goddamn why is he the same age as my father and i still want him

Harry Fake Dates Kendall but is in Love With You

A/n: This is an updated version of an imagine I’ve previously uploaded. I know Hendall is so 2015. I get it.

Masterlist linked in bio.


The red wine leaves a particular stain on Harry’s lips that he hadn’t noticed until Kendall pointed it out to him.

“It looks like you’re wearing lipstick” she laughs, “I didn’t know you were going to dress up this much for the party.”

They are currently sat at his mum’s kitchen island, drinking red wine while munching on some chips left out for the guests. The house is filled with familiar faces, friends and family all throughout London coming together for Anne’s birthday celebration.

They hosted one every year for as long as Harry could remember, a time of year where nearly every one of his family members, including his step family, would unite. It was their favorite time of year, believe it or not. Despite all the excitement for the holidays, Anne’s birthday celebration was certainly something special.

It was Kendall’s first time attending, considering the fact that Harry had only really talked to her whenever he was assigned to be with her for publicity. It wasn’t always ideal, however, he built a stable friendship with her, so he didn’t mind the extra company with him from time to time.

She was invited last minute, of course, since his management called last night to ask if there was any way for them to be seen together. With Harry’s new movie coming out and his solo album just released a couple weeks ago, it was almost a given for him to be rumored with a girlfriend. That’s how it’s worked all throughout his career.

He normally wouldn’t have minded, however, this was the worst possible date for him to be with Kendall.

Because it’s Anne’s birthday party, this means that it’ll be the first time in one year that he’ll be seeing Y/n. They have been best friends since they were five years old, basically growing up in the same house as they went through school together. But as time went on, and as they both went to their separate ways, it was hard to keep in touch with each other all the time.

She remained in the small towns of London while Harry was traveling world wide, where his name became known everywhere as Y/n’s was only known through people she attended school with. Of course, they still talked, considering they both admitted to having more than friendship feelings, but their lives were busy in their own ways, preventing them from being more than what they wanted to be.

For the past couple months, Harry planned that this would be the day he’d finally move forward with Y/n. Or, at least attempt to. With the loss of her over the past year, it made Harry realize just how much he couldn’t imagine a life without her. It had been so long—too long, and he couldn’t stand how long he’s lived without keeping in touch with her.

But now, everything he planned for the two of them is becoming impossible. He can’t begin to imagine how Y/n would feel knowing he brought Kendall to his mum’s birthday party after they both confessed their love for each other. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame her for giving up on him. He keeps doing this to her, even if it’s unintentional.

He watches around the kitchen at the guests he hasn’t seen in quite a while. His leg bounces with impatience when each new person walking in to attend the party isn’t Y/n. It’s been nearly an hour and has never been so late to anything before.

And as horrible as it sounds, he almost wishes she doesn’t come, just so that she can avoid the heartbreak that will come when she reunites with Kendall again.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Harry’s head whips around when he hears the voice he’s been deprived of for the past year. The first thing he notices are her lips, and the way they move around her words so softly. They’re slightly glazed with a lipgloss, painting her lips with a rosy shade of pink. They look so much fuller to him now, but he knows not a trace of them are artificial.  

His eyes only drift from the shape of her lips when her fingers reach to tuck loose pieces of hair behind her ear. It’s then he notices just how much shorter her hair has gotten. What was once so long and lank is now falling just above the shoulder, set in luscious curls he can only imagine twisting around his fingers.

His jaw goes slack when he sees the pale pink dress she’s wearing. It’s made from silk, the metallic fabric glowing with each step she takes. He gulps when he notices just how much the dress accentuates the curvature of her body and how much of her legs are put on display for him to see, and he can’t help but to wipe the sweat off his palms when he watches her greet his mother with a proper kiss on the cheek.

He notices that his eyes haven’t shut since he’s seen her, but he’s so completely intrigued by how much has changed in her. Something about her seems so much more real—so much more vibrant—and he can’t seem to stop himself from praising how time has done her so goddamn well.

“You never told me she was going to be here.“

His body jerks at Kendall’s sudden appearance, her body slowly occupying the seat next to his at the kitchen island. If it wasn’t for her, he swears he would have caught himself drooling.

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says with a shrug, “she’s been my best friend since we were five. She’s basically apart of this family, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Y/n hasn’t missed a single one of Anne’s birthday celebrations since she’s known Harry. Their bond is irreplaceable—so irreplaceable, in fact, that Anne has been convinced Y/n is a miracle for their family. She was there for them through all the troubled times; helping them through their hardships and family instabilities.

When Anne and her husband first got divorced, Harry and Y/n were seven. Harry didn’t understand much of what was happening, all he knew was that his mum and dad weren’t going to love each other anymore. He was hurting, even when Gemma was there to try and keep him together. He started to believe everything between his parents was a lie.

She understood the whole separation process. Her mum left her at a young age, leaving her alone with her father. They were close, of course, but she always missed having a mother figure in her life. It made her upset to know she could only listen to one voice in the house, but as she grew older, she accepted it more.

By the time she met Harry, he kept bringing her over to his house as the years went on. Anne was the closest she had to mother, and their bond became unbreakable by the time Y/n was a teenager. Nearly seven years of Y/n being like another member of the family, Y/n started buying Anne Mother’s Day cards.

So when Y/n watched her second family fall apart, along with Anne’s heart, and she was determined to patch them back together again. Even at her young age, she’d pick flowers from her garden and give them to Anne everyday after school. Y/n said they represented her, and how she felt being a woman with such love and beauty could die all too quickly. Harry never understood what it meant, but Y/n did, which is why she never stopped until she heard Anne laughing again.

She also started to draw pictures and write her letters, reminding her of how loved she was by everyone. As much as Anne was heartbroken during the time, she took the letters everywhere she went and kept every flower alive for as long as she possibly could. Anne would always tell Harry “That girl came into our lives for a reason, my love. She’s a special one, our little miracle, never let her go. You hear me?”

Harry didn’t understand what it truly meant to let someone go, but he did his best to do anything but that. And now, as Harry sits on his mother’s kitchen island and seeing Y/n for the first time in a year, he feels he’s done just that.

“Guess not.” Kendall mutters, taking her last sip of the red wine left in her glass. “She’s just so strange, I guess. I can barely hold a conversation with her without her making an excuse to leave.”

Kendall and Y/n never really got along, it was extremely noticeable to everyone who held a conversation with the both of them. They just don’t see things in the same light. Y/n is very outgoing and lively; an extreme extrovert that seeks adventure—and Kendall can’t stand it. She thinks Y/n does it for attention, especially because she’s remained a small town girl while being surrounded by well-known celebrities. And even though it may seem like Y/n likes the attention, that’s not her purpose. She gives all her attention to others, never to herself, and it has always been something Harry loved the most.

And when it comes to Y/n, Kendall was that one thing that was constantly in her way of Harry. No matter how many times Harry and Y/n discussed how there was something between them, Kendall always found her way back to haunt her. She was her worst goddamn nightmare. She was perfect for Harry in the public eye, and nothing made Y/n feel worse than knowing she’ll never be her type of perfect, especially when it came to Harry.

But Kendall doesn’t know that. All she knows is that Y/n is extremely stand-offish with her, and she’ll never understand why.

“She’s not used to our lives. It’s extremely difficult for her to understand how we live, you know? She’s normal.”

Kendall scoffs, eyes rolling around the room because she hates that word. She feels so divided, like she’s in a categorization in society and everything about it makes her teeth clench.

“We’re normal, too, you know. I don’t understand why she feels so intimated and feels like she has something to prove.”

Harry’s jaw clenches slightly at the negative connotes Kendall has about Y/n’s life. Something about it makes his stomach twist the wrong way, and he can’t help the underlying growl in between his words.

“We’re not normal. Deep down, you and I both know that. You also don’t know Y/n, so stop making irrational assumptions about her.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at Harry, a gaze full of confusion and disbelief at the undeniable grumble in his tone. Any rational conversation they have about Y/n always end the same—with Harry quick to end the discussion and jump to her defense. It’s times like these Kendall never understood the true extent of Harry and Y/n’s relationship. They always claimed it was platonic but there has always been a sense of something stronger in them, like unaddressed or unchased feelings, or a past they shared that was kept between the two.

Either way, it annoyed the shit out of Kendall because they both were hiding something that she’ll never be able to get answered.

“Fine, whatever.” She sighs dramatically, scooting her chair back until she has room to stand properly. “Want some more wine? Getting some.”

Harry slides his empty wine glass so that it’s in front of her, muttering a small “yeah, thanks” before she’s on her way to the counter across the room, retrieving extra wine and mingling with some of Harry’s family.

Harry sighs while his head rests at the palm of his hand, eyes gazing directly to where Y/n is standing. His lips tug up lightly when he hears her laugh from the living room, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly as he watches her mouth lift and her eyes squint shut as she catches up with one of his uncles about his grand annual weekend fishing trip.

And as his eyes stay so transfixed on the woman in the other room, he can’t help but imagine seeing that type of perfection every day for the rest of his life.

“And everyone thinks Sweet Creature is about me..”

Harry’s head snaps to Gemma’s figure leaning over the edge of the island, her elbows hitched on the counter as a small smirk plays on her lips. She found it abnormally amusing how he didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke, too invested in hawking over Y/n’s every move.

Harry grumbles, but the smile from Y/n’s laughter is permanent on his lips when he does so. Gemma even notices his cheeks brighten with pink, another hint of confirmation to the words she spoke.

“Shut up, Gem.“

She puts her arms up defensively, “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m just making an observation.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Gemma wraps her arm around his neck, hunching over so that her lips are close to his ear and eyes are directed toward Y/n again.

“She has gotten hotter, hasn’t she?”

She has no idea. All Harry can think about is how someone already so beautiful has grown to be so perfect. Everything about her makes Harry want to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her body. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thinking how much of a wreck he wants to make out of her.

“I don’t know how she did it. You better get her while you still have the chance, I know many, many men who want a taste of her.”

No is the first thing Harry thinks when the words leave from Gemma’s mouth. As hypocritical and selfish as it is, knowing other men have shown an interest in her makes his skin crawl. And he can’t help but feel his throat tighten at the moment Y/n realizes he had brought Kendall to this party.

“Is she—“ he can’t even finish his sentence without his jaw tightening again, hindering the rest of his question from leaving his lips.

“Oh, quit your worrying, H. She’s single, I don’t think she’d ever date someone who isn’t you. Besides, I don’t think you can do much about it with Kendall here.”

Gemma lifts a finger to where Kendall is standing, still in the same spot as she talks to his aunt Leslie. His heart hurts knowing what Y/n will feel when she finds out. He knows that there is always a part of her that feels discouraged whenever there’s a new woman in his life. In between Harry and Y/n’s love for each other was a mix of false hopes and miscommunication, and it always fucked them up whenever anything else was put in their way.

Gemma pats his shoulder before making rounds to her family and friends again, leaving Harry slumped against the counter with not a drop of wine to numb his scrambling mind.

When Y/n finishes catching up with the rest of Harry’s family, she finds that her patience is wearing thin. It’s been a year since she’s seen the love of her life, and knowing that he’s somewhere near her is enough to get her heart racing.

When she sees him sitting alone at the kitchen island, wearing his infamous pink suit and staring down at his fingers, it’s as if her body starts to malfunction. Her legs stop moving and her lips part, eyes glistening with admiration as she sees him for the first time in so long.

He’s as beautiful as ever, his new haircut accentuating his facial structure. His lips seem so much more red, too, which are complimented greatly by that goddamn suit. Everything about him radiates, like he’s developed into a whole other person. She’ll never quite grasp the idea that she’s about to reunite with him; something about it makes her palms sweat.

“Hey, stranger.”

Harry lifts his head up to look at her in all her glory. His heart warms at her presence more than the wine did, and he can’t help but to take a breath of relief when he finally hears her voice again.

“Y/n.” He breathes out, his fingers instinctively reaching up to the ends of her cut hair.

He chokes out a laugh of admiration when he sees her this close to him. She is so much different—so much more perfect than he ever remembers her being and it takes his breath away.

His fingers twist her hair, wrapping them around the digits before letting the strands fall back in place again. He never saw her without her hair down to her waist, and now that he has, he never wants to see her hair past her shoulders again.

“It’s so beautiful” he whispers, “you look so beautiful like this, Y/n. I absolutely love it.”

She blushes, her chin tucking slightly into her neck as if trying to hide how much of a reaction he got out of her. No matter how many years she’s known him, she was never used to the way he spoke to her.

“It was spontaneous. Really wanted a change, and it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Her hands reach to his hair, which is so much shorter compared to the last time she saw him. She remembered she couldn’t keep her hands out of it last year, constantly finding ways to tangle her fingers at the ends. Harry found it hysterical, actually, and thought it was the cutest thing she’s ever done.

“It’s just so soft” she’d say, “it’s like a whole other world in there!”

But now her only option is to tangle her fingers at the roots, and as she does so, her mind drifts to all the other occasions she could have her hands in his hair again.

“It’s so much shorter. Look at that! I can barely tug on it anymore!” She laughs in amusement, her fingers slipping as she pulls too hard.

He smirks up at her, a giggle falling from his lips as he watches her utterly amused reaction. They begin to catch up with the part of their lives they both have missed. Harry talked about his album while Y/n started discussing her new journalism job.

Talking to Y/n is one of the only normal parts of him left, it always gave him a sense of grounding whenever he felt his career was taking off to heights he wasn’t ready for. She is one of the only sense of normality he has left in his life, and it’s another reason as to why he admires her so dearly. She brought out parts of him nobody else could reach, and it’s another reason why he feels so upset he’s barely talked to her.

“Y/n?” he asks hesitantly, reaching his hand over so that his fingertips graze her hand.

Her breath breaks when he touches her, the softness in his voice proving that what is about to be discussed is far more important than their previous conversation. She notices the stress lines in between his forehead and the parting of his wine stained lips when he begins to speak. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I know how it makes me look, especially after everything that happened between us. With the new album and everything, I’ve just been so busy with—“

“Kendall?”

Harry’s head jumps to where Y/n stares dumbfounded, Kendall holding two glasses of wine in one hand while the other is carrying a plate of chicken wings. She’s looking down at Y/n, too, her eyebrows lifted up in an intimidating manner. There’s a scowl present on her lips as she continues to tower over her.

Y/n feels tears building in her eyes as she takes in the situation at hand. She was so fucking dumb to think that Harry was going to come to Anne’s party alone, especially since his new album just released. This is Kendall’s prime time appearance, when Harry needs a familiar famous face beside him to advertise his solo career.

This isn’t anything new—this isn’t anything unfamiliar, but the pain feels like a fresh wound to her heart. Harry and Y/n are nearly 24, with having known each other and felt something for each other for years, she thought that if anything were going to happen, it was going to happen now. But everything between them has remained stagnant for so long that the last sliver of hope she had for their potential relationship has been completely taken away from her. By Kendall, again.

“W—Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know Harry had invited you.”

“Yeah,” Kendall nods, “he invited me last night.”

Last night.

Y/n’s lips purse together, nodding her head as her eyes drift around the kitchen. Anything to avoid Kendall’s eyes—anything to feel as unimportant as she does now.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, a small hissing releasing from his tongue at how wrong it all sounds, considering absolutely nothing happened between Harry and Kendall the previous night besides being demanded that the two of them are to be seen together again.

“Right,” Y/n’s voice cracks, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt your time together. I’m going to go to Gemma’s room, got a phone call from my dad a while ago so I should go check up on him. I’ll see you guys around.”

She musters up a pathetic smile before practically running away from them. After everything they both told each other, after all the feelings they’ve had toward each other, how could Harry keep doing this to her? How could he keep being with Kendall when he says he loves Y/n?

She doesn’t even find the strength in her to hold in her tears before she approaches the steps, not daring to look back at them again. She never wants to see them in the same room again, it’ll be too much her heart can handle. 

“You’ve really got to be fucking kidding me, Kendall.” Harry growls.

His hands fist around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white and he’s absolutely shocked it hasn’t shattered into pieces in his hands from all the anger pulsing through his veins.

Jesus, Harry, neither one of you can take a joke. Does she not understand that all of this is for the press? She keeps acting like we’re a couple.”

“Could you really blame her after that? ‘He invited me last night,’ you’re really getting a kick out of making her uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

He grumbles as he takes a long sip of his wine, hoping that the alcohol loosens his muscles enough to restrain himself from doing anything he regrets. He loves his mum too much to start an argument during her birthday party, and as much as Kendall’s shifting Harry’s mood, he still appreciates her as a friend to ruin anything.

“That wasn’t even my fault, you both dug into that way too deep. Last night does not mean while we were fucking. It’s a time of day.”

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Are you being serious, Harry?”

He slams his glass down on the island, grumbling under his breath while he stands up from his chair. No matter how much anger is in him now, the only thoughts swirling in his brain are wondering if Y/n’s okay. She would have never left the party to go into a secluded room, not even if her dad called her.

“You leave her the fuck alone, Kendall. I mean it.”

He storms away from her, desperate to find Y/n because God only knows what’s really happening in that bedroom. Y/n’s emotions and feelings are always positive, always so bright, and he refuses to be the reason they turn upside down. She doesn’t deserve all he keeps doing to her, she doesn’t deserve him.

When Harry nearly swings himself onto the first step, he can already hear the soft murmur of Y/n’s and Anne’s voice, which makes him stop from approaching them any more than he has already.

“Y/n? Y/n, darling?” Anne asks with worry when she sees Y/n climbing up the top step with tears in her eyes, soft cries falling from her throat as her hand attempts to silence them.

She reaches an arm out for her, tugging at the front of Y/n’s dress slightly to get her attention. She’s grateful it was Anne who found her this way instead of any other guest at the party, considering nobody besides her and Harry have seen her with a frown on her face.

“Y/n, baby, what’s going on with you?”

The lights are off in the hallway, with no guests permitted in the area, which gives Y/n the proper time to fully allow her tears to fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so s—sorry, Anne.” Y/n cries.

Anne’s hands rub her shoulders, reassuring her that there’s absolutely nothing for her to apologize for. It also lets her know that she’s willing to listen to her, no matter where or when—she’ll always be there.

“I’m almost 24, Anne, and I’ve put so much of my life on hold for him.”

She knows instantly who Y/n’s talking about. It wasn’t difficult to notice the undying connection between Y/n and her son, especially as the years went on. They have grown so strongly together, there has never been a doubt in Anne’s mind that Y/n is going to be the girl Harry ends up marrying. Everyone in the family called it a destiny waiting to happen, but it has been so long since anything has happened between them, and Anne can’t help but feel heartbroken to know Y/n’s carrying the wrong idea about him and Kendall.

“And I’ve sacrificed so m—much to continue waiting for him, but I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore. We’re nowhere near where we should be, especially when he keeps spending time with Kendall and I just—I just don’t know if I can—“

“Oh, my darling.” Anne sighs, cradling Y/n’s head against her shoulder as she rubs down her back.

She shushes her through her tears, rocking her slightly in an attempt to calm her from her cries. It’s extremely rare for Y/n to feel upset, so when she does so, Anne knows she deserves all the comfort and love she can get.

“I know you so well, and I know my son. I always knew you were a match made in heaven, my dear. I knew from the start you were more than just an ordinary girl. You’re so special, to everyone in our family, but especially to him. He may not have his head screwed on right most of the time, but if I can promise you anything with all my heart, it’s that he loves you. Please, no matter what, never forget that.”

Y/n nods against her shoulder, thanking her through her violent cries before Anne insists she takes some time to herself. And as much as Y/n wanted to refrain from going into Harry’s bedroom, it’ll be the only place that brings her a sense of comfort.

Harry already knows he’s in for a lecture the second he sees his mum coming down the stairs with bewildered eyes. She grips his shoulders, her face tight with frustration.

“Mum—“

“You go over to her and you be the man I taught you to be, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, swallowing thickly at the thought of disappointing another person in his life.

“She loves you and you love her. Stop doing favors for other people and start thinking about you before you ruin both of your lives forever. You hear me?”

Harry nods feverishly, determined and more motivated than ever to fix all that he’s caused. Love comes first, always, and he needs to remember that before he breaks Y/n’s heart completely.

She’s it. She’s all that matters to him.

He barely responds to Anne before he’s racing to his old bedroom, completely clueless as to what he’s going to say, but willing to do anything to get her back.

“Y/n?” Harry calls through the door of his old bedroom. “Y/n, can I come in?” 

He knocks on the door lightly, just using the knuckles of his pointer and middle finger. He hears her feet pad over to the door, opening it to reveal her tear stained cheeks. Her hands are trembling against the knob, her breath broken with soft, gentle cries. Her eyes are widened with sadness, wet and red from tears she barely ever cries.

“Y/n.” He whimpers, tentatively reaching his shaking fingers up to her cheeks. He wipes away the tears from the bottoms of her eyes, sighing upsettingly as her eyes close at his touch. “Never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

Her lips quiver as another sob rips through her, her hand reaching up to capture his between her fingers. Her saddened and wet eyes looking down at the intertwined hands now resting against her lap.

“I’m so tired, H.” She whimpers, “So tired.”

His lips press against her forehead, “I know, love. I know.”

She wraps her arms around him, her face burying in between his chest as he lets her tears soak in his undershirt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I’d finally be alone with you after all this time. I missed being close to you, I wanted to be closer to you and I thought you felt the same about me and I didn’t understand, Harry, I didn’t get it and—“


“Hey, relax for me.” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing tenderly along her cheek.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers fisting the back of his suit tighter in her fists. She rests her chin on the top of his chest, tears still roaming down her face as she lets out an exasperated sigh. Her fingertips trace patterns on his back, her eyes fluttering closed as he pushes some of her hair off of her face, refraining them from sticking to her wet cheeks.

“I didn’t get it,” she whispers, “I was so confused, and when you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you didn’t find me important. And I was under no right to be upset about it, because you’re busy and you have priorities. But when I saw you today, I didn’t see you as the Harry I always have, I still can’t tell you what I saw but I wanted every part of you more than I ever have before. But when I saw Kendall I—“

Her cries and words die down when she feels Harry’s tender lips against hers. She’s taken aback at first, and before she has any time to really kiss him back, he’s already pulled away.

“Let me fix this.” He breathes out, “let show you that I only want you.”

His lips press against the side of her mouth, not allowing himself to kiss her the way he wants to until she lets him. They then begin to travel down her neck, along her jaw, around her mouth.

Y/n’s breath is stiff as he does so, embracing the feeling of his mouth against her skin. They’ve only ever kissed a handful of times, none of them being passionate or loving. They’ve shared pecks while saying goodbyes or after confessing their feelings, but none quite like this—none quite like the one anticipating to happen.

His breathing his hard when he continues to kiss along her skin, his fingers moving longly in her hair the more his mouth presses against her.

“Will you let me?” He whispers when his lips are ghosting over hers, “this okay?”

She nods feverishly, hitting the point of desperation when she feels his breath fan over the skin of her face. She’s been needing this for far too long now.

“Yes, please.

His thumb runs over her bottom lip one, two, three times before he finally leans in. Their lips mush together passionately, only breaking apart to move their position before locking again. Their tongues meet in the middle, making the both of them moan at the unfamiliar spark coursing through their veins.

Harry walks toward his bed until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of it, making her back meet the mattress. Their lips haven’t detached once, not daring to break away from the feeling they’ve both been deprived of.

They’re both making out on Harry’s childhood bed, grinding onto each other half naked like two hormonal teenagers. Their clothes thrown across the room, lips swollen from all the suction and nibbling, and hair completely knotted from either of their fingertips, the party below them long forgotten.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” Y/n gasps, lifting herself off of his chest.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch his breath as he looks up at Y/n in confusion. He watches as a smirk lifts from her lips as she peers down at his flushed face, giggling slightly at his complete fucked out appearance.

She notices that his lips remained stained from the red wine—a little faded—but still making her body weak at the sight of it.

“’s the matter?” He croaks.

His voice is thick—an entirely different level of raspy, and Y/n wonders how she’s lived so long without hearing him speak in that way. Between all the kissing, all the touching, all the moaning, his voice has a particular roughness to it that Y/n could feed off of if she had to.

“We shouldn’t do this, right? I mean, we’re about to fuck during your mum’s birthday party. Your entire family and Kendall are downstairs, anybody could walk in at any second, or hear us, and your mum could find that so disrespectful and—“

Her rambling is interrupted by his lips, meeting hers passionately between her words.

There is no way in hell he’s leaving this room tonight. Everything that’s been stagnant between them is finally moving in the right direction, and he can’t find it anywhere in him to walk away from it.

“You think I’m letting you go now?” He whispers, his thumb running along her bottom lip. “I have been waiting for this moment with you since high school, sweetheart.”

His lips reattach to her neck, sucking on spots he hasn’t already left marks on, soaking up every bit of the time he has with her before it’s over. This is the first time they’re going to make love, and he wants to feel and remember every bit of this moment.

“B—But your mum—“ She moans, her fingers nearly tangling at the ends of his hair as she hisses in pleasure from his tongue.

“Every single person downstairs knows about us. This—this happening right now, has been expected to happen since I first brought you home. I guarantee you, nothing will make her more happy than knowing her son and his future wife are finally acting on our feelings instead of pushing them to the side again.”

His words make Y/n blush like no other; her cheeks turning the shade of pink on her dress she wore previously. It’s then he notices just hot fucking pretty she is in pink, how every tint of the color compliments her in ways he can barely wrap his head around.

“Future wife, hm?” She smirks, tapping the pads of her fingers against his bare collarbones.

He kisses her again.

“Thought you knew that, love. Wouldn’t know a single soul I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” His fingers dig into her hips, “’s always been you.“

Y/n pushes Harry’s back against the mattress again, trailing her fingers down his torso. She giggles when his teeth clench at her touch, finding it almost irresistible to embrace the way he responds to her touch so easily.

“Trust me, I always knew.”

Hi, I’d like to file a complaint

Hi, hello, I’d like to file a complaint, please? Four, actually. I found some problems with how Volume 4 treated a Miss Ruby Rose and I’d like it to be brought to your attention.

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James Potter is going grey

In honour of the grey hair I found on my head today.

Also here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12391871/1/Going-Grey


When James finally starts going grey, you would have thought the entire bloody world had caught on fire.

It’s Sirius who spots it first, the one shining silver strand in the mass of black hair on James’ head. They’re trooping in, brooms over their shoulders, mud on their quidditch boots, and James has Harry wrapped up under his arm, rubbing his head while Harry laughs at James’ insistence that “You can’t slag off your old man. I would have kicked your arse back in the day.”

“Yeah,” Harry yells, elbowing his father in the side, “back in the day.” Sirius barks a laugh, claps Harry on the back, “Nice one, kid.” James shoots him a glare and he shoves James’ shoulder, “Tough break, mate. Though your kid kicking your arse goes nicely with that grey hair you’ve got there. Very fitting.”

When Lily finds them a few minutes later, Harry is doubled over, barely breathing with laughter, and James and Sirius are nothing more than a tangle of limbs on the now excruciatingly muddy kitchen floor. She pulls out her wand, twirls it deftly between her fingers, calmly threatens to hex them within an inch of their lives if they don’t get up right now and clean the floor.

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7 Years

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It’s been 7 years since you walked away from the love of your life.

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, bullying


You watched the little girl with brown hair and blue eyes play with the children around her. 7 years old was her age. 7 years ago was the last time you saw the love of your life. 7 years ago you caught your fiance cheating on you. 7 years ago you were about to tell him he was going to be a father.

But all of that is in the past now. You were happy and so was your baby girl Isabelle Rebecca L/N-Barnes.

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Everything: Draco x Reader

Originally posted by strongerbloger

You’d been freezing Draco out for three days now, after several shitty run-ins with him that left you in tears in your dormitory. It wasn’t always easy being the Prince of Slytherin’s best friend, but it certainly didn’t become any easier when he started disappearing for unexplainable stretches of time. He’d be sitting across from you at breakfast, and then the next minute, he’d vanish into thin air.

It was beginning to spark your curiosity, until you rounded a corner on your way to potions on Wednesday morning and laid eyes on Draco making out with Pansy. His hand was right on her hip, jamming her against the brick corridor wall, and her fingers ripped through the platinum blonde locks that haunted your dreams.

It was quite enough of a visual to send any girl back to the Slytherin common room, weeping mascara tears down the sides of both cheeks.

Since then, you zombied through classes and avoided Draco at all costs; although, given that he was your partner in most courses, it wasn’t easy. When spoken to, you answered him in shrugs, sometimes nods, and refused to make eye contact. Every time he brought up one of your inside jokes, you pretended not to hear him. If he laughed, you bit the inside of your cheek and tried not to melt at his smile. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt looking at him - and he had no fucking clue.

It didn’t stop there, though; you also were skipping meals, opting to spend time in the library, where you wouldn’t have to worry about watching Draco cram his tongue down Pansy’s throat.

Blaise had noticed your erratic behavior and asked what was up, but you brushed it off with some halfhearted excuse. “Big tests coming up in herbology, and that’s my worst subject, and, come on, Blaise, you’re being crazy. Don’t worry.” He didn’t buy it, though - kept checking up on you, every twenty minutes, in the library. Each time, he snuck a little food in, too.

And it worked for those few days, hanging out with Blaise and burying your nose in your books. Eventually, though, Draco found you hiding in the library on Saturday morning, after a bulk of your classmates had left to go Hogsmeade. Since Pansy wasn’t in tow, you assumed that’s where she was.

Draco seemed relieved at first, walking over to your table with his typical cocky stride, but the relief quickly dissolved to confusion.

“Oh my lord, love, you haven’t transferred to another school. Blaise assured me that you still attend to Hogwarts, but after having gone so long without seeing you, I was a little skeptical.” Draco set his palms on the edge of the table and leaned in toward you. “Where have you even been recently?”

Hardly glancing up from your herbology textbook, you answered, “Around.”

“Very cryptic,” and he chuckled to himself, as if it was funny. “How come you didn’t go on the trip to Hogsmeade?”

“Afraid you’d be there,” you deadpanned again.

Draco didn’t seem to think you were being serious. “Well, I didn’t go because I didn’t think you were going, and it wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

“Right,” you looked up at him, not blinking. “You would never do anything without telling me.”

“Right,” he nodded, but when he caught your stone-cold expression, the smirk had faded from his lips. “W-what are you talking about?”

“For fuck’s sake, Draco, don’t play dumb. Merlin.”

“Play dumb? What in the name of everything holy am I playing dumb about?”

You looked at him long and hard, trying as best as you could to keep yourself from bursting into tears, before calmly looking away and beginning to collect your things. He kept repeating your name over and over, but it sounded distant; sounded like you were underwater. He didn’t sound like your Draco, he sounded like someone else’s Draco. Pansy’s Draco.

Without uttering another word, you blew past him and sauntered out of the library.

All through the hallways, Draco chased after you. You guys got down to the dungeons and into the common room, before finally, he grabbed ahold of your shoulder and spun you around. His grip pulsated tingles through your skin; you physically had to keep your feet planted into the ground. “What is going on, Y/N? Tell me.”

“Tell you?” You sneered, a bit too loudly. “Tell you. That’s loaded.”

He did look good, though, out of his usual Hogwarts garb - you couldn’t help but admit it. His Slytherin Quidditch jumper clung tight to his chest; his black sweats hung loose enough around his waist that the band of his boxers was visible. That infamous head of hair was parted messily, probably from having drug his hands through it so much. There was a ruby tint to his pale cheeks.

“Tell me, Y/N.”

“Tell you? Tell me, Draco, why isn’t loving you enough?” Your voice leapt from your throat, too fast for you to think twice before announcing your innermost feelings to all of the Slytherin common room. Thank Merlin that your classmates were at Hogsmeade; otherwise, all starstruck eyes would’ve been fixated on you and Draco. “What the bloody hell else must I do?”

Draco’s eyes grew wide, and the rest of his expression was bewildered at best. “Y/N..Y/N, what d-did y-you just s-say?”

Not once, in sixteen years of friendship, had Draco ever stuttered in front of you. It was strange seeing him in such a vulnerable light; but nevertheless, you refused to let that humanize him. You were furious - you could not let him charm his way out of this one.

“Oh, cut the Quirrell act, Draco,” you hissed, now pacing the floor in front of where Draco stood. “You and I both know damn-well that I’ve loved you for a long time; that you’re my first and only love; and that Jesus, Draco, I will always love you. You and that arrogant smile, matched with the warm laugh. You, you, you. I will always love you, but now, you’re going around the Castle shagging Parkinson, so I guess I just need to move on.”

“Y/N..” Draco tried to counter, but the words weren’t coming to him. His mind was an utter abyss, and by some sheer misfortune, he couldn’t concoct a single coherent thought. So blinded by anger with himself, his mind was a maze without a way out. “Y/N.”

“Save it, Draco, we both know actions speak louder tha-”

And before you knew it, your best friend was pressing his body up against yours, running his fingers through your hair and kissing you as hard as he possibly could, square on the mouth. It was horribly wrong and you were treacherously angry, but with those lips, you forgot all about your coherent emotions. All of a sudden, it was like your heart was pumping out his name.

Your hands moved from your sides to his chest, grabbing ahold of his sweatshirt in both fists. Softly, a moan escaped your mouth, to which Draco replied with a groan of his own. The familiarity and gentleness of voice his damn-near brought you to the ground on both of your knees.

Breathing heavily, you pulled back from the kiss and examined your best friend’s face. In the childhood years leading up to Hogwarts, you and him would always lay out on your backs in the lawn of the Malfoy Manor, laughing wildly and talking about what it would be like to finally go to wizarding school.

“You and me are gonna be Slytherins, I just know it. All of my family was sorted into Slytherin, and I’m gonna be the same way. And father says that your whole family was Slytherin, too. Imagine it, Y/N, you and me: the smartest wizard and witch Hogwarts has ever seen.”

As one would expect, there were discrepancies in his face that had changed with time. Of course, he was a cute boy, but by the time third year rolled around, he became more classifiably hot than classifiably cute. This year in particular had aged him, though; his eyes sunk into their sockets a little bit, and he always looked a little washed-out. You knew about the Dark Mark on his inner arm - you had one to match, too. You’d grown old together, in just sixteen years. And looking at him, that close-up, after having just kissed him, made you shudder.

“Why did you pick Pansy? Why couldn’t you have p-picked me?” Your voice snapped like a twig - unannounced tears began to drip from your eyes.

“Y/N,” his tone was low, patient, and remarkably un-Draco, and he extended his arms to a hugging position. “Please don’t cry. C'mere. ’M here.”

You were furious at yourself for kissing him, furious at yourself for crying, furious at yourself for so desperately wanting to accept his hug. “Fuck off, Draco, I-I shouldn’t have-”

“Y/N,” he closed the distance between you two and reached his hand up to your face, swiping away a tear with his thumb. “I don’t want you to cry because of me.”

“Too late,” you whispered.

“Y/N..”

“Why Pansy?”

“I don’t want to talk about her, Y/N.”

“But I do, Draco-”

“No, you don’t, Y/N. Forget about her.”

“She’s your fucking girlfriend, Draco.”

His pale, quivering face was pressed so close to yours, you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

“I don’t want to do this here, Y/N - not in the common room. Let’s go back to the dorm. Your dorm, my dorm, either dorm, just away. Away from here. By ourselves.”

Deep down, you were still red-angry at him, but he was Draco. Irresistible, charming, and so goddamn homey, it disgusted you. You could never ever, in a million eons, turn your back on him - even if he did choose Pansy over you. Best friends didn’t give up on one another.

“Okay.” You murmured.

“Yours or mine?” He mumbled back.

“Yours.”

Without skipping a beat, he laced his left hand through your right, then began to guide you up the steps. It wasn’t the first time that you were in his room, but it was the first time, obviously, that you were in his room after having kissed him. It felt a little out of place, but not necessarily uncomfortable. Just different; just new.

“You wanna sit down?” He spoke so softly, you could hardly hear him.

“Yeah.” So you both went to sit down on the edge of Draco’s mattress. You glanced back at his nightstand and looked at the framed photo of you and him from Christmas of the past year, arms linked and smiles broad, standing in front of the grand staircase at your parents’ house. It was a good photo of him. You looked alright, too, but he made the entire thing.

“So, Pansy,” he sighed. “You want the truth?”

For the first time all day, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That would be nice.”

He reached over and set his palm on your knee. “It’s your own damn fault, if I’m being honest. Remember the quidditch match against Gryffindor last weekend? Remember the party afterward?”

Of course you remembered the match and the party. Draco had won the game for Slytherin after beating Potter in the battle for the snitch, so there was a major blowout in the common room. You and Draco came down from the quidditch pitch to the party together, but Draco ended up getting absolutely wasted on Firewhisky. By the time he started to slur, you dragged him up to his dormitory, and then put a spell on the door, so no one else could enter the room.

“Yeah, I remember. What’s the point?”

Draco exhaled shakily. “That night, I wasn’t as drunk as you thought I was, Y/N. I only had two or three drinks, and we both know that it takes more than that to get me buzzed.”

He was right - usually, it took four or five drinks for the alcohol to really get to Draco. It didn’t make sense, though.

“But you seemed-”

“I was hyper, Y/N. We bloody beat Potter, you know? I was hyperactive and all over the place, and then you come along, as beautiful as always, and you take me upstairs. You put the spell on the door to lock it, and you lay me down in bed, and you help me get undressed so I was down to just my t-shirt and boxers, and you tell me to get some sleep. But then, you tell me you want to stay, to keep up on me, so we lay there together. And I say something stupid, and you begin to giggle in that addictive fucking way that you do-”

“Draco-”

“Let me finish,” he cut you off. “So you begin to laugh, and I’m losing my fucking mind, and I tell you that I fucking love you-”

“Dra-”

“-I tell you that I fucking love you, and you just laugh some more and tell me that that’s not true - that we could never work, because I’m just drunk and out-of-it, and not in love with you. And then I try to kiss you, but you think it’s funny, so you laugh again and tell me that I need to get some rest. But I don’t want to rest, I want you, I want you. I’ve always wanted you-”

“Drac-”

“Merlin, Y/N, let me finish. You spent the next couple hours with me, and as I start to fall asleep, you tell me that you and me could never happen. And then you leave. And then the next morning, I wake up without you, and without any hope of ever getting with you. So I fucking find Pansy and I hookup with her, because I think that’ll erase you from my mind, but it didn’t. Nothing did. Nothing could.” His entire body trembled with each word.

Suddenly, your entire world shifted from shades of green and silver and grey, to an entire spectrometer’s worth of color. All that time, when you watched him with Pansy, you thought back to that night in his dorm. Once you got him into his bed, he didn’t seem as drunk as you first expected, but you never second-guessed it. You never through that Draco Malfoy, of all people, could love you. Draco.

“Draco, I-I love you,” your voice betrayed you once again and crackled. “I just didn’t think your feelings were real - I thought they were fabricated by intoxication. It felt too good to be true. Sometimes, you feel too good to be true.”

“Too good to be true? I’m a cowardly son of a bastard Death Eater, with this godforsaken tattoo on my forearm. And yet, you still hang out with me, still laugh at my jokes, still go to all my quidditch matches and cheer me on. You see past the whole façade. You’re too good to be true. You’re my best fucking friend, Y/N, how could I not love you? You’re my everything. Everything. All my childhood memories, all my Hogwarts moments, and all my mid-afternoon daydreams. You’re everything, bloody hell.” The tears came out again, but this time, not out of sorrow. Mostly guilt, mostly regret, and mostly pure fucking joy. “I’m sorr-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, Y/N. Just tell me you want me to dump Pansy. Tell me to dump her and be with you, because that’s all I want to hear - that’s all I fucking need to hear. Be with me, oh my god, tell me you want to be with me.”

You couldn’t believe that he was real, and sitting a foot away from you, and rattling off these sentences. “I’ve always wanted to be with you, Draco. I always have, and I always will. You’re everything.”  

And the dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem as dark anymore, and the ache from your chest was lifted. Everything, everything. The stars and the moon, the sun and the parchment.

Protégé (M) [Part 5]

Originally posted by jjks

[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 4]

Warning: Mentions of violence

Words: 10,882

When your phone receiver buzzed, you were poised and ready, jabbing your index finger against the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Morning, ma’am.” Jaebum’s voice drifted through the device, as cheerful as it always was, despite it just being a couple hours past sunrise. 

“Good morning, Jaebum.” You murmured, only filling the small gap of silence before he continued with what you’d been dreading to hear all morning.

“There’s someone here to see you,” He continued and you slowly exhaled. “A Miss Sorin Park.”

Your tongue glided over the edges of your teeth and back again, buying yourself time to settle the simmering annoyance that had been bubbling within you since last night. “Send her up.”

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| Captive | King George III

*Princess Augusta, King George III’s mother, died three years before the start of the American Revolution, but events have been changed to match the oneshot.

*Also, this is the first time I realized King George and Washingdad have the same name as I was writing. I’m an idiot.


“You have a letter Mr. President.”

“What?” George’s tone was harsh, unforgiving. The man delivering said letter jumped in alarm and George sighed, calming himself down.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was tired, dark purple bags lining themselves underneath his eyelids. He brushed a hand up his face, sighing deeply. The man had been having the worst few months in his existence. His daughter, his precious girl, had disappeared right under his nose. There was a full watch sent out, a large sum of money being given to anyone who could bring you home.

Of course many people had tried to bring forth people who looked similar to you and get the reward, but George wasn’t an idiot. He knew his daughter down to the very quirk of your lips.

But it had just passed the benchmark of three months. Rumors had started to brew in the streets. What if you had simply run away? George had dismissed such claims  at the beginning but now he began to worry. Had he been hard on you? Was it the revolution? Did you truly feel suppressed enough to run away from him?

“Well?” He asked, becoming irritated again at the man who had hesitated to step forward.

“Ah…we haven’t opened it out of respect for your privacy but…” He bit his lip.

“Be curt young man!” George pursed his lips. The man winced.

“It is signed from King George III,” The man swallowed.

George felt his world stop.

What.

“And? Bring it forward,” He reigned in his absolute shock in mind of his company. The man placed the letter on his desk before saluting and exiting the room on rushed legs.

“Poor lad,” George muttered, trailing the edges of the letter with his fingers. Such an innocent envelope, yet looking to hold the weight of the world.

He took in a deep breath to steel himself and opened it slowly, unfolding the paper.

Washy!

Hello old pal! It has come to my knowledge that you are growing funnier than ever, rounding up that little army of yours. I have no doubts in who will win this petty little war you’ve started, but I suppose it would be good to have a few cards to deal with on my side in case of any surprising and impossible forth-comings.  

I looked into every corner of your life, and I came to find something I never noticed before. It was too interesting for me to simply put aside, and so I’m afraid I had to take it. What was the little thing’s name? Ah yes! Y/N was it?

Don’t worry about her. I delayed this letter to give you ample time to lose your wits in search for her in a land where she no longer stands, and so by the time this arrives I am confident you would be quite hysterical. Delightful isn’t it?

So yes, I have her, she’s my hostage, blah blah blah. I’ll be keeping her I’m afraid until I have you successfully back under my colonial rule. She misses you terribly I think, won’t stop blabbing. Although she did become rather quiet of late….do you suppose I’ve broken her?

Anywho, I give my utmost preeminent regards!

Toodledoo!

Your loving ruler,

King George III

George stared. He let his eyes roam over the ink twice, five times, ten, till every word had been memorized, till he was sure he hadn’t let anything go by.

His hand holding the parchment shook, something burning in his nose and wetly behind his eyes. Intense worry and despair flooded his senses before it was replaced by a burning anger that made his vision go red.

His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the letter with one action, now shaking for another reason entirely.

“General?” A commander knocked briefly before entering. “The ranks would like to know if- General?”

George’s eyes were covered by the shadow of his own face before he looked up, and the commander stiffened, feeling ice cold fear run through him at the bloodthirsty fire encompassing those usual warm brown orbs.

George smiled, and it was feral. “Gather the men.”


Your nail scratched down the wall.

The coarse, uncomfortable feeling no longer bothered you as it had the first time, and you gazed blankly at the tally mark finishing the five. The entire east corner of the room’s wall had been covered in similar tallies, one each day, leading up to where you now stood.

“Day 120,” You murmured, not bothering to push back a lock of hair than invaded your line of sight. One more day, and you would have been here four months.

Four months.

Four months without the American soil beneath your feet. Four months without so much as a glimpse at the blue sky. Four months without your father’s gummy smile.

At first you’d been thrown into a cell. After being drugged and carted over the sea for days, you awoke to captivity. You had been provided little food, no warmth, staying in the same dirty clothes for weeks. You had freaked out more or less, keeping yourself sane with delusions that someone would be coming to save you.

But nobody came.

And soon logic overtook your emotions. Why would they? No one knew where you were, so how could they possibly rescue you? And even if King George - you thought the name in disgust - sent word over to the west, it would be at least 4-6 weeks before a letter could even travel that far.

So you stopped your sniveling, put your chin high, and reminded yourself that you were the daughter of the goddamn general of America and you would not break.

The moment you’d stopped being overly sentimental, you were transferred to this room. It was utterly different than the dank, dark tomb of a cell you’d been objected to for weeks. It was prim, proper, had a king sized bed, fitted with a dresser and mirrors and curtains that looked to be more expensive than your life. Servants came in and dressed you in magnificent gowns, complete with makeup and the standard white wig on top your head. The minute they left you tore it off.

What almost made you shatter was the shower that you’d been able to take. You vowed to not give in to whatever game he was playing, but didn’t object to taking an hour long bath with the lavender soap in the cubicle.

They had hot water. Hot water. Was this a magical kingdom?

You digress.

Of course you knew what was happening. He must have wanted you to develop some kind on Stockholm Syndrome towards him, where you’d be lathered in positive attention after dark treatment and grow an attachment to him.

Yeah right.

You might be a woman, but you weren’t an idiot, no matter what majority of men may believe about your gender.

Y/N~”

There he was.

You had heard the calling so many times now that you could distinguish it from five miles away. The amount of loathing that came over you was enough for you to want to change your name just so that you wouldn’t have to hear it ever again in that doting tone.

The door creaked open, but you didn’t turn around.

“Y/N~!” The voice was more crisp, clear, endeared with a British accent you had been taught to despise. “I see you’re still marking the walls!”

You didn’t open your mouth.

“The silent treatment again?” You could practically hear the pout in his voice. “It’s gotten old now, dear. What must I do to get you to talk?”

The bed creaked and you knew he had fallen down languidly on the mattress, but you kept your vision aligned with the wall.

“Should I pry that pretty little mouth open?” He mused. You shivered at his words. Your father had had you at a  young age, barely nineteen. He had described you as a ‘miracle baby’, but all that meant was that he hadn’t expected to have you, and you knew it. You didn’t even know who your real mother was, but you had long since forgiven him for that. He was young and made a mistake. At least he didn’t abandon you.

Added to the fact that King George was almost ten years younger than your father, the king was actually not lengths away from your own age, which disturbed you on too many levels to comprehend.

“Or maybe cut those fingers off till you scream?” He continued, now talking to himself, unaware of the effect it had on you. Or was he? “Anything would be better than this annoying childish behaviour.”

Childish? Childish?

You had to restrain yourself to not pounce on him the instant.

“Though I guess I could just send word to old Washy that I killed you. That would surely send him to his grave with worry.”

You broke.

“Don’t you dare,” Your voice was heavy with anger as you whipped around. Widened chocolate eyes regarded you in surprise, a grin stretching across flawless skin.

“Ah so she speaks” He exclaimed giddily. You immediately wanted to calm up again, but it was of no use. You had already given him his victory.

“What are you here for today?” You asked, even though you knew. Its what he came for everyday. As a King you would think he had his schedule full, but he somehow made time every single day to come and pester you for the same thing.

“Oh you already know darling. So why don’t we make this easier on both of us?”

“I’m not becoming a spy for you,” You muttered, voice robotic. You had repeated the words so many times it was second nature. “I will not become a prostitute or anything of the matter. I definitely will not give you any information regarding the plans of my father for the war-”

“-and I will not succumb to any of your wishes,” He finished for you, rolling his eyes, and lolling his head back, shifting into a more comfortable position in which he could still see your face. “I know the drill princess. Then what good are you for?”

Your mouth shut. The playful tone had been sucked out of his atmosphere entirely at the last sentence, his eyes alight with something hypnotic, menacing, intimidation slamming over your head so quickly you froze up entirely. You were sure you were about to be sentenced to death then and there, but then he was back and the monster was gone, a smile lighting up his face, forming tiny dimples along his cheeks and crinkles around his eyes.

“I’m just messing with you!” He said, getting up from the sheets and patting your back roughly. You flinched at the touch, deciding to scrub extra hard in the tub today. “I do hope you change your mind tomorrow! My patience does have a limit.”

You were given a glimpse at the insanity that lay beneath the surface of the cheer and exuberance as his gaze flashed something predatory before he was literally prancing out of the room, humming a catchy tune underneath his breath.

You collapsed onto the wall as soon as he left, your mask gone as you put your face in your hands. A shaking sigh left your mouth as you shuddered, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming onslaught of moisture that flooded your eyes.

Dad, please come quick.


The door opened.

You glared at the recent tally mark of 130. “You’re here early today. What? Got bored with terrorizing innocent subjects?” You could be killed for your talk to such an important figure, but you knew he wouldn’t harm you, and frankly you didn’t care. You knew he needed you as a ransom.

There was no answer, and you turned around in confusion, just in time for him to wrap his arms around you.

Panic flared within you but only skyrocketed as he dragged you down to the mattress. You kicked at him frantically, assuming the worst. No no you weren’t ready, you weren’t for use, he couldn’t take this from you you wouldn’t let him-

Confusion sprouted next as he didn’t lay any perverted touches on you, simply keeping you tight in his hold and burying his head into your hair. The soft but ragged breathing told you he was awake, but you didn’t dare move if he was unstable. You’d witnessed his absolute insanity before, and you didn’t feel like being at the end of it.

But why was he doing this? Was this another tactic?

But then why was he shaking?

So you stayed still, highly attentive, until he relaxed against you and his breaths evened out. Against everything you were, you let him hold you, ignoring the waves of revulsion rolling on your skin. You absentmindedly eyed a pair of scissors on the dressing table. You could easily slip out of his hold and stab him before anyone knew, take the life of the man who had ruined yours.

The thought ran through your mind another time before you disregarded it. Not now. Not only did you think you wouldn’t have the ability to actually bring yourself to commit the act, but killing someone in their sleep was probably the most cowardly of cowardly acts.

Does cowardice really matter when you are a prisoner? A voice whispered temptingly from the dark abyss of your mind. You crushed it.

You were not that type of person.

It was only later when you had been left alone again without a word from the king, that you discovered what had happened. There were hushed talks among the servants, the nobles outside your door.

The king’s sick and weak mother had finally died of laryngeal cancer in her sleep.

You were unsure how to feel.

At one end you absolutely wanted to have no feelings of remorse or pity towards George. But on the other you were far more concerned of why exactly he had come to you for comfort.

Why you? Were you not a mere captive?  A hostage?

Then you looked back. Every day.  He had visited you every day. You couldn’t bear to admit it, but even you grew used to his visits, and came to expect them with some anticipation. (If only to imagine ripping those pretty eyes from his skull). He must have grown attached to you at some point as well.

Could he have possibly grown a….liking towards you?

The thought was ridiculous but the evidence proved otherwise. And if so…if so…

You grinned slowly at your reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you weren’t the hostage anymore.


He continued to come. Earlier and earlier every day. You didn’t change your attitude towards him too quickly, knowing that you had to concoct your plan slowly in order for there to be no suspicion whatsoever.

But you ever so slowly changed the game. You began to face him when he came in instead of away. You let your hand ‘accidentally’ brush against his side. You made an effort to look presentable when he came in.

You even ripped a small piece of your mask away to allow yourself to give him a real smile once.

And you could feel him beginning to turn into putty in your hand. Your father would be proud of you, you thought. For tricking the enemy so well.

(Or would he? Allowing yourself to manipulate another so easily?)

And one fateful night, when George was tired, and it had been a hard day on him, and your eyes had been shining so brilliantly in the light of the candle-

You did nothing when his lips came down on yours, merely tightened a fist behind your back and brought the other to gently touch his cheek.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You had turned the tables successfully. You had him under just as much control as he thought he still had you under.

It was funny really.

You began to think of ways to escape. It had taken you so long to get him to trust you, but maybe a few more months and he would let you go outside, and then from there you could begin putting out plans to get back home.

Home.

The word seemed so far away, and yet so close.

America, wait for me.


One evening you were sitting upright the headrest on the bed, George’s head on your shoulder, the room silent. It was the rare occasion his customary royalty wig wasn’t on, and his soft brown curls brushed against your cheek.

He looked much better in your opinion. Not that you cared.

“Y/N?”

“mm?”

His eyes stared into space, as if he was seeing something you weren’t.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a minute you felt dread tinge your tongue. He hadn’t figured you out had he? You forced yourself to calm down. “Doing what?”

“This,” He shifted his eyes so that they were boring into yours, and it was as if he was unraveling your very soul. “I thought you had accepted this to ask of something of me, or try and grasp your freedom, but you’ve done nothing of the sort. What do you hope to accomplish?”

He must have been really tired if he was spilling his guts to you. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

“Do I need to accomplish something?” Answer another question with a question, your dad’s voice lectured in your mind. Don’t ever let them see weakness.

“I would think so,” His voice was silk, rushing over your ears, causing you to relax your own guard much more than you wanted. “Unless you are idiotic enough to gain romantic inhibitions to your captor.”

“Well then I shall say the same to you,” You countered. “How does one gain such feelings toward their captive?”

“Touche,” He laughed before regaining his quiet. You grew worried. He had never been this sober before. Was there something seriously wrong?

“I am never letting you go,” He said suddenly. You blinked, but didn’t reply. His grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. “My sweet, submissive subject.”

You couldn’t help the adamant scowl that pulled your lips. Submissive??

“But you’re not,” He amended, watching the change in your face, eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty. “You have fire. And intelligence, almost. You are the strangest woman I have ever met.”

You stared back, struck speechless by his gaze. And for the first time, you found yourself leaning forward as well when he captured your lips with his, deepening the embrace till you grew hot with passion and thoughtless as you were pressed down into the mattress.


A knock on the door.

“George,” you said immediately. “Yo-”

An unfamiliar man stood there instead, a complacent smile on his face. You cleared your throat after staring in surprise.

“Ah, hello,” The man said, voice a deep richness, lines between his eyes that betrayed the amount of times he smiled.

There was a certain twinkle in those eyes as he walked towards you, his steps kept together and his back straight. He lifted a tape measure. “I am merely your new tailor, madame. Please let down your guard.”

You vaguely wondered what had happened to the other woman but nodded, loosening the tightness in your shoulders.

He was gentle as he lifted your arms and zipped around you, wrapping the measure around your waist and up your side. As he lifted your hair to stretch the surface of the material against you neck, he began to speak again.

“May I ask you your name, miss?”

“Y/N,” You said quietly.

“Lovely,” he complimented, and it wasn’t sleazy in any way, but completely genuine.

“Thank you,” A heat flushed up your neck and pooled in your cheeks at the gesture.

“Where did you get it?”

“My…father said it was the first thing he thought of when he gazed at my eyes,” You murmured, mood dampened extremely.

He hummed. “Interesting. I’m sure Washington wouldn’t like to hear you sound so downcast speaking of it though.”

You tensed. “What?” You tried to get away from the man but his hold on your shoulder increased so that you couldn’t - yet it was still somehow gentle.

“I mean what I said.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and he was whispering in your ear, even as he continued to look to an outsider as if he were taking your measurements. “Your father has sent for you. I will leave the door open when I leave, and you must follow my instructions.”

You nodded, befuddled, but feeling hope bubble up in your chest.

“Good. Now go left, and continue for about fifty feet before making a right then immediate right again. You will run into a baker, who is not one at all, and he will lead you out of the castle and to the harbour where a ship awaits to take you back to the mainland. Keep your head down, and your face hidden. Walk as if you have a destination, but do not stand out.”

You could only nod again, overwhelmed but committing every word to your memory.

“Oh and,” He straightened, hanging the measure around his neck once more. A wink was sent your way, a cheeky grin making it onto his handsome face. “Good luck.”

He went to walk out the door but you stopped him.

“W-Wait!” You said. He stopped and you stammered. “May I have your name?”

He contemplated for a second before smirking. “Mulligan. Hercules Mulligan. Now make haste Y/N Washington.”

With that he had swept out like he was never there, footsteps light and making no sound.

You stood there, watching the indeed open door, mind racing a mile a minute.

A tailor spying on the British government? Was this a trick? Was George seeing if you would run away given the chance? Or was this real? Were you really being rescued?

You turmoil-ed over the notion for several more seconds but every moment that grew on had you looking at the sliver of light shining in from the open door..

You made your choice.

And with that you slipped out the door.


“Ready, Madame?”

You jumped. “Huh? Ah yes…”

The baker-but-not-really, held out a hand, the sea-spray of the harbour assaulting your nose, and the wind whipping your hair. He had a foot aboard the plank of the ship, but you were still on the ground. You rose one foot but were confused when you paused. What were you waiting for? Wasn’t this freedom?

Brown eyes, and a childish grin, feet skipping out of the room.

No.

No.

You didn’t - you couldn’t -

Please no, you thought. I couldn’t possibly be…

The smell of his skin, incense and mint, the sensation of his mouth on yours.

You wanted to rip your hair out. NO. This wasn’t happening.

You blamed the salty air for your eyes tearing up as you accepted your helper’s hand and stepped up onto the ship.

You blamed the rocking of the boat and sea sickness for the lurching of your heart as England’s harbour grew further away.

You closed your eyes and thought of your father’s smile, drowning out everything else.

You were going home.


Where is she?!”

The adviser grimaced as another vase crashed to the floor.

“Sir-” Another crash, this time the desk against the wall, broken and tumbling to the ground. The sheets were torn, curtains ripped apart. “We can only assume she is back in the west. She was seen by a witness with a man in a baker’s attire, heading towards the harbour.”

King George grew unnaturally calm. “The harbour? Was she struggling? Putting up a fight?”

The adviser stepped back, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “N-No sir. It is most probable she simply fled. She was a prisoner after all.”

“Fled…She fled…” King George mumbled, chuckling. The adviser swallowed, bowing slightly and excusing himself from the room in rightful fear of his life for delivering the news.

King George was a mess, hair in chaos, his crown on the floor, his whole body quivering in mad laughter.

An image of you smiling back home and expressing your freedom, taunted him. Betrayal and anger stirred deep in his chest but all he did was laugh.

His palm covered his face as he trembled, now bellowing full rolls of hysterics. “She fled!

The laughs simmered down to giggles as he braced himself against a wall, smiling through the spaces of his fingers.

“Y/N…oh Y/N…” A psychotic glint passed his eyes, white teeth splitting his lips in a grin. “You think you’ve escaped…”

You jumped into your father’s arms, feeling yourself encased in his strong hold as he kissed you all over, warm in his embrace. Yet you felt as if something was incomplete, apprehension still hanging over you as a tension you couldn’t shake.

This is just the beginning.”


[MasterList]

With A Little Bit Of Sugar

Request by: @toasterstrutle 

“Yo, I’m a huge sucker for soulmates au’s, same with coffee shop au’s, and any story where characters A and B (in this case Draco and Harry) get stuck in the same room for a long time.” 


°One Shot

°Pairing: Drarry (Draco x Harry)

°Warnings: Slight NSFW??? Idk??? Harsh Language


                                 ~With A Little Bit Of Sugar~


“Only one more hour to go.”

With a heavy sigh Ron leaned against the little open doorway that leads to the kitchen, whitch is seperated from the rest of the Cafe’.

“Yeah. I miss my bed.”

Harry, his best friend and workmate, chuckled and threw the piece of cloth he used to clean up some of the already empty tables over his shoulder.

“I miss my girl, Hermione.”

It’s been about two years now and Harry still didn’t get used to the sight of his two best friends being all lovey dovey with each other.

Ron and Harry have been besties since they were little kids. They met in school and never left each others side until this very day.

And Hermione?

Well, she was a new kid when they were in second grade. She used to live far away, but due to her dad’s promotion (he’s a dentist) they had to move and that’s basically how the trio found each other.

As time grew by, Ron and Hermione got together and as soon as they could call themselves adults the two of them moved into a nice flat together.

Harry, too, had a flat of his own, but unlike Ron his lover was his bed.

Why I said lover and not girlfriend?

Well, our little Harry is gay.

He discovered that during fifth year in his school. At that time, he also had his first actual crush.

Sure, he found some girls pretty before that. There was this girl called Cho Chang, he fancied her but he never told her. Not because he was too afraid, more likely because the thought of being with her, kissing her and…doing certain things with her seemed so absurd to him.

In other words, he quickly got over that ‘crush’.

There was a short period of time where he found Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister; cute and he even considered going on a date with her, even tho he was scared of Ron’s reaction, but he just couldn’t.

Even after she told him that she liked him he rejected her and moved on fast.

Luckily, she found someone that could make her happy.

It was until he walked into class that Harry told himself he just wasn’t intrested in those two specific girls.

It all started with this one french class.

Harry was forced to choose between spanish, latin and french.

Latin didn’t even cross Harry’s mind once-like who the fuck speaks latin anymore?

And spanish and french were his least favourite languages, but since he had to choose one, he decided to give the french class a try.

Ron, that idiot he is, lost his sheet, so the teachers said he had to go to spanish, while Hermione volunteery joined the latin class (WHO THE FUCK SPEAKS THAT ANYMORE).

The dork he is, he ended up being late on his first day at french class and had to sit next to a girl that wouldn’t stop talking.

He remembers her name was Pansy something. She had black hair and always wore black, white and green clothes. For example her favourite green skirt, combined with white high socks, black shoes, a white blouse and a green, sometimes black tie around her neck.

But the most remarkable thing about her probably was her red lipstick.

Pansy however doesn’t even matter that much in this story.

Who mattered much more was who she was friends with-Draco Malfoy, the boy that everyone would tell you to stay away from if they were in one of those cliche’ teeny movies.

The thing was, Harry had just discovered who he was as a person, and then someone like Draco Malfoy steps into his life, just like this, and messes up everything.

He used to play Basketball back then, and just because of Malfoy messing with his head and his heart, Harry never showed up at practice anymore.

Harry had never been less interested in Basketball; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

In other words, Harry had the hugest crush ever on Draco Malfoy himself, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing other than masturbate every chance he got to the thought of Draco and him getting it on.

There was a little party in their school and everyone was there. Of course, some alcohol was involved, which is why Harry believes that this was the reason for what Malfoy did, but when they were outside the school and talked about deep stuff, Draco kissed him.

It was Harry’s first kiss and he felt his heart burst with joy. But that heart got torn apart the next day, when Draco told him it was a big mistake and that he was disgusted by what they did and that, if he sees Harry anywhere near him or his friends again, he would beat the shit out of him.

The next day, Draco was hanging on Pansy’s lips and when Harry wanted to confront them, Malfoy turned his words into reality.

The poor boy didn’t know what hurt more; his heart or the bruises his classmate caused that day.

Whatever it was, Harry decided to ignore the pain and Malfoy for the rest of his life, which was hard because he left quite a weird looking scar on his forehead.

But, the years passed and they all finished school and went on with their lifes.

And they never saw each other again.


A little ring was heard from the bell hanging over the door, signaling Ron and Harry that someone just entered.

“I’ll take this one. You can go and get to your girl.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, go. See you tomorrow. And tell Hermione I said hey.”

They said farewell and as Ron left through the backdoor, Harry grabbed his little notebook and walked towards the costumer, that sat with his back to him.

Strange, he thought. No one else seems to be here anymore. And it’s oddly dark for this hour of the day.

But since he wanted to be a professional, he just shook his head and put a smile at his tired face.

“Good evening, sir, what can I bring yo-”

There was a small sound heard of something colliding with the floor, and Harry’s face looked like death itself.

No way…


“Potter?”

“Malfoy?”

“Potter.”

“Wha…what are you doing here?!”

“Obviously, I wanted some coffee.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. After all this time, and all he said was that he wanted some goddamn coffee?!

Who the fuck gives two shits about a coffee in this situation?!

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I mean, I get that I damaged your stupid face, but did you get deaf or something? I said I wanted a coffee. With a little bit of sugar, if you can tell what sugar and what salt is.”

Harry was mad; no he was furious.

“Is that everything?”, Harry growled, his fake smile obviously covering up the storm inside the young male.

“No, that would be it.”


Draco grinned at Harry’s misery, but as he watched him walk away into another part of the building, Draco’s mask fell.

His eyes became teary and he had to bite his lip in order to keep the sobs from coming out.

What has he done?

It was at the time to apologize.

He whiped away the tears quickly, shut the front door with a switch of his hand on the lock and walked to where Harry has disappeared.

“Potter.”

Draco entered the room and slammed the open door shut behind him…only to find horror on the others face.

“No!!”

“What?”

Instead of answering, Harry just yanked at the door, which won’t open.

“You idiot, Malfoy! This door needs a key to be opened, and my key IS NOT in THIS ROOM!!!!”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, right.”

The boy sighed and sat on a little two seat sofa.

Draco sat next to him and looked through the tiny room.

It seemed like a storing room for small things, like flour and sugar and all that kind of stuff.

And, to his surprise, there were an open salt and an open sugar package on the little cupboard.

Okay so, either he was trying to poisen him with that salt, or he actually was checking which one is which. Did he take his nasty comment seriously?

“Look, Potter, I actually came to talk to you.”

Mentioned one turned his head to Draco, and suddenly their faces were way closer than they should be.

It took him back to the party…and the day after.

“You see…ugh, I’m not good at this, okay?”

Draco took a deep breath and felt relieved that Harry now didn’t seem as angry anymore; he actually seemed very interested in what Malfoy had to say.

“First of all, I’d like to say that you still have not aged up one bit. I mean, oh god, sorry I…”

And there was it-a small chuckle, almost unnoticed, but Draco heard it clearly, and his heart jumped.

And suddenly it felt so much easier.


“Harry, I am sorry. For everything. You see, back then, when we were in school, Pansy always told me about you and how good you would be for me. In this state of my life, my father was sent to prison, because he robbed a building and hurt people in the act, He was getting blackmailed and saw no other way out than to do what they said. The one that made my father do it-ugh that fucking asshole, he broke my whole family apart.

He’s in prison too, forever, while my father was supposed to get out after five years, but…he died in his cell. He slipped in the small bathtub und hurt his head, and the staff didn’t give two shits so he died due to the bleeding.

My mother never was the same anymore and I had only myself, Blaise and Pansy. So when she told me about you, I wanted to get to know you so badly.

Harry, after a while, I had these thoughts about you, and they scared me because I never thought about someone like this, let alone a boy I just met a few weeks ago.

I kissed you that night because I wanted it, I didn’t drink one bit alcohol. And I was aware of how it felt and I was aware of the way I couldn’t sleep the whole night cause you kept creeping into my mind and god, I was aware that I was no good for you.

So I hurt you to stay away. to make you walk away from me because you deserve so much better. I’m selfish, but this time I had to think about you. When I kissed Pansy, I felt like throwing up, cause that cheep lipstick felt so wrong, and your lips felt so right, and when I hit you I felt like I was dying.”


There were tears in both boy’s eyes and Draco raised his hand to slightly brush his fingers over the scar he made.

“I bet I left even worse scars in your heart, didn’t ?”

Harry nodded, but then took Draco’s hand in his.

A sob escaped his lips and Harry finally pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Draco, we both made mistakes. Let’s forget what happened, okay? Fuck, I’m so happy to see you again.”

They both laughed a bit before they looked into each others eyes, and then, finally finally finally, they leaned in and their lips locked together.

Neither could hide their smile anymore when their lips met, and when they pulled away, they were grinning like idiots.

Draco cupped Harry’s face with his hands and leaned his forehead against his.

“I missed that.”

Harry smiled.

“I missed you.”

-

The next day, Ron and Hermione walked into the Cafe’ and were confused when they saw Harry’s jacket and keys on the counter.

“Harry?”

Since they got no answer they opened the little door to the store room.

“Oh my god!!”

Shocked the couple stared at a sleeping Harry on the couch, a sleeping Draco in his arms.

Hermione pointed to the cupboard.

“What did they need the sugar for?”


Hope you liked it, sorry if I got anything wrong. Lots of love!<3

~Jen

To Care, or not to Care ? (Stiles x Reader)

Requested by @hannazk : heey can you do a imagine where y/n is stiles girlfriend and he’s spending a lot of time with lydia and y/n get’s jealous and fluff and stuff like this? thx!


A/N : I’m not a huge fan of jealously that leads to anger or confrontation, so I twisted it a bit, I hope it’s okay :) Also I gave a first name to Y/N’s father just because I find it awkward to write (Y/F/N) and I feel like it sort of breaks the flow of the story to have too many « blanks » like this. I chose a very generic name, you can disregard it if you don’t like it. Also I don’t like throwing my readers in media res (in the middle of the action) so I added a bit (a lot) of context first, before really working on the request. JuST DEAL WITH ME OkAY

Also, I really like the first 4k words,but then I feel like I messed it up

Set between season 5 & 6.

Word Count : 9,2k (listen, I have no self control)

MASTERLIST

Living in a small town truly was an experience of a kind. It was like living on another planet to a certain extent, while also being just an hour drive away from a bigger city, and all the entertainments it offered. After your parents’ divorce, you were torn away from the big city you were born in, and lived all your life. Your mom left with the new man in her life, claiming she needed some time for herself and to see the world. That didn’t leave you many options besides moving in with your dad, who just so happened to come from a small town, and now that nothing held him back in the city, he wanted to go back and live there.

You obliged, not putting up much of a fight – you were a bit of  loner and never had many friends or anyone worth causing more drama within your household. You didn’t have a boyfriend, your closest friend hadn’t given any news in tn days and when your dad assured you that his birth town was just big enough to have a brand new Theater and Starbucks, it was settled.

Everything happened in a blur really. Your two stories apartment in Oakland quickly emptied and it was like all trace of your passage here vanished from one day to the next. The first seventeen years of your life had been erased, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything besides mild annoyance, because putting all your stuff in boxes – with the perspective of having to unbox them a few days later – was the exact opposite of what you had planned to do for the last couple weeks before the end of summer break.

Keep reading

You’ll Regret Him... {Reader Insert}

Imagine: A bride-to-be is caught up in a dilemma, and is left with a choice. The boy she’s grown up with, who’s held her heart so carefully since they met. Or the man that promised her danger, but risks there future with his line of work every day.

Summary: It’s the night before {Y/N}’s wedding, when a friendly face turned up on the threshold of her hotel room. She tries to push away the memories, keep back the need for the man she hasn’t seen in years. But FP gets to her. Will she let her marriage fail before it’s even begun?

Request?: Yes, a lovely little nonny asked for an angsty pre-marriage situation. The reader is planning to marry, but FP turns up and tells her not to go through with it. But she turns him down, knowing things would never work.

Warnings: F/M Smut, Very minor really (thigh riding and make out sessions, slight dirty talk), Reader is early twenties (the other kiddos are the same age)

Word Count: 2256

Taglist: @theserpentgod 

Disclaimer: The gif is not mine, credits to the owner that made it. Riverdale characters are not mine, credit to the writers and producers. There is minor smut in this, so if you do not like smut, do not read.

A/N: This was kinda cute? Maybe, let me know what you guys think. Thank your patience, it’s very appreciated. Exams are over now, so I’m free for at least two months to dedicate myself to this blog. The requests I have are almost finished, so I’ll be open to more soon. Enjoy, my little bookworms 🖤 

Originally posted by jordank95

Keep reading

Landslide: Part One

                                             SUMMARY:

Dayton White (Logan Lucky) x Reader

When a tragic accident happens in the heart of your hometown - you’re forced to go back to the countryside you’d sworn to forget. In the midst of your world turning upside down you find yourself in a state of panic when the familiar face returns in your life, Dayton White. From the time you were young he was labeled in your mind as the man who got under your skin, with the past brimming to the surface - will you be able to fight off the landslide of love?

Word count: 3,804

Notes: Cursing, Character Death, Funeral

Let me know what you think! :) if this gets to 100 I’ll maybe do a part two. :)

Keep reading

4

How It Is Now - Part One

Request: @rose4958  Can you do a second part to ‘Teen Sam x teen reader’ where they are older and run into each other (Maybe just maybe the reader had gotten pregnant the last time they saw each other, before Sam left for good) and they still love each other, maybe they end up together. I also love your writing and thanks

This is a follow up to How It Was Before (read it first).

Sam x Female Reader

Summary: After twelve years you and Sam have a chance meeting that changes everything. Part 1 of 2(or 3).

Words: 1800+

Beta’d by: @just-another-busy-fangirl

Warnings: a little language, smut in future parts. 

Your name: submit What is this?


“Y/N”

Sam Winchester. You know his voice in a heartbeat, even after all these years since last hearing your name on his lips, it brings back a flood of memories long pushed to the deep recesses of your brain.

It’s not that you don’t think of him, but when you do it’s a shadow of a recollection, fuzzy around the edges. You wonder sometimes what’s real and what your brain just fills in to make things whole. For a long time, you turned every moment you spent together into painful memories. They were sharp little triggers that cut right to the quick every time. Even the sweet and good moments morphed into something agonizing.

But the pain faded long ago and perhaps you put on rose colored glasses when you think of him now. The two of you were just kids and that’s how you choose to recall him now, as lovely, gentle Sam who was always in awe of you.

Keep reading

Near Death [j.j.]

Originally posted by riverdales-daily


Summary: You get dragged into the murder investigation and things go too far.

WARNING: descriptions of death

THIS IS A COMPLETE UNEDITED MESS AND IT JUST COMPLETELY SUCKS I’M SORRY. LIKE IT’S REALLY HORRIBLE I’M SO SORRY.


Masterlist


Betty Cooper took in shallow breaths, trying to keep her breathing under control as she sprinted through the halls of Riverdale High in a hurry to get to the Blue & Gold office.

She had promised Jughead and (Y/N) that she’d be there right after school but Cheryl had kept the River Vixens hostage for a few minutes, chastising them for not being “on top of their game”. Thankfully, Veronica had distracted her, keeping her attention focused on her so that the pretty blonde could sneak away.

She slowed down as she reached the classroom, hearing soft giggles and even softer whispers. She proceeded to carefully poked her head in through the doorway, smiling softly when she saw Jughead poking at (Y/N)’s side, whispering in her ear as she giggled and tried to push him off.

Her feet moved forward on their own accord until a hand made its way over her mouth and another one around her wrist. She was pulled out of the classroom and spun around, coming face to face with a smirking brunette.

“Veronica, what are you doing?” Betty hissed, stepping away from her girlfriend.

Veronica shushed her. “Betty Cooper shut up. We can’t disturb the love birds.”

Betty paused before realizing that Veronica was right. They leaned their heads in through the doorway, watching as Jughead played around with (Y/N).

They stood in the doorway for a good ten minutes before Jughead turned his head and noticed them, his laughter stopping and his blush rising.

“Oh hey guys,” (Y/N) greeted the two girls with a smile on her face and a blush that rivaled Jughead’s.

“Hey (Y/N/N),” Veronica replied, stepping forwards and intertwining her hand with Betty’s. “What are you guys doing?”

“We were waiting for Betty,” Jughead replied quickly.

Betty narrowed her eyes, noticing the way that (Y/N) kept shifting her eyes towards the beanie-clad boy. Her hand, which rested on the table, twitched every few seconds, aching to reach out and grab Jughead’s.

And when Jughead finally looked away from Betty and looked at (Y/N), it finally clicked.

Betty noticed Jughead’s eyes soften as they landed on the (H/C) haired girl. He absentmindedly placed his hand on the table, right next to hers, neither of them noticing as their pinkies interlocked.

Veronica had noticed as well and a small smile spread across her face as she saw what was occurring. Still smiling she turned to her girlfriend. “Ah, young love.”


That Friday, Betty & Veronica were sitting in a booth at Pop’s, pinkies intertwined as they sipped their milkshakes and shared a plate of fries.

Betty, so entranced by the way the dull glow of the diner’s neon lights reflected off of Veronica’s profile, didn’t notice the two figures that slid into the booth across from them until Ronnie cleared her throat.

“Hey guys. What’s up?”

Jughead glanced around the diner and shrugged. “I promised (Y/N) a milkshake and since Pop’s is full we just sat with you guys.”

Betty squealed slightly when Jughead glanced at you and smiled. She squealed even louder when Pop’s came by with your usual milkshake and placed two straws in the drink before winking at you and Jughead and claiming it was ‘On the house’ for the lovely couple.

Even Veronica couldn’t hold back a grin when you both looked at each other and quickly looked down at the table, big blushes covering your cheeks.

When it got late, Jughead was the first to leave, having received a slightly alarming text from an equally slightly drunk Archie. As he slid out of the booth, he let his arms linger around your waist as he hugged you and as soon as he waved goodbye to B & V, they turned to you with shark-like smiles on their faces.

Looking up from the milkshake you were sipping, your eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“When did you and Holden Caulfield get together?” Veronica asked, leaning in as a smirk spread across her face.

You floundered for a while, trying to find the proper words to explain that you and Jughead were simply friends.

Betty giggled. “Come on (Y/N/N)! We know you like him!”

You took a deep breath. “Alright, fine! Yes I like Jughead, but he doesn’t like me.”

Veronica glared at you in disbelief. You groaned.

“Come on! He’s too busy trying to solve this stupid murder when we all know it was probably one of the Blossoms themselves who did it,” you said, exasperated.

Betty frowned. “Jughead does like you. Yeah, maybe he’s a bit caught up in the investigation but he truly does have feelings for you. Anyone can see that.”

You sighed and glanced up at Betty. “I appreciate your words Betts, but I’d rather not get my hopes up.”

Veronica and Betty watched as you left a bill on the table (for the milkshake) and left, shaking their heads slightly.

“The poor girl is too blind to see that he likes her,” Veronica muttered.

Betty locked eyes with her girlfriend as her lips pulled up into a smirk. “Maybe we should help them.”


The following week was full of mishaps, from Betty locking you and Jughead in the janitor’s closet to Veronica convincing Reggie to flirt with you in front of Jughead.

None of their plans had worked, except Jughead did get quite jealous when Reggie approached you, his hand tightening around the locker he had opened.

As their plans got more and more childish, the investigation got more and more dangerous. Especially after the Blossom’s annual gathering.

You always got invited to their event, a perk of being part of one of Riverdale’s founding families. It was at this gathering where you and Archie had been talking about whatever secrets the Blossoms had been hiding. And it was where you revealed your suspicion about the murderer being a Blossom.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Cheryl had overheard your words and had gone straight to her dad, telling him everything she had heard. Unbeknownst to Cheryl however, Clifford Blossom then took it upon himself to make sure that your mouth stayed shut. At all costs.


It started off simple enough. You’d get a bundle of roses with a card once a week, but the card always held some sort of threat aimed at someone you cared deeply about. Most of them were about your family but eventually, they began to focus on B & V & Archie. And Jughead.

You quickly became obsessed with the flowers, and when your friends teased you about a secret admirer, you simply smiled and stayed quiet, making sure to hide the cards.

Eventually, you began ignoring everybody, locking yourself away and concerning everyone. You would always blow off plans, too determined to figure out who the sender was.

Betty was especially worried. Your absence and weird behavior was also affecting Jughead, who felt nothing but worry for you. However you did nothing to respond to their concerns, you were certain that the person sending you the flowers was Jason’s murderer.

And you weren’t wrong.

The same day that Jughead and the gang found out that Clifford Blossom was responsible was the day after you yourself had found out. You had taken it upon yourself to look through the manor, and had bumped into Nana Blossom, who in a daze, had spilled some very important information about Clifford and the business.

You were still inside the manor when you heard Cheryl speaking to her father, claiming that she knew what he had done. Using her as a distraction, you crept out of the house and towards the barn, desperate to see if Nana Blossom had been speaking the truth.

When you looked in the barrels of syrup, you couldn’t help but let out a choked sob.

You were looking at Riverdale’s very own dirty secret. The reason why Jason was dead.


You don’t know how long you stood there, shocked. You were pulled out of your daze by your phone, jumping when it rang and tipping over the barrel in the process. You choked back another sob as you answered. “Hello?”

“(Y/N)? Oh thank god you answered,” it was Jughead’s voice. “Listen to me very carefully. The murderer, its-”

“Clifford Blossom,” you cut him off in a strangled voice. “I know.”

Standing next to Jughead in Archie’s garage, Betty took the phone away from him. “(Y/N) you have to get out of there. Now!”

“How did you know I was here?”

Betty put you on speakerphone. “We traced your phone. Your location is on.”

“Listen Betts. I can’t go. I have stuff here that can put Blossom away for ages,” you said. “I need to get the sheriff over here.”

Jughead sighed in frustration. “(Y/N) you need to leave. We don’t know what Clifford Blossom will do next. Get back over here and we’ll all go to Sheriff Keller.”

You glanced around the barn, snapping a few pictures of the barrel you had spilled. “Yeah okay. I’m on my-”

Your sentence was cut off by a scream and everyone in Archie’s garage felt their blood run cold.

They all stayed quiet, tears leaking from Betty and Jughead’s eyes as they heard a faint struggle. They could hear you yelling at someone, telling them that they were horrible, a monster, and they they deserved to die. Your voice was quickly drowned out by another voice, which only stated that you could’ve avoided this situation if you had only “kept your goddamn mouth shut”.

When the line went quiet, Jughead let out a quiet sob. “(Y/N)?”

They heard a rustle as your phone got picked up.

“You kids really should’ve stayed out of it,” a voice chuckled. Jughead immediately recognized it as Clifford Blossom. “This wouldn’t have happened if you kids had just minded your own damn business. I never wanted anyone to die, let alone two teenagers. Guess it’s time to end it once and for all.”

The last thing that was heard before the line went dead was a gunshot.

And then Jughead broke down.


The cops arrived not five minutes later to find Cheryl and Penelope Blossom at the door.

Following their directions, Sheriff Keller followed the path to the barn, opening the door and gagging at the sight that met him.

Two bodies, both hanging from the rafters, swung back and forth gently.

He proceeded to cut yours down first, gasping in shock when he felt a very weak pulse. You had been hung close to the intersection of two beams, where you managed to stretch your feet to keep yourself from hanging freely while the police got there.

Quickly calling a medic, Sheriff Keller proceeded to call his son, telling him to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.


When you came to, the first person you saw was Cheryl Blossom, sitting next to your bed with tears streaming down her face.

When she noticed you were up, she jumped on top of you, hugging you tightly and sobbing into your neck as she mumbled apologies.

When you managed to calm her down, you told her there was no need to apologize. She was not her father.

She had looked at you, gratitude in her eyes, and placed something in your hand before getting up and walking out.

Archie and the gang arrived just as she was leaving and as you locked eyes with Betty, she quirked an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”

You glanced down at the pouch Cheryl had slipped into your hand and opened it slightly. It was full of various jewels she had worn throughout the years. “You know what Betty, I don’t know.”

Silence engulfed the room as you all stared at each other. Just as Kevin opened his mouth to say something, Jughead walked forwards, not stopping until he got to you and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours as his hand gently grasped your face.

You could feel his tears hit your cheeks and when he pulled away, you realized that he wasn’t the only one that was crying. In fact, you seemed to be the only one who hadn’t shed a tear.

You smiled at Jughead as he took a seat next to you, your smile widening as everyone else came and joined you.

It was you who first broke the silence. “So…I guess this means you like me too?”

Everyone in the room chuckled as Jughead simply nodded.

And although you knew that you’d get yelled at later for your actions, you were simply grateful that all your friends were with you.

And Betty was grateful that she had finally seen you both basically confess your feelings. And when she grabbed Veronica’s hand, she knew that they all felt relieved that you were now safe (and with Jughead).


Tag List: @blisshbee, @wisestydia14, @cleohalestilinski, @do-somethinglovely, @divastar777, @localagoraphobic, @gabiwella, @loveinfxnitelyx, @kanye—west, @unicornqueen05, @that1chic-xoxo, @melinadufort, @casismyguardianangel, @rxggie-mxntle, @demigodofthesun, @katshrev, @professionalphangirluniverse, @jugheads-lawyer, @cyberfoxlili, @iwannadiehere, @lostinpercyseyes, @millygwiazda, @casual-vaporwave, @pegacorn24, @apocalypticangell, @fandomsrlove, @mcheung0314, @fangites, @isabellaskyliner, @nooneshoney, @itsjaynebird, @fandomsandotherstuff, @xbobaaa, @betty-coopers-number-one-stan, @lost-in-wonderland-x, @bubblegumcat229, @yazminmcd, @thesuitelifeofjughead, @bex09, @day-dreaming-nightmare, @eternal-peril-for-all, @mrs-jughead-jones, @onceuponagladerhead, @tasteofswallowedwords, @siaralovesgaming, @eliza-hamilton-helpless, @murderyoursoul

An unnecessarily deep analysis of the string motif in Kimi no Na wa

I really need to write about this.

Written on the spot. Some research might be nice but aint nobody got time for that. Also I’ve only watched it once so my memory might be dodgy.

Please note this is primarily an analysis for my own personal enjoyment, not a review. Also the views in it are purely my thoughts and opinions

SPOILERS 

Kimi no na wa is a friggin amazing movie. Beautiful artwork and solid characters aside my favourite thing about the movie is its brilliant storytelling. And I am going to deconstruct it through the string motif rn because I feel like it.

The plot for Kimi no Na wa is basically the red string of fate, but reimagined and extrapolated in a very creative way. The red string of fate connects two individuals and brings them together romantically but here it is not only geographical boundaries that are transcended, but time itself. String itself takes on multiple meanings within the context of the film. This is summed up best by Mitsuha’s grandmother’s quote, which I cbf looking for rn. Rather than string, though, the emphasis is on the term “musubi"結び. The term we use for knotting thread also means connecting/linking/binding. You can also use it to refer to tying up your hair or fastening something. It also means the end. This (conveniently) flexible term is the basis for the whole story and you see this in almost every aspect of the movie.

The start of the movie is a bunch of events told in a pretty confusing layout. In addition to the main characters swapping bodies, some of the events aren’t even in chronological order. This was evidently intentional, not only for dramatic purposes but I believe also for structural reasons.

The film is set out like a bunch of loose threads starting with seemingly unrelated events: There’s a rare comet appearing in the sky; Mitsuha and Yotsuha make kuchikamizake; Mitsuha and Taki swap bodies…But as the film progresses, just like the weaving of individual strands to make a cord, the pieces start to come together. I think the moment this truly becomes evident is right after Taki drinks the kuchikamizake. This is also the moment Taki and Mitsuha’s worlds truly intertwine.

Mitsuha making kuchikamizake binds a part of her soul to the sake. Mitsuha and Taki swapping bodies are a spiritual connection. This act binds their timelines together. The foundations of human relations, most notably love, is also based on the same concept. The film takes the motif of string and layers it through the connections of multiple events through musubi.

But what I feel truly makes this film brilliant from a storytelling perspective is the creativity employed in extrapolating this motif, especially in regards to the comet and the hairstyles. 

The way I see it there are actually only two things that connected Mitsuha and Taki before the body swap. One is the comet. Three years ago Taki witnessed the comet that killed Mitsuha with his own eyes. The other is Mitsuha’s hair cord which is something like a time paradox. Mitsuha went to Tokyo to meet with Taki three years before he knew her. She hands him the cord in her hair and dies the next day but Taki kept her cord wrapped around his wrist for three years.

I’m going to start with the comet which is actually quite a complex symbol. I think everyone will interpret it differently so here’s my personal take.

My initial impression of the comet was something like a shooting star, because it granted Mitsuha’s wish to be reborn as a "handsome Tokyo boy”. Before watching the movie I thought the body swapping would be a miracle only possible while the comet was visible. When Taki and his senpai went to the Nostalgia exhibition at the museum on their date, they saw an aged photo of Itomori. That was my hint that Mitsuha was from the past. I didn’t expect them to be only three years apart though. I thought they would be a literal lifetime apart but then romance would have been near impossible without some bs miracle. Suffice to say, there was no miracle. Instead there was a goddamn tragedy.

The film’s explanation for the body swapping was that it was all to prevent this one disaster. Tbh that sounds a bit too far fetched for me. Instead I like the interpretation of the comet as an extension of the string motif.

When Taki learns the truth he attempts to turn back time by drinking the kuchikamizake. What follows is my favourite scene in the whole movie and it starts with a wall painting of the comet turning into a piece of string. With the visual connection I could then see the metaphorical connection. The comet is another form of binding the two main characters. The comet is closely tied to Mitsuha’s ‘world’ but Taki also witnessed the comet the day she died. Thus their worlds were connected. From a romantic standpoint the comet allowed two individuals to transcend time to be together (red string of fate parallel). But by killing Mitsuha the comet also destroyed the relationship it brought about. I think we can connect this to how the town of Itomori was made from a comet a thousand years ago but another comet ends up destroying the town and killing Mitsuha. Because of this I personally also think the comet represents time. Destroying what is created is basically time itself. Time is musubi. (Additionally, by overcoming the comet i.e. saving the town, the main characters overcome time and can finally be together, because Mitsuha’s lifespan is extended. You can see this as another take on the red string of fate.)

Mitsuha is metaphorically and spiritually saved by a string. I think it is important that in the timeline where she dies she is not wearing the cord in her hair, because she gave it away to Taki who she met in Tokyo the day before and who does not remember her. Her cut hair has multiple meanings. Originally I thought it was a sign of her giving up on Taki because he went on the date with his senpai (Tessie associates haircuts to breakups and I do too, at least in anime). Then I realised she cut it after she went to meet Taki and found out he didnt recognise her. While the “breakup” haircut interpretation still stands, ultimately I think she feels betrayed which is why she gives up the one thing she believes in, her connection to him, represented by the cord. This also becomes linked to her name, which she shouts at him as she leaves the train after throwing him the cord. If I were to continue with the red string anecdote, this is where the string is cut, fate abandons the couple and Mitsuha dies.

But it is the same string that saves her. Because Taki kept it for three years and it is how he remembers her even if he doesnt know her name. Once he learns she dies everything from her diary entries on his phone to her name in his memories disappears. But the cord doesn’t. And he passes this cord to short hair Mitsuha when they finally meet at twilight.

I’m going to digress for a bit to explain why I find this scene so important. The only time Mitsuha does not have the cord in her hair is when she is sleeping, performing the ceremony, the first time she swaps bodies with Taki, and of course right before she dies. The cord is a very obvious symbol of musubi. I also think the fact it changes form throughout the film is important. At the start when Mitsuha wears it she always puts her hair in a complicated bun with the cord in it. When she swaps bodies with Taki who cant make complicated hairstyles he changes the form of the cord by wearing it in a ponytail (though initially he did not wear it at all and made Mitsuha looked “possessed”). The hairstyle was an instant way to tell who was in Mitsuha’s body, and also became a representation of their relationship.

The cord starts to change forms drastically when the pair’s relationship takes a nosedive the day before Mitsuha dies. She takes it out of her hair and the cord changes from a hairtie to a wristband/bracelet. The form of “musubi” changes, from “doing up one’s hair” to a spiritual connection between the two. This is one way Mitsuha manages to live on, because just like the kuchikamizake, the cord is a part of her soul now.

Taki returns Mizuha’s cord when they finally meet. She has cut her hair but wears the cord as a hair decoration anyway. The red string is restored and its changed form represents a new step in their relationship. Throughout the film Taki and Mitsuha have had to compromise on each others’ lifestyles. Mitsuha’s new appearance seems to be a culmination of this: the boyish haircut coupled with the hair cord. She also gains Taki’s courage, seen when she confronts her father in a very similar way Taki did in her body previously. (Taki also experiences a similar change but it is not as pronounced. As far as I know he just got “kinder”.) This is musubi because their two souls have actually intertwined. From a romance perspective, I guess this is how couples change each other for the better.

And what happens after is classic red string of fate. Interestingly Mitsuha’s final hairstyle is a half ponytail. Analysing any farther would actually be overkill though so I’m just going to leave it as a design choice.

I don’t think I’ve conveyed even one tenth of what I actually wanted to say about the film. It’s so rich in symbolism just analysing it in my head was a ton of fun. Best film I’ve ever watched in my life. Definitely want to watch it again.

Title: Make a Bet (Part 3 Tutor(Daugher of Tony! Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: Tony Stark’s hoping for smooth sailing during his party, even when Natasha and Clint make a bet on two of the youngest party goers.

Word Count: 2065

A/N: Okay….I love this a whole lot? I just really love this series, and I hope you do too! I even made an Instagram layout edit for it?? LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK LOL. I hope you enjoy!

PART 1

PART 2

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Title: I Truly Am Sorry

anonymous requested: can I request something angsty? The reader is Abraham’s daughter and she was in the circle when he was beaten to death. She’s always been broken but after seeing her last family member die before her she breaks completely. She’s with the group in Alexandria and when Negan comes to visit he sees what he’s done to her… and he actually feels some kind of remorse??

Character(s): Negan and Reader (Abraham’s daughter)
Summary: Witnessing your father’s death broke you and the one man that has been haunting your nightmares finally show up for the first pick-up.
Word Count: 1,719
Warning: Angst!!!
Author’s Note: Okay, this idea is absolutely amazing. To the anon who sent this in, thank you so much! I love angst more than I love fluff and smut, to be honest lol. Anyway, get a ready for a whirlwind of tears because it pained me to write a story about Abraham simply because his death hit me just as much as Glenn’s did. I hope you enjoy! :-)

Forever Taglist: @disfigured-it-out || @chunex || @jasoncrouse || @oceanicseries || @dixonsbait || @negan–is–god || @see-you-then-winchester || @sable-the-trans-ham || @k4veggies || @labyrinthofheartagrams || @purplemuse89 || @ladyynegan || @scentofpineandhazelnutlattes || @may85 || @a-girl-interupted || @spn-cw123 || @multireality || @ashzombie13 || @constellationsolo || @isayweallgetdrunk || @fyeahashley88 || @sweetsweetpeach || @heartfulloffandoms || @myheart4ever47 || @asshatry || @laymetorest77 || @jenniegs || @hawtdiggitynegan

(GIF Source: @jeffrey-daddy-morgan)

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Rito/Revali Rant

I’m gonna rant about Revali and the treatment of him and the Rito in Breath of the Wild because I love this asshole and I hate how little information we got about him from the game because I noticed many things that piss me off-
There will not be any spoilers of the main plot below, just general things I’ve noticed throughout the game. 
Please note: This isn’t supposed to be an official thing, just something I’ve wanted to talk about for a while because it just makes me sad. I’m not trying to start any sort of argument or anything, just releasing some thoughts here. 
Also, I have yet to actually get to the Goron part of the game-! So this isn’t an entirely fair “Critique”, but it’s something I’ve noticed so far and blah blah blah here we go-

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How to Love Me

Words: 2622

Relationship: John x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, Daddy!kink (it’s JDM’s fault), AU, language, negative self-image, Age difference (still legal) (Please let me know if I need to add any warnings)

Listen to: Cola by Lana Del Rey (I’m not sure why but this song kept playing in my head while writing this one.)

A/N: This is a sequel to How To Treat Me. I couldn’t focus on anything else because this wouldn’t leave my head. Same warnings as before. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Summary: The morning after their nighttime activities finds time for our newfound lovers. But now they have more time to play. 

Part 2 of How to Treat Me

    Soft wet kisses swept across my neck as a warm arm wrapped around my stomach. I whimper as the lips move up nibbling at my earlobe. “Good morning Princess,” John’s warm voice helps me rouse fully from my sleep. I turn as he’s propped up on his elbow, the hand on my stomach slipping under the line of my panties.

   “What are you doing?” You whisper harshly. “Someone is going to know.”

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My Girl (Father!Negan X Daughter!Reader)

Based on the song ‘My Girl’ by The Temptations. Enjoy!


I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside I’ve got the month of May.

Everyone rested on their knees kneeling to Negan, watching as he smiled at all of his people. Lucille in his hand, fingers gripped tight around the polished wood as he began to quietly chuckle. “Y'all can stand” his voice boomed, shifting his body 360 degrees as everyone began to rise from their knees. He then turned to his next victim, sitting right in the middle of the large room.

Negan smiled right at him, showing off his pearly white teeth before beginning to laugh. “What’s your name again?” Negan asked. “J-Jason” the man hesitated, obviously scared of what was about to come from the devilish man grinning right in front of him. “Jason, tell me, you see that girl?” Negan asked, pointing right at the balcony, right at you. Jason quickly twisted his head, before looking back at Negan. “S-Sir I-”

I guess you’d say What can make me feel this way?

Negan grabbed his face, cutting him off from his words and turned Jason’s chair around, making him stare right at you. “Her, right there. Do you see that girl, yes or no?” Negan shouted as Jason began to weep. “Yes!” He cried before Negan threw him onto the floor. You watched helplessly, knowing that no matter how much you would scream and cry for him to stop, Negan would never stop.

“Do you mind telling us who that girl is?” Negan bent down to meet face to face with Jason, watching the boy shake with fear. “(Y-Y/N)” he stuttered before Negan chuckled and smacked Jason’s leg with Lucille causing everyone, including you, to flinch once you heard his loud cries. “You don’t deserve to say her name” Negan spat. Jason was sobbing uncontrollably, his fear and pain pouring out.

“I am going to ask you again, who is she?” Negan grabbed Jason by the shirt, holding Jason’s face close to his as Jason trembled. “Y-Your daughter, s-sir” Jason stuttered as Negan threw him back on the floor, and raised his arms in triumph.

“Now, was that so hard?” Negan played, before glancing back up at you and smiling. “My girl, my precious not-so-little girl!” Negan exclaimed, trying to see if he could make you smile, but frowned watching you keep the look of annoyance plastered right on your face.

My girl (my girl, my girl) Talkin’ 'bout my girl (my girl)

Negan swerved his body away from you, turning and watching the frightened crowd of his people, all terrified of his future actions. “I know, I may not be the best father. I mean hell, in a shit time like this, I don’t think good fathers even exist. But I know, I’d be a completely shit father if I let this moron talk to my daughter the way he did” Negan spoke loud, his voice echoing within the filled factory. He turned his body back to Jason, looking down at the injured boy.

“I don’t know who raised you,” Negan began, “who fed you, played with you, wiped your fuckin’ ass, but I do know this;” Negan pulled Jason up from the floor, throwing him back into the chair that he was sitting in before, and whacked Jason’s torso with Lucille. Jason’s pained cries were like nails on a chalkboard, everyone flinched and covered their ears, unable to bear the shrieks of pain. You had enough and left, feeling hot tears of embarrassment and disappointment streaming down your face.

“You do not ever, ever speak to a woman like that, especially my fuckin’ daughter! Do you understand me, or do I have to repeat myself like I’ve been doin’ for the last 50 fuckin’ times!” Negan shouted. Jason could only get out the slightest of whimpers before Negan shouted for him to answer. “Y-Yes! I-I’m sorry! But p-please, let me g-go!” Jason cried before Negan scoffed. He looked back up at the spot you used to be, before leaning away from Jason’s face and looking back down at the boy.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished with you”

I’ve got so much honey The bees envy me I’ve got a sweeter song Than the birds in the trees

You were locked in your room, sobbing into a pillow, feeling your heart twisted and torn from Negan’s actions. You felt betrayed and alone, like both of your parents had died. Losing your mother at a young age, before all of this happened, was hard enough, but now your father acting like this, killing innocent people, to say you were disappointed would be an understatement.

Three loud bangs cascaded from the other side of your door, you shifted your body as the door slowly opened, revealing Negan with a bloodied Lucille slung over his shoulder.

I guess you’d say What can make me feel this way? My girl (my girl, my girl) Talkin’ 'bout my girl (my girl)

“Baby, I’m so-”

“Can you just leave? You are the last person I want to see right now.”

Negan frowned, setting Lucille down by your door before closing it and stepping towards your bed, sitting next to you. “You are so stubborn, just like your mother,” Negan chuckled “just like your mother.” he repeated softly to himself before shaking his head.

“I know you know I haven’t been the same since she died, hell, I haven’t been the same since she got goddamn cancer. But you, you’re the reason why I haven’t completely lost my mind. You kept me in place” Negan spoke softly, this was a side of Negan you haven’t experienced since you were a little girl, it felt like a completely different person.

Negan looked over at you, and chuckled. His smile was big as he continued to look over your facial features which he found completely identical to your mothers. “I know you’re not happy with the way I do things, Baby. But this is who I am, this is how I keep us safe!” You cringed at the use of your old nickname; Baby. Your mothers favorite movie was Dirty Dancing and she began to call you Baby after you had told her you wanted to dance just like Baby.

Though Negan despised the movie, the nickname did stick with him and he has used it ever since, but as you got older you began to hate the nickname, as it reminded you of the times that used to be.

I don’t need no money, fortune or fame I’ve got all the riches, baby One man can claim

“Don’t call me Baby” you muttered, before Negan was taken aback, his eyes widening at your fierce attitude. “What did you just say to me?” He grumbled, his short temper now sparked. “Don’t call me that dumb nickname, don’t even think about it! Only my dad is allowed to call me that and right now I don’t know where he is!” You shouted, as Negan furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that, after I just defended you from that dick-wipe who completely treated you like a piece of trash!” Negan shouted back at you, his voice obviously louder than yours. “I’m not that little eight year old anymore, I can handle myself! I taught myself how to survive without a dad, because a dad is the complete opposite of what you are!” You cried, watching a rare look of horror play out on Negan’s face.

guess you’d say What can make me feel this way? My girl (my girl, my girl) Talkin’ 'bout my girl (my girl)

Negan grabbed you off of the bed, holding you in his arms, close to his chest. “No matter how much you hate me, I’m always gonna love you. You make think I’m unfair, but I’m doing what I need to do to survive and keep your ass safe, because keepin’ your ass safe is what your mother would want. I want what she wants. So hate me all you want, you can even kill me right now, but if you did, I’d still take a bullet right between the fuckin’ eyes to protect you” Negan spoke, as tears began to fill your eyes, you didn’t know how to react.

You couldn’t help but pull him into a tight him, whispering soft 'I’m sorry’s’ into his ear. You definitely have never seen this side of him for a long time, and you couldn’t have been more relieved to know that he still had his soft spot for you. His sunshine, his Baby, his girl.


That was really bad. I apologize. I might rewrite this.
Runaways

A/N: I hope y’all are ready to feel some angst because I’ve finally finished my young Merle and Daryl Dixon fic! This fic takes place after Daryl was lost in the woods for nine days and his father didn’t even notice he was gone. After an argument with their father over this, Merle takes Daryl away with him to get away from their abusive father.

Word count: 4,471

Warnings: Language, mention of domestic abuse, mention of prostitution, sad brother angst feels

Without a word, Daryl Dixon shuffled through the rickety door of the trailer he lived in. It had been nine days since getting lost in the woods, and all he’d had were some berries he’d scrounged up. His hands, as well as a few other places, were uncomfortably itchy, as he’d accidentally used poison ivy leaves as toilet paper. He was starved, and the only thing on his mind was reaching the kitchen and walking past his father, who’d no doubt reprimand him for being gone for so long.

But that wasn’t what happened. Daryl’s father sat in his easy chair as he watched a wrestling match on TV. He barely glanced at Daryl when he came in. His father was more interested in the beer in his hand than his own missing son. It was better than being yelled at, Daryl supposed, and he walked into the kitchen to fix something to eat.

Without bothering to clean his hands of the muck caked on his palms, he grabbed the container of bologna and slapped a few pieces between slices of plain white bread. He was too hungry to add anything else. He just stood there in the kitchen, head down and swallowing his sandwich in big gulps like someone would take it away from him if he didn’t eat it fast enough.

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