because Derek actually looks better, but there’s no real way to explain that Stiles hadn’t been able to hold all of the goddamn perfection of Derek’s face in his memory. He’d thought he had, but his eyes keep flitting around now and holding, catching on little details, little rushes of rediscovery in those eyes, that jaw, his teeth, his mouth, his…

Stiles wets his lips, and Derek’s looking again.

“We should––”

“I should have called,” Derek says at the same time, and Stiles blinks, breaking off, confusion pinching his brows because Derek hadn’t known Stiles was coming. He’d had no reason to call. Except… “After… Peter told me what happened, and I…”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but it wasn’t any less fine than anything else from that shit show. It wasn’t any worse than Derek leaving town and getting rid of his phone to begin with.

“I felt sick the whole time you were gone,” Derek presses on, quick and urgent, like the words had been fighting for months to bubble loose and are finally breaking free. “I felt… Cora said it seemed like I’d just… emptied out. On the full moon, I could barely––”

Stop it.” It stung, because he’d thought Derek would care. For the longest time he’d felt like Derek should care, and deciding he didn’t was the first stepping stone to pulling himself together after… after the Benefactor.

Or… fuck, maybe Derek had cared, but he hadn’t cared enough to stay, to keep in contact, to check in when Stiles had needed… needed someone.

No, fuck. Needed him.

“This isn’t the time,” he says, firmly, because a fucking FBI SWAT team is nearby somewhere and there’s still a target painted on Derek’s back, and the fact that Stiles wants to crawl onto his lap and beat the crap out of him at the same time doesn’t matter, because Stiles is here to save his life. Again.

Derek parts his lips, looks like he wants to argue… and ends up just nodding, looking away up the street.

Stiles makes it a whole three steps toward the next corner before swinging back on him, balled fist smacking his bicep.

“Why didn’t you call?”

Derek doesn’t flinch at the blow. Sighs softly. When he meets Stiles’ eyes, the look in them’s enough to send months of coiled anger scattering.

“I would have gone back.”

“…What?” Stiles feels breathless on the word. Derek looks away, hands lost in the depths of his pockets and stance set in the defeated posture of a man with no way to win.

“If I’d heard your voice. If you’d asked. If you’d even sounded anything less than happy––” He grits his teeth, sharp and sudden, head ducking against some ugly thought. “…And I didn’t want to hear you happy, either.” That falls out lower, tight and rough like a secret shame.

“You didn’t want to hear me happy,” Stiles echoes, numb, and then slowly: “Without you.”

And he only understands Derek’s meaning because it’s been echoing in his own chest for over a year–– that stupid, selfish war of wanting to know he’s happy, and not wanting to know he’s happy, not wanting to hear him making a life and finding bliss in a way Stiles couldn’t give him. He’d always wanted to know Derek was doing well, so much that he’d lain up at night sometimes picturing new, bright, sometimes ridiculously corny futures for him… but the thought had always been as agonizing as it was hopeful and Stiles had never slept well afterward. And then he’d spent other nights up hating himself for being selfish enough to half-hope Derek might not be happy.

Might fail out there in the world, and come home.

Derek’s eyes are on his again, wide and shock-soft in a way Stiles had only glimpsed on him once before: the rush of thinking you’re alone in the world and realizing for one beautiful instant that you’re understood

He can feel a matching expression lighting up his own eyes.

“We’re idiots,” he breathes, and Derek shakes his head, barely seeming to feel the movement.

“I couldn’t go back there.”

“But you could have known I fucking missed you as much as––” He breaks off, despite everything suddenly unsure. “…you missed me?”

“I missed you.” Derek promises, not missing a beat.

“You missed me,” Stiles echoes, and it’s everything he never knew he needed to hear. They watch each other for too long, stunned, awed stillness.

And then the slam of a car door in the distance pulls them back; reminds them where they are and what’s happening. Derek blinks away, looking out and alert toward the street, but Stiles can see a faint flush around his ears, a happy pull that won’t quite die on his lips.

“This isn’t the time,” Derek says, and Stiles nods. There are villains to stop. People to save.

“This isn’t the time,” he echoes, but he’s smiling as he turns to head up the street. “Later.”

It sounds like a promise worth keeping.

Mute

- Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n.

Masterlist linked in bio


It’s Monday, which means that Harry has to start his week with Physics class.

Harry doesn’t mind the subject itself, he actually has come to the conclusion that it’s the class he’s most interested in—it’s more so the three-hour lab that couldn’t seem to end soon enough. Physics lab means three hours of group research, which requires an abundance of group participation and discussion—all of which makes Harry want to crawl out of his own skin.

And despite Physics holding Harry’s highest grade in university, everyone in that class only hopes to not be paired with him.

Not one student has heard him utter a single word, which ultimately led them to believe that his lack of participation will jeopardize their already mediocre grades. But Harry always finds himself writing all the data information to make up for his lack of discussion, even if he hated it.

So inevitably, Harry lets out an inaudible sigh when he settles into his chair, hair a bit disheveled and eyes still watering from the early hour. And he mentally curses himself for sleeping in a couple extra minutes because now he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of caffeine to help him feel more prepared for the next three hours.

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Mixtapes (Richie/Eddie)

Summary: Both Richie and Eddie are very fond of each other and often tease each other affectionately, especially Richie to Eddie. So Bill and Stan both play cupid, which results in swapping mixtapes for eachother.

Warning(s): Bad language, 13 year olds kissing (don’t read if you think its fucking weird?? bc its not), if you think this is me sexualising these cuties-don’t bother

Richie’s Mixtape to Eddie

Eddie’s Mixtape to Richie

A/N: Look at my children in love, PLEASE I highly recc listening to either of the mixtapes that are linked above^^? They are both very 70/80′s. btw I do requests? If anyone wants to hit me up an x reader or a ship in IT 2017 (or IT in general) I’ll be glad to do so?? don’t be shy

“Awe, Eds. Look at you.” Richie cooed teasingly, pinching Eddie’s slowly flushing cheek.

Eddie quickly began swatting at Richie’s hand, his eyebrows furrowed heavily and a frown on his lips, “Don’t touch me with your rotten hands, asshole!”

Richie ignored his protests and flinched away from his swats, moving his hand to now over his shoulders and pulling the smaller boys frame into his own side, a grin on his lips.  “You’re such a cutie, Eds.”

“No, No I’m fucking-”

“Both of you, shut up.” Stanley grumbles after rolling his eyes several times at the two.

Richie snapped his eyes at Stan, glaring through his coke bottle glasses, which only enhanced his eye size even more. He held Eddie closer, even with Eddie’s flushed cheeks he still squirmed lightly.

Stan sighs in relief and folds his arms as the group goes back to its usual discussion about the new random comic book of the week. Eddie couldn’t help but allow his heart to beat faster at Richie’s touch against his form, making him feel protected in his stronger grip. He couldn’t help but zone out as Richie begun to bicker that his comic book that he found was better than Stan’s.

Bill tilted his head, analysing Eddie as his eyes would flicker all over the place with his mouth gaping before closing every now and then and gulping. He knew that how he was acting wasn’t the norm for Eddie whenever Richie was like this, something was different. Not to mention that he had stopped struggling against Richie who wasn’t even holding Eddie tightly or forcing him in place.

Bill smiled a bit, as something clicked inside of his head- a plan. But he was going to need Stanley to help out.


That night, on the way home from their adventurous summer day- Bill was walking Eddie home as Stanley had taken Richie to a different route. Bill hummed a tune as he walked alongside his friend, grinning as he turned to look at him.

“So…”

Eddie looked at Bill, tilting his head, “So?”

“So, y-..you and Richie?”

“Yeah?” Eddie was confused, almost disgust in his voice- but Bill could see past the faux disgust.

“I saw how you were t-today, Eddie. Y-you were blushing.”

This again, only caused Eddie to heat up as his form became a flustered mess and he glared at Bill. “You would blush too if someone touched your arm!”

“N-no, I’d only b-blush if Bev touched my arm there.” Bill pointed out, “but in this instance, you blushed when Richie had his arm around you- as well when he pinched your cheek and called you a ‘cutie’, it’s quite obvious.”

Eddie snapped his head away, patting his fanny pack for reassurance for himself. “Whats your point?”

“My point? M=my point is that he’s flirting with you; y-you like him.”

“I don’t like him! And he isn’t flirting with me! He acts like that with everyone-”

Bill cuts Eddie off quickly, “E-Eddie, do you see him pinching any of our cheeks and calling us a ‘cutie’? He doesn’t put his arms a-around us or any of the shit he does for you, not to mention he calls you E-Eds and doesn’t have a nickname for any of us.”

“Okay Bill-”

“N-n..not to mention, he carries an extra i-inhaler around just incase you lose yours.”

Thats when Eddie’s breath hitches, feeling butterflies go crazy in his abdomen, adoration swirling and tugging at his heart strings. He could practically hear his heart in his ears loud and clear.

“He… he does?” Eddie whispers, his voice quivering a bit.

“Yeah, even though he knows that you don’t even need it anymore, because you know, gazebos and your Mom making your illness up and shit but- yeah.” Bill smiles, watching how the young boy was falling more and more in love.

Eddie then quickly holds his wrist, feeling his pulse; resulting his fingertips quivering from feelings how his heart was beating with happiness.

“Oh… I-I never knew that. He’s never told me…”

“That’s b-because you’ve never needed it, but he always has.”

Eddie bites his lip, “What a fucking, what- he’s a fucking dick.” Eddie protests, blushing bright as ever.

“Sure he is,” Bill chuckled, “But l-look, I wanna help you. I know when someone is in love when I see it.”

“How?” Eddie asked, neither denying his feelings or admitting.

“Well.. It i-involves music.”


Meanwhile, Stanley was grumbling to himself in annoyance and cursing Bill’s name for getting him into this situation with Richie Tozier. He didn’t want to do this, but Bill had promised to give him some candy as a reward if it goes well.

“So, Richie. I’m gonna make this quick as possible so I can just go home.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Richie asked with pure confusion, a single eyebrow furrowing and one raising.

“You like Eddie, Eddie likes you.” Stan started, his face full of boredom, “Can you just hurry up and tell him?”

Richie was shocked by his friend’s words at first, before smirking. “Hell yeah I like him, I tell him all the time.”

“I mean genuinely, you asshole.” Stan sighed, “Not as a joke or some shit, literally confess your fucking feelings to him or something.”

Richie rolls his eyes, not being fazed by the situation, “What makes you think I like him seriously? I’m not fucking gay-”

“It’s pretty fucking clear you like girls, after you telling us for the full day about the first time you ‘tickled your pickle’ to a random magazine that had huge boobs all over it. But you like guys too, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Stan spoke with a monotone voice, managing to not let any voice cracks slip.

Richie scoffed, “I don’t like him, he’s a friend and I like to tease him.”

“You tease him by calling him ‘cute’ and you give him a nickname, you don’t do it to anyone else. You like him, just admit it- no one is judging you.” 

Richie frowned, huffing a bit and rolling his eyes. “Well, what if I did? Whats your point and where are you going with this?”

Stan smirked, patting Richie’s back forcefully, causing him to stumble forward.

“What’s your taste in music like?”


The next day, both Richie and Eddie were walking to school together in perfect unison, both of them holding a tape in their pocket that held a variety of songs that the one had imagined for the other.

Richie gulped, for once actually nervous around Eddie. What would Eddie think of him? It was a fucking mixtape, it was Richie’s music taste. Would he even like it? Would he-

“Richie, here. I want you to have this.” Eddie cut off Richie’s thoughts, holding up a tape alike to Richie’s.

Richie blinked twice, stopping in his steps. The tape was all black and what seemed to be painted on with nail polish ‘Sucks to Suck’ on top of the tape. 

“I-it’s a mixtape.” Eddie mumbled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt flustered.

Richie stayed silent, slowly taking the tape, analysing it with soft eyes before looking up with confusion. He turned over the  mix tape to see ‘to Richie’ painted with the same shade of white but in smaller writing.

“You made one too?” He spoke quietly, his head tilted to the side which caused his dark brown hair to tilt too.

“What?”

“Look…” Richie dug into his pocket and pulled out his own black tape which had a sticker on it, saying ‘Gimmie head til’ I’m dead!’ on it, with writing scribbled onto the back saying ‘to Eds’ with a cheeky smiley face, “I made one too, here.” He handed it over.

Eddie’s eyes widened, blushing a bit as he took it from the glasses wearing boy and read over it- mentally scoffing at the sticker but he was in awe of the idea that both of them had somehow made a mixtape for the other.

“You too?” Eddie whispered in shock.

“Well, yeah- but it wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn’t mine either.” 

Richie quickly smirked, rolling his eyes, “They fucking set us up.”

“Who? Bill? Because it was Bill’s idea for me-” Eddie began to ramble on.

“It was Stan’s idea for me.”

Eddie then stopped, sighing with a grin- poking his tongue in his cheek. “Fuck, that makes sense.”

Both look at each other with grins slowly spreading over their chapped lips, soon the two boys were in a fit of giggles due to the realisation of the sweet situation. Both never taking eyes off one another, blushes spreading to their ears and down their necks.

“I, I guess I’ll listen to this tonight?” Richie’s voice broke, still calming down from his fit of giggles.

“Yeah, me too… I-i uh, I picked out the songs carefully and put them in order a certain way, so..” Eddie trailed off, becoming a little ashamed incase Richie would tease him for his effort.

But Richie only felt love swell inside of him at those words, he grabbed Eddie’s hand with his free one and leant forward, bending down slightly, whilst pressing their lips together for the first time. Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, before melting and wrapping his free arm around Richie’s neck with the mixtape in his firm grip. Both merged together in sync and harmony, with their lips swelling and becoming saturated in colour. Richie wrapped his other arm around Eddie’s waist and too held his mix tape tightly as they both kissed in the middle of the street, hand in hand, with no shame at all.


Eddie sat down at his desk, placing his headphones over his head, pressing play as quickly the flood of Richie vibes swirled into his eardrums. Finally, after many aching hours at school he had time to listen to this mixtape.

I don’t want to know your name

Cause’ you don’t look the same

The way you did before

Okay, you think you got a pretty face

But the rest of you is out of place

You looked alright before…

Eddie chuckled at the familiar song, it often played in arcades that the Losers club all went too. It went under the title ‘Fox on the Run’ and it was by ‘The Sweets’.

Fox on the run!

You scream and everybody comes a running!

Take a run and hide yourself away…

Foxy on the run!

F-foxy!

Fox on the run…

And hide away!

Eddie listened to every song intensely, capturing the vibe of Richie Tozier perfectly. He had even picked out songs that they both loved and favoured. Eddie really adored Richie’s music taste and everything about it, it perfectly described him as a person and he loved that.

Soon, the last song came on. By the instrumental, Eddie recognised it to be ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ by Elvis Presley. HIs heart hammered quickly.

Wise men say,

Only fools rush in

But I, cant help, falling in love with you…

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin?

If I can’t help, falling in love with you…

Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, feeling his pulse echo throughout his system. This was not part of Richie’s vibe at all, but part of Eddie’s. Eddie loved Elvis Presley whilst Richie wasn’t a big fan of him. 

But this song was magical and made for someone special, so Eddie was shocked and swooned. Very much so captivated.

Eddie Kaspbrak was falling in love with Richie Tozier.


Later that night, Richie laid down in bed with his cheap headphones, before plugging them into the mixtape and pressing the button to get the songs going.

The first song started; it was of course one of Richie’s favoured artists as well as Eddie’s. From what he knew, this was one of Eddie’s favourite songs from David Bowie, it was called Heroes and it was a truly beautiful song.

I, I will be king.

And you, you will be queen.

Though nothing, will drive them away

We can beat them, just for one day.

Oh we can be heroes!

Just for one day.

And you, you can be mean.

And I, I drink all the time.

Because we’re lovers, and that is a fact.

Yes we’re lovers, and that is that.

Though nothing, will keep us together

We could steal time, just for one day.

We could be heroes, forever and ever.

What’d you say?

Richie felt his heart pump faster and swell as the mixtape carried on, each song having Eddie’s vibe to it. But Richie could tell that they matched him in a way that made Eddie pick it for him to listen to. Everything was intentional.

After a good 50 minutes, the final song was starting to play. Yet Richie wasn’t prepared for what he was about to hear.

Hey Jude…

Don’t make it bad,

Take a sad song, then make it better.

Remember, to let her into your heart.

Then you can start to make it better.

Richie’s eyes widened as his thoughts wandered back to Eddie’s simple words. ‘I picked out the songs carefully and put them in order a certain way.’ This meant that Eddie had intentionally wanted Richie to hear this song last.

Hey Jude…

Don’t be afraid.

You were made to go out and get her.

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better.

Richie felt the tears prick at his waterline as this was the first time of him being emotional at a song. Eddie was the only person that knew about Richie’s home life, how he was neglected by his parents constantly and was alone. He knew that the reason why Richie was so loud and out there was because he didn’t receive the attention he deserved at home, so he wanted it from friends. He wanted to make people laugh, Eddie knew this.

Eddie’s key words lingered in his brain, as it stuck out to him that this single song revealed that Eddie’s whole mixtape was set up in a way to help Richie throughout dark times or whenever he felt alone, so he could remember that Eddie had cared enough to set up this mixtape in perfect order to make Richie stronger in that given moment.

And anytime you feel the pain,

Hey Jude, refrain

Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders.

For well you know that it’s a fool,

Who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder.

Richie’s tears finally fell, making him take his glasses off to refrain any of the tears staining the lenses. Eddie had purposely picked this song as if to say that Richie was in fact his Jude, he wanted Richie to get better and hopefully have a better mindset besides his life at home.

Nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah nah…

His breaths shook, as he held the mixtape to his chest with the headphones still placed perfectly on his head. He was thankful to have someone like Eddie who would even bother to do this, as something as simple as this with so much thought put into it only made him fall in love with the small boy even more.

She’s Just Not That Into You » Part I (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

First and foremost, I need to dedicate this miniseries to @stylesunchained​. If it weren’t for B, this idea would’ve never come to fruition. It’s been so lovely to torture you with snippets of this story, and now it’s finally here! And yes, the whole damn thing is dedicated to you, my beautiful friend.

Secondly, I need to take the time to thank @cuddlemusclestyles​ for her knowledge of England and always answering my questions about it. I would be lost without you, for you are my own personal Google.

And, of course, thank you all for the interest you’ve expressed for this miniseries. It’s always that much more enjoyable to write when you know you’ve got people rooting for you. I hope I don’t disappoint you.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by chillhopdotcom

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Bruise [ VIII ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 6k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: He wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, but that couldn’t stop your heart from believing otherwise.

Bruise Masterlist

Originally posted by missmanfreda

The jacket around your chest felt too loose, cheeks puffy as the cool air nipped at them while you shuffle your feet against the damp pavement. The snow had melted but the low temperature had stayed, the ground covered by thin patches of ice. It was far too late out to be alone in front of the convenience store, but the buzzing of your phone fifteen minutes before hand had been enough to drag you outside at the hour. You’d wanted to see Chanyeol for days,  the both of you so busy you still hadn’t gotten a chance to see eachother more than a few minutes for an entire week. You’d been trying to focus on the overwhelming amount of coursework professors were dumping on you, while Chanyeol was having a busy time at the studio; at least that’s what he said.

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Warm

Time for some more whump! It’s Day Two- Hypothermia!

Lance and Keith (read: klance) go to an ice planet.

why do i only ever hurt lance


“Figures,” Lance grumbled. “Stereotypical ice planet. Why couldn’t the rebels have lived on, I don’t know, a tropical island? The entire known universe and we can’t stumble across some beach residents in need of rescue?”

“Lance,” Shiro’s disapproving voice sounded over the coms. “The two of them gave me their only ship. Which means we’re helping them. They’re part of a freedom fighter organization, maybe they can help us.”

“Yeah, okay, but why do I have to be the one that gets sent down here? I’m from Cuba! This is way, way below comfortable temperatures for me.”

“Quit whining,” Keith snapped, glaring at Lance over his shoulder. “Our armor’s designed to keep us warm, and this is below comfortable for anyone. And pick up the pace.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but jogged to catch up to him.

“Sorry, Lance, but the red lion is the best at withstanding extreme temperatures. And it’s smaller, and faster than the other lions, so it can better navigate the terrain,” Shiro explained.

“Wish I had help navigating the terrain now,” Lance muttered under his breath. The two of them were currently struggling through over a foot of snow. “And that doesn’t explain why I had to bring Keith with me.”

“Because going on solo missions to unknown locations is how you get killed,” Pidge pointed out. “Star Wars? Hoth? Luke almost getting annihilated by the abominable snowman? Any of that ring a bell?”

“Quiznaking ice planets. Why are we out of the lion anyway, Shiro? Red’s warm. Do you want us to freeze to death and then have to hide inside the body of a space camel?” Lance’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Star Wars, Keith. Remind me to marathon it with you when we get back to Earth. My niece loves those movies, and she’ll eat all the popcorn, but it’s worth it. Trust me.”

“Would you two take this mission seriously?” Shiro asked. Lance could practically see him rubbing his temples exhaustedly. “I know it’s not exactly high-stakes adventure, but these guys saved my life. You’re not going to go prancing around the planet in your lion and accidentally destroy their hideout.”

Prancing? Shiro, I don’t prance, I'm—”

“Lance, look,” Keith interrupted him and pointed out towards a large stretch of ice before them. It would’ve been a lake, had the planet not had such low temperatures. “Pidge, is that the direction we need to go?”

“Yep,” she told them. “The hideout’s not far from the opposite side.”

Keith sighed. “We’ll have to go around.”

“Woah, what? Keith, that lake is huge! It’d be so much easier to walk straight across,” Lance protested. “I’m not about to freeze to death while we take the scenic route.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s ice, dumbass. If it can’t support our weight and breaks then we really could freeze to death! That water’s gotta be a lot worse than this.”

“I’m not an idiot, Keith, I know that. Pidge, if I send you a scan can you see if it’ll support us?” Lance asked. Pidge made a noise of affirmation, and Lance used his armor’s scanner to send an analysis of the ice to her.

“It looks pretty thick,” she mused. “I wouldn’t jump up and down or start hacking at it with your bayards if I were you, but you’ll be able to walk across.”

See?” Lance smirked at him. “What’d I tell you? It’s fine.”

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, check the lake? What if there’s a… space octopus in there, or something? Or a shark? I mean, they wouldn’t normally live in lakes, but this isn’t Earth so who knows? Are space alligators a thing?” Hunk spoke so fast it was almost difficult to understand.

“Hunk, you’re rambling,” Lance observed with a fond smile. “But don’t worry. The top of the lake is frozen, so they wouldn’t be able to breathe, right? Let alone get to us. If it makes you feel better, I’ll do a full scan of the lake.”

“Nope. No animals down there,” Pidge confirmed a few moments later. “Now would you two hurry up and cross?”

“I still have a really bad feeling about this,” Keith mumbled.

Lance turned towards him with a grin. “We are so watching Star Wars together. In fact, we should see if they have it at the space mall. But sorry, Keith, if you want to go the long way, be my guest. I’m not going to wait any longer than I have to.”

“He really is the true pilot of Red,” Pidge sounded as if she was trying to repress a laugh. “Impatient as all hell.”

Hey!” Keith and Lance exclaimed at the same time.

Pidge snorted. “Just get going already.”

Lance wasted no time in starting out across the lake. He was several paces ahead of Keith, who still hesitated to step out onto it. As he was about to continue forward, Keith stopped in his tracks. He could swear he saw something dark moving below the ice, but Pidge had scanned the lake for life, hadn’t she? It must just be his imagination. He started forward again, but just then the ground shook, and the ice in front of Lance exploded.

He let out a strangled yelp, stumbling away from whatever had just burst out of the lake. Keith could hear the frantic voices of the others in his ears, but it all descended into white noise as he saw the vine that had broken through the ice wrap around Lance’s legs.

He rushed forward, but it was already too late. Keith watched as Lance was dragged into the hole made by the creature, and plunged into the freezing lake.


The water was murky, and dark. Lance could barely see, all he knew was that something was dragging him further and further down into the depths. He didn’t have time to activate his helmet properly before water was rushing into his lungs.

He felt the grip of whatever held him tightening on his legs, and though he tried to kick he couldn’t break free.

Lance forced himself not to panic. Panicking wouldn’t help him. So he collected his thoughts, summoned his bayard, and pointed it down. He still couldn’t see anything, but with luck he’d hit the monster, not himself. He moved his finger to the trigger, aimed for what he hoped wasn’t his leg, and fired.

Judging by the shriek of pain and how the hold on him loosened, Lance guessed the laser met its mark. He kicked upwards immediately, swimming quickly to the surface. However, with limited eyesight and dwindling oxygen, his hands met nothing but ice. Panic started to overtake him again as he desperately scrambled to find the hole which he’d fallen into.

Lance was just starting to give up hope completely when suddenly a hand snagged around his wrist and yanked him to the side, and up to the surface.

Lance sucked in a breath, coughing the water out of his lungs as he collapsed onto the ice. His vision was foggy around the edges, but he could see well enough to notice Keith kneeling over him, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, hands hovering over Lance’s form. “Are you hurt?”

“What—” Lance coughed again. “What was that… that thing?”

“I… I didn’t scan for plants,” Pidge told him apologetically. “In my defense, I had no idea there would be some crazy strong… Venus flytrap-ish monster living here.”

Now will you listen to me when I tell you something’s a bad idea?” Keith asked, sounding way to relieved to actually come off as angry.

Lance gave him a shaky smile. “I c-could ask you the… the same, S-samurai.”. Keith tensed immediately.

“Why’s he talking like that?” he asked. “He’s… breathing weird, too. And shivering. Pidge, what—”

“Keith. Scan. Now.” Pidge’s voice was suddenly alert, and when Keith complied, she cursed. “Hypothermia. I should’ve guessed. Keith, get him back to the castle. He should be fine, but he needs a pod. Allura and I will come back to the planet in Blue later.”

Keith nodded, picking Lance up in his arms as if he weighed nothing at all, before rushing towards Red. “Hang on, Lance. You’re gonna be fine.”

“You.. you were r-right,” Lance admitted around chattering teeth. “That was a… very b-bad idea.” His eyes started to slide shut.

“Wh— no, Lance, you have to stay awake. C'mon, keep your eyes open. We’re almost there.”

“’M sorry, Keith, b-but it’s… it’s freezing, and you’re r-r-really w-warm,” Lance mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning his head on Keith’s shoulder. “I think… I’ll just take a little n-nap.”

“Lance, no, you’ve got to—” Keith started insistently, but Lance had already passed out in his arms.


Lance fell unceremoniously out of the healing pod, but was luckily caught before he collapsed onto the floor. He looked up to meet Keith’s dark eyes, and promptly groaned. “So, I guess we had another bonding moment.”

Keith bristled. “That’s all you have to say? Not ‘thank you for saving my life?’ After your stupid decision-making skills got you put in a pod for the… how many times has it been now?”

Lance ignored him. “Where are the others?”

“None of them wanted to stay overnight, because, again, you’ve been in this pod way too many times,” Keith told him, unsure if he should point out that Lance had made no move to step back, so Keith was still supporting the entirety of his weight.

“And yet you stayed,” Lance grinned. “Guess I should probably start listening to you, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Lance’s smile turned quickly into a smirk. “Well, that’s too bad, since we both know that’s never going to happen.”

Keith scowled, prepared to drop Lance onto the floor. He would have to, if Lance hadn’t leaned forward at that exact moment and kissed him.

It didn’t last long, but Keith was blushing furiously, anyway. It was nice to see that Lance looked a little flustered, too, though.

“Thanks,” Lance said softly. “For saving my life.”

“Um,” Keith started, brain still trying to understand what was going on. “Did you just— you and I— is this— what?”

Lance laughed, finally stepping back from Keith and turning to walk out the door. “I’m going to go get some food goo, if you’d care to join me.”

Keith watched him go, and stammered out a few more incoherent sentences before rushing after him.

You’re Drunk

SMUT SMUT SMUT enough said.

~ You and Harry are college buddies who live together and one time he comes home drunk, and very horny ~

Warning: smut, just that.

You were awaken by the crashing sound coming from the front door. You just knew right away that it was your flat mate since it wasn’t the first time he came home after midnight. He was definitely drunk because no sober person would curse a chair after knocking it over.

You sat up in bed and pulled up the cover to hide your revealing lace nightgown as Harry stumbled into your bedroom because you always went to bed leaving the door open. He would always go straight to his bed whenever he came home late, which was all the time, but this time you didn’t know why he went to your room instead. You just thought he was probably so drunk that he forgot where his room was. 

“Had fun I see,” you said to him. His eyes were weary and his skin flushed. You could smell the entire party on him.

“Yeh should’ve come.”

“I hate most people there.”

His large feet got in his way and he almost lost his balance, holding to the door knob to keep himself standing before he leaned against the doorframe for support.

“Did I wake yeh?” he asked with a crooked smile, closing his eyes because the room was starting to spin.

“No, I just happened to stay up until 2 AM waiting for your drunk ass to burst into my room,” you said and he seemed amused by you being sarcastic.

“I think…I think I drank too much—fuck,” he shook his head, which fell on his shoulder, heavy from the liquor.

“You think?”

“Stop mockin’ me,” his words tangled together on his tongue as he stumbled forward then crashed down right in front of you on your bed. You needed sleep because you had classes the next morning so there was no way you would let him fall asleep there. You grabbed his shoulders to pull him up but he let his full weight fall on you, knocking you flat down on your back with him lying on top. You told him to get off but he was too drunk to move, instead he was nuzzling into your neck. 

You had admitted to yourself a long time ago that you had a crush on Harry. Why wouldn’t you? He was a handsome young man with a good heart. But you never let him know about your little crush because you thought he wasn’t attracted to you. As Harry was snuggling into your arms, you could have just pushed him off and kicked him out of your room but you couldn’t do it because you enjoyed the feeling.

“I missed yeh, pet,” he almost sounded like a child and it was too adorable. Drunk Harry could be cute and yet so sexy. 

“Um…How was the party?” you asked, changing the subject as you felt your body temperature increase and your face turning red.

“S'fine. Kayla was all over me though.”

“Was she?” Kayla was just one of Harry’s friends who was obsessed with him.

“But I said “no, no, I have to go back to Y/N”. Yeah. And-and I asked Jack to drive me home ‘cause I missed yeh.”

You were taken aback and nervous at the same time, wondering to yourself if he knew what he was talking about or he was just speaking nonsense out of drunkenness.

“You’re so warm,” his hips swiveled against yours and you could feel his content smile against your neck. You held your breath and pushed his hips back.

“Let’s get you back to your room.”

Harry let you sit him up, sleep was in his eyes and he looked like a drunk little boy, which amused you. He smiled at you and thanked you for what reason you weren’t sure. You giggled and attempted to get yourself off the bed but he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and shifted you into his lap, burying his head in your neck and pressing his lips to your jawline. Your whole body immediately reacted to him even though you were shocked by his action. You knew you shouldn’t have but you wanted more.

“Harry, what-” you tried to stop him but his wide palms slid up your back, holding you in place as his lazy kisses fell down your collarbone to just above your breasts. You felt his warm touch burning your skin over the thin fabric of your gown and didn’t try to protest when he cupped one of your breasts with his large hand. Your eyes went shut and you didn’t even know how he managed to get your dress off you, leaving you in just your panties half naked in front of his lustful eyes. His tongue found your nipple, flicking it and circling it slowly. You held onto the back of his head and let a light moan peel up your throat, automatically moving your hips, rubbing yourself against the cool metal of his belt buckle.

“Harry…we shouldn’t…” You didn’t know why you even tried to stop him when your whole body was participating in the action, but you still felt like you should have said something because he was drunk and you were sober. 

“I want to fuck yeh,” he asked with your nipple still between his lips and the sight of it along with those words were enough to make you lose your mind.

“You need to sleep.”

“M’not tired.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“I still know wha' I want,” His voice was rough against your ear and you rolled your eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to the spot below your jaw then across your cheek then you just completely gave in and let him kiss you. His tongue pushed against yours, letting you taste the liquor. You immediately moaned against his hot mouth because you could feel how hungry he was for you. Harry raised his arms up into the air and let you peel his shirt off and it didn’t take more than a few seconds for your panties to get ripped off.

You laid back down again with Harry between your opened legs, pushing his cock against your heat through his black trousers. You two kissed like a horny couple in love. He kept grinding his hips into yours and it was sending electricity through your core, making you a moaning mess beneath him. Harry pushed his hand between your bodies and drove two fingers into you suddenly. You gripped his arm as he pumped his long fingers hard and fast while sucking on your bottom lip. Harry pushed his fingers deeper, curling them against your walls, at the same time working on your clit as well. You sucked in a breath and clenched around his digits.

“Fuck, Harry—” His hand felt so good it was making you see stars. You rolled your hips quickly, his fingers still tucked inside you as you held his wrist. Riding his fingers like they were his cock as he watched with lustful eyes, his lip tucked between his teeth. You pulled his hand free and looked at him, his face was pure sex and desire and arousal so you just had to crash your mouth against his again. You unbuckled his belt and pulled open his button fly with a tug, sliding your hand between his boxers and jeans to rub him, get him fully hard and ready for you. You had turned into a completely different person and he really enjoyed how you were taking the initiative. 

“Fuck, baby. Let me fuck yeh.” Your entire body was on fire, strongly reacting to the sound of those words on his lips. You gripped his ass as he wasted no time driving into you. You tossed your head back on the bed and the two of you both groaned. He sucked the skin of your throat before planting his hand on the bed and gripping my hip with his other. He was going hard and fast, destroying your entire body with his thrusts. You soon forgot that he was drunk and just paid attention to how good he was making you feel.

You lifted your leg up his hip and he moved his arm to hook it under you knee and throw your leg over his shoulder. His face was red from pleasure and he slightly opened his mouth, his breath caught in his throat and you were so turned on watching him fuck you. You pushed his hair off his face and held his cheeks in your hands.

“Fuck, yeh feel good,” he managed to speak as you told him to fuck you harder if it was possible. You were digging your nails into his flesh, listening to the sound of your skin slapping and dirty moans filling the room. Both of you were loud and out of control as his cock slammed into you deep and hard. 

“Fuuuuck, Harry. Oh God. Oh shit.“ 

"Shit. Yeh gonna cum fo’ me, baby? C'mon.” His words breathed against your mouth and you felt like you were about to explode. You could hardly handle the tone of his voice when he was fucking you even deeper and it didn’t take you much longer to release. Your body started contracting and tensing. You screamed out his name, letting it pour passed your lips over and over again until you felt the warmth of him spilled deep inside you. Thankfully you were on the pills. You clung to his back as he panted against your neck, your core still wrapped around him, pulsing and contracting. He groaned and rolled to his back, pulling you on top of him while you petted his face. 

“Are yeh okay?” he asked and you nodded your head yes. 

“Yeah, are you?” 

“Yep.” Harry kept his eyes close, still trying to breath steady again. The fucking session might have sobered him up, you thought.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you fo’ so long,” he said after a moment, making you giggle and hide your face in his chest.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s so hard when we’re livin’ together.”

You bit your bottom lip and felt heat rushing up to your cheeks.

“I have a crush on you,” you confessed. You had thought of a few scenarios in which you finally told him how you felt but this was definitely not one of them. Harry seemed quite indifferent toward what you had just said to him though which made you think he might not feel the same.

“I knew tha’. I mean…yeh made it quite obvious, the way you’ve always looked at me.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped and smacked his chest slightly. “And you didn’t say anything?” 

“I thought it was cute tha’ yeh tried to hide it. But if it makes yeh feel better…” He locked eyes with you and a playful dimpled smile appeared on his pretty face. “…I have a crush on yeh too.”


Requests are welcomed. Masterlist link is in my bio.

The Upside of Falling Down

Originally posted by captain-pizzamaster

Warnings: Language

Pairing: University!Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Hey guys!!! I’m so excited to finally be able to post my next series!!! Skyline received so much positive response and I really really hope you guys like this next story as much. It’s going to be pretty different, but I hope you enjoy it.  Also, while I have you, let’s just cover some housekeeping stuff: I do not have a tags list, so please please please stop spamming me with requests to tag!!! I appreciate how much you like my writing, but I have it in my bio and put it on almost every update.  I try my best to respond to every message I get, and sorting through all those messages just makes it harder!! Secondly, I don’t think I am going to be opening up requests.  I’m going back to school in a week, and I have eight classes as well as three jobs.  I’m going to do my best to update once a week, but I really just want to focus on the longer stories that I love, so I can give you guys the quality you deserve.  I’ll make a longer post about this all later.  Let me know what you think about this story!!! I would love to hear some feedback.

{masterlist}

You never expected university to be easy.

When you walked up the steps of Columbia University for the first time freshman year, you had known that the path ahead of you would be hard.  Extremely difficult, even.  But nothing had prepared you for the hurricane that would be your life for the next ten months.  Between the all night cram sessions, endless term papers, lab studies, and regular class hours, you were emotionally, mentally, and even physically drained by the time you finished your final exams.  As you packed up your freshman dorm, you remembered how excited you had been while decorating it for the first time, and shook your head at how naïve you had been.  Freshman year left you beaten, bruised, and with permanent bags under your eyes, but at least it was done.

Now, walking into your sophomore year, you knew what to expect.  You knew what had to be done to manage your time and your life.  You knew what study methods worked for you, and what didn’t.  You knew when it was wise to go to a party and when to stay in to finish your English literature essay.  You knew which friends to avoid during exam week so they wouldn’t whisk you off to a frat kegger, and which friends would hold up flashcards to help you study. You knew what profs gave retests, where the best snack places were on campus, the best study corrals in the library. You knew the name of the librarian that would spend his time helping you find all the resources you needed for your chemistry write up, and the emails of every TA for every one of your classes. Unlike last year, you were prepared. You were ready.

But you weren’t ready, however, for the biology fieldtrip to Thatcher State Park, the fall you were about to have, and the unexpected consequences that would follow. There was no way to study up on how to keep a secret.  There were no flashcards on what to do if one of your classmates entrusts you with their life.  There was no way to prepare for Peter Parker.

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Hot Stuff

Part 1:

After spending months piloting Blue. Lance had become used to the slight chill that would fill her cockpit from time to time.
He had asked Coran about it once and he had explained that the Lions sometimes gain comfort by surrounding themselves in their element.
Coran then went into a long story about how Green would occasionally sprout flowers in her cockpit.
So after Red claimed Lance as her paladin and he found her cockpit uncomfortably hot one day while on his way to a mission, Lance didn’t think anything of it.

“Ok team let’s go over the plan one last time” Shiro said over the coms.
“Hunk, Pidge and Allura will be checking their assigned planets for possible alliances. While Keith and Lance collect minerals.”
“Relax Shiro you sound like a worried soccer mom sending her kids to their first day of school,” Lance laughed as he tugged at his collar. He understood that Red liked to heat up and all, but man he was starting to feel dizzy.
“More like a worried space dad” Hunk sniggered.
“Or space grandpa when you think about his hair.” Pidge added.
“Ok that’s enough.” Shiro cut in a note of irritation to his voice before he sighed.
“I mean it be careful, the planet you two are going to has heavy storm clouds meaning if you get in trouble we can’t get to you.”
“We will Shiro.” Keith said as the planet came into view.


Getting through the clouds was easier said then done.
It was bumpy and jerky all the way down.
By time they reached the ground Lance felt sick from all the movement and couldn’t help but pity Hunk for having to put up with motion sickness at the Garrison.
He stood up and took exactly two steps before his knees buckled beneath him.
“Jeez Red… guess the beats really getting to me.” Lance mumbled as he steadied himself against the wall and slowly made his way out into what he hoped was the cool air.
However he was out of luck.
The planet was like a desert. A flat plains of dark grey sand.
Lance would of joked it was like they were on the moon, if he wasn’t sweating to death in his suite.
“What took you so long?” Keith asked standing by Black with his helmet on his hip looking around impatiently.
Lance shrugged “aww what’s wrong? Worried about me?”
Keith rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get on with it.”
With that he was leading the way across the uneven ground like they weren’t walking through an oven.

After about an hour Lance was getting worried.
Keith wasn’t sweating.
Hell he didn’t even look to be hot.
He knew he had lived in a shack in the desert for like a year and all but still…
Lance had grown up in a hot country and his head was pounding behind his eyes with every step.
Not sweating could only mean one thing.
Heat stroke.
“H-hey Keith maybe you should sit down for a moment? Take a little break?”
Keith didn’t even look over his shoulder “no way, Lotor is still out there. We can’t waist time just sitting around because your sick of walking.”
Lance groaned, that’s what he gets for trying to be nice. “Fine but have something to drink atleast.”
This time Keith didn’t argue and instead took his flask from his belt and took a long drink.
Lance found himself staring at the water glistening on Keith’s lips.
He hadn’t realised his throats was painfully dry until that moment.
Lance fumbled with his belt trying to get his flask free.
However his hands felt heavy and like they weren’t quiet listening to his brain.
He dropped the metal flask to the ground and as he leaned down to pick it up the world suddenly seemed to tilt upwards.
The next thing Lance realises is that he’s lying on the ground and Keith is running towards him with a terrified expression on his face.

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 10/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Sexual themes, descriptions of breaking bones, blood, soft-gore.

A/N: 2 parts left are you reddie (bare in mind both boys are 17 lmao)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon) | 

Both Richie and Eddie drove for what seemed like hours, both of their hands intertwined as they drove along the snow road- miles away from Derry, safe and sound. Both windows were down to let the cold breeze flow through and prick at their goosebumps. A small smile lingered upon Eddie’s small lips as he stared out at the small dots of snow lacing through the iced air.

Richie had one hand settled on the smooth leather of the wheel, the other next to him with his pinky finger intertwined with Eddie’s own pinky finger. Richie’s gaze striking at the road before him; his anxiety flaring due to how slippery the road was due to black ice.

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By Heart [ I ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst

Length: 4.4k

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Summary: Getting over him was the most impossible thing in the world because part of you couldn’t believe it was really over.

By Heart Masterlist

Originally posted by kyungsuhos

The hardest part about giving someone else your heart, is that it then belongs to them. Even if things end, they will forever own a piece of you. A piece of the most important part of you, no less. It’s a piece of yourself that you can never get back, not really, not fully.

Six months. One hundred eighty two days. Four thousand three hundred sixty eight hours. That was how long it had been since you felt whole.

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KAIROS. 1

Originally posted by yoongichii


  • Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
  • Genre: Sugar!Daddy AU, Fake!GF AU
  • Warnings: angst, smut, degrading names, mentions of cheating, dom themes, asshole hoseok
  • Words: 10k
  • Summary: Jung Hoseok is the devil in Armani. Self-entitled, rich, with striking good looks, there’s nothing he wants for with his parents’ money backing up his extravagant lifestyle. Yet when suddenly he’s forced to find himself a humble girlfriend or say goodbye to his monthly paycheck, he runs into you, lacking everything he possibly looks for in a girl. But he’s desperate, and being desperate makes a man do crazy things.

a/n: tysm to my irl bff @garbageeking for beta-ing for me and providing me with endless sugar!daddy hobi inspo to help me finish this chapter!!! ily!


The high chime of yet another eager customer ricocheted off of pale yellow walls, leather booths, and tiled flooring that was worn down with age. The quaint little shop lacked elegance, yet made up for it with charm. Watercolor paintings of sea cliffs, dipping waves, and golden sand hung from every corner of the small cafe, each dated and signed by a unique signature in the far left corner.

“Table three!” Your father’s gruff voice reminded from the back storage room, your attention once again redirected to the easily recognizable and overgrown mop of dusty brown hair, belonging to your best friend, who wore a forlorn frown, looking especially distressed as he sat himself into his regular booth. Red leather squeaked under the weight of his body as he threw himself down onto it, leaning his head against the cool glass of the large window that overlooked the crowded sidewalks and busy streets, a long horizon of blue easily noticeable in the distance.

“You look like you need some pie.”

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The Good Girl’s Bad Boy

@trickydillion asked

“Can you do the good bad boy for Yoongi too? And when they go on the date some guys start coming onto the reader and Yoongi protects them? Sorry you don’t have to just asking…”

GROUP: BTS

PAIRING:Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Badboy! AU,  School AU! Fluff

Word count: 1.3k

SYNOPSIS:

When your date with Min Yoongi is interrupted because of unwanted attention, you finally see the good man behind the bad boy. 

A/N: I loved writing it.This is the lil brother of The Good Bad boy! Please give it a lot of love too. I hope you enjoy reading this :) 

MASTERLIST


Originally posted by bubblepop2107

Anger was building up in you as paper planes kept on hitting your desk. You stormed off to Yoongi’s  desk as you had enough. “What the hell is your problem Yoongi?” you yelled, the eyes of your fellow classmates turning towards you both. Yoongi was sitting on his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, tie hanging loosely off his neck and a lollipop stick dangling off his lips. The moment you laid eyes on him all traces of anger were placed by nervousness.

He slammed his hands on the table before he stood up. “I” he stepped towards you. “Am” you stepped back. This happened until you found yourself in an isolated corner of the class with Yoongi’s hands caging you in. “asking where our date should be” he bent down to your eye level.  You avoided his gaze because your stomach knotted every time you looked at him. With your eyes travelling everywhere except for resting on his face you answered. “ I never said yes” at which he chuckled. “I never asked sugar” he whispered.

“Tell you what. I promise I wont touch you without your permission.” he said aloud and you could hear your classmates gasp in shock. These were not the words anyone in school expected to hear from him because Yoongi was the bad boy and boys weren’t supposed to be so respectful “I wont even kiss you without your permission” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Your head finally snapped in his direction and he smirked, satisfied with your response. “I’ll pick you up at 7” he turned around and walked away to his desk ready to start a very long day and you stood completely stunned in your spot because Min Yoongi had just asked you out.

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It Wasn’t Real (part six)

Summary: You’re part of the infamous Loser’s Club, and often asked, what are you afraid of? You reply, nothing, but what your friends don’t know is that your biggest fear is them.

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - finale

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

Pairing: Loser’s Club x Reader, slight Henry x Reader (you’ll see) Richie x Reader and very slight Eddie x Reader

Warnings: force, bullying, depressing and sad tones, and sexual abuse (mild) plus Henry being a dick, so….

Tag’s List: @chalatea - @darlingimafangirl - @chalatea - @myfriendmagislit -@frozenhealswrites - @fl0werb0nes18 - @emotionallyenterprised - @alec-lighwccd - @bellasett - @starshininginthedark - @tastefulcaring - @impulsivesuperrobin - @newtandthediamonds - @huge-waste-of-time​ - @jess-sxcks​ - @theoraekensnotsosecretlover​ - @moonageharry​ - @nieligator​ - @sufferingstilinski​ - @the-fantastic-fandom-dork - @horsiesandstuff​ - @arianamichelle04​ - @alloffmyships​ - @darlingimawriter​ - @gcnnyweasleys​ - @redvelvet-cupcake​ - @almusanzug​ - @d0nt-g0-imagines​ - @brighter-thanthe-sky​ - @murphamy-minefeild​ - @celestesfairy​ - @fly-like-a-grayson​ - @emrysaaryn - @holy-minseok - @antiherojason - @multifandom-states - @mysticsthinking - @ladyfairenvale - @crazyinlovewithbatman - @shaniacboogara - @welcometoourcomputershow - @17marvelousfreak - @funtik2011 - @anon-leaning-against-a-trashbin - @terrashrone - @im-fandom-trash - @mrgrytyrll - @ponyboys-sunsets - @captainslugcat - @eachandeveryfandom - @queenylime
I will no longer be adding anyone!
bolded is who I couldn’t tag.


Originally posted by despairingfever

You watched with an expression of boredom as Henry shot at every can he could find, missing with terrible aim each time. You could literally be doing anything better than this right now, but you didn’t have a choice. Henry had dragged you all the way over here because he wanted to show off, something, you didn’t even know.

You didn’t care.

You felt drained, mentally exhausted. Nothing seemed to register in your mind anymore. 

Despite the night and morning you had, school had been more the uneventful. Because of the stupid moves you’d pulled recently, word traveled and every one acted as if you were crazy. No one expected prim and proper Y/N Y/L/N to flip off a teacher, or to ditch detention and skip a whole afternoon of classes; it’d seemed you’d made a new name for yourself. Then to make it all better, the minute you’d left your last class for the day Henry had found you.

You never really enjoyed your time with him, but something told you today was going to be ten times worse. 

Watching with lazy eyes, Henry shot the gun, a loud echo going off that didn’t make any sound in your mind. He actually managed to hit the can this time it seemed, as him, Victor and Belch cheered in excitement. What a stupid thing to get excited about… 

“Hey, Belch, grab that cat.” You furrowed your brows, your eyes immediately snapping over to the orange tabby sat by the garbage. Panic set in and you shot up from your seat on the fence, watching as Belch hesitated for a moment but eventually begun making his way over to the cat.

“Henry….” You whispered, taking a step towards you. He only shushed you, a pleased grin on his face as Belch set the cat up next to one of the cans he’d actually managed to hit. He was a terrible aim, but he was getting better and something told you he’d be able to hit his target this time. “Henry!” You said, a little bit louder this time.

“Shut the hell up, Y/N.” Henry spat back at you, not glancing back. Raising the gun, he closed one eye and began aiming as Belch stood there with an uncertain look. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you felt your breath grow frantic. He wouldn’t, would he? Shoot an innocent cat?

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Drunken Bets
Summary: You find yourself tied to a motel bed after losing a bet with Dean.
A/N: Sorry guys! I wanted to get this up a bit sooner but I ended up not getting it done. Anywho. Here is is.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: smut, language, oral (female receiving), slight dom!dean, lots of teasing, a tiny bit of over stimulation
Word Count: 2,160

Originally posted by frozen-delight

One of the few good things about having to dress up like FBI agents all the time was that suit ties did an excellent job of securing your wrists to the headboard of a motel bed. You and Dean were drinking the other night, made a bet –that you lost– and now here you were.

“I never took you for the dominating type.” you told him as you laid there already undressed as he tied you up.

“Well, if I’m being honest-” Dean began as he stood up to finish taking his own clothes off- “there’s somethin’ about you sweetheart.”

Your stomach felt as if it was doing back flips from his words and your eyes drifted south as he shredded his last piece of clothing, allowing his cock to spring free. You were certain you let out a whimper at the sight of him.. Dean was quite the sight to see.

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She’s Just Not That Into You » Part III (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the previous parts? Part One » Part Two

As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts!  I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by glamour-divine

Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.

Two weeks?

There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.

So, he waits.

He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.

And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.

The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.

When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.

“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.

You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.

“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.

That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.

“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”

“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”

He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.

“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”

Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.

“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.

“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.

Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.

He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.

He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.

Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?

No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.

You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.

“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.

He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.

You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.

“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”

“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”

You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.

“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.

“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.

Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.

“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”

“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”

“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”

Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.

You’d said the words, though.

You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.

“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”

Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.

His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.

“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”

You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.

You’ve got his number saved in your phone.

He’s got your number now.

Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.

When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.

How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?

“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.

“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”

“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.

“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”

Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.

You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.

“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”

“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”

“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.

The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.

“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.

“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”

“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”

“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”

You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.

You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.

“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.

“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”

“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.

You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.

“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.

“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”

He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.

“Swear,” he nods.

“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”

“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”

“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”

“No,” you nearly whisper.

“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”

“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”

“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”

He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.

As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.

After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.

“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”

You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.

Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.

Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.

“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.

“Ye’ look great.”

You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”

“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.

“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”

You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”

“I did, too.”

He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.

It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.

He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.

But, he did.

He had to.

Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.

He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.

He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.

He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.

A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.

And your ass? In those jeans?

He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.

He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.

“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.

He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.

He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.

Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…

Not if he wasn’t able to get what he wanted…

Not if, he knows, he wasn’t able to make you his.

In One Piece

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose before hissing through gritted teeth, “You told me to come home t’yeh, an’ while I’m out there nearly dyin’, you’re here playin’ house with some bloke?”

or

Alex returns home from Dunkirk to some very unpleasant and unsettling news.

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The Good Bad Boy

GROUP: BTS

PAIRING: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Badboy! au, fluff

Word count: 1.3k 

SYNOPSIS:

The baddie of the town asks you out on a date and what follows is a night of revelations about a bad boy who is a good man 

A/N:  For the anon who requested a Hoseok bad boy AU. Thank you for giving my dead ass something fluffy to write! I LOVE bad boy Hoseok! and I think this is the SOFTEST thing I have written. 

MASTERLIST


Originally posted by bangtannoonas

“What the fuck are all of you looking at?” he glared at the spectators that had gathered around you two , harshly enough for them to disperse around and resume whatever they were doing. You stood frozen in your spot, tightly clutching your bag against your chest , fingers digging into the leather. Jung Hoseok, the baddest boy in town was standing in front of you and he had just asked you out on a date. With a toothpick dangling from his lips, he was tapping his foot impatiently on the ground waiting for you to respond.

“Listen buttercup I don’t have all day. Is this date happening or not?” he took a step towards you and your automatic response was taking a step back. The process continued until you were pinned against his motorcycle.  His placed his hands on either side of you and leant in close to your ear. He smelled like musk and amber and you couldn’t stop yourself from inhaling his scent. “Is it” his nose grazed your neck “or is it not” he moved back to face you. His eyes studied your face with such intensity that the end result was your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

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