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{PART 26} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Jungkook attempts to do the impossible; keep Yoongi under control for as long as he can in his own Manor. But, after an unsuspecting escalation - everything ends in tears…and blood.

“How sobering it is, to love something that evil can corrupt”

  • || Warning: This chapter contains violence and some scenes that readers may find upsetting ||

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

{Part 1} // {Part 25} {Part 26} {Part 27}

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Hold Me Tight | Pt. 1

( can you trust me? )

Part 1 | Part 2

Anonymous requested: Hwarang AU + Royalty/Servant AU
Pairing: Taehyung | Reader
Genre: Angst/Fluff; Royalty AU + Soulmate AU (in which you know they’re your soulmate when you touch them for the first time + share extreme physical sensation after you meet)
Word Count: 5,930
Author’s Note: The original request… did not call for a Soulmate AU but I thought to myself hey what would make this more interesting and 10x more painful and thus, this concept was born. I actually got around to watching some of Hwarang before writing this, so I feel a little more qualified for this—but you don’t need to have previous knowledge of the show before reading this. Thank you @cheymint for dealing with my initial worry over the world building, I hope this satisfies!

Summary: Kim Taehyung is expected to spend the rest of his life within the company of nobility after joining the ranks of the kingdom’s newest royal guard. He anticipates alot of new experiences, new people… but the spark of a touch more powerful than anything before in his life is definitely not one of them—from the shadows of maids and housekeepers nonetheless.


The morning greeting comes has it always does within the household: a pounding fist against his headboard as the blanket is ripped off Taehyung’s body. His natural instinct is always the same, which is to curl in upon himself as he lets out the faintest groan of dissatisfaction. “Must you always do that hyung?” The boy inquires, barely offering a side glance to the culprit of his current state of further exhaustion.

Standing above him with the edges of the blanket curled up underneath fingers, Kim Namjoon grins wickedly, already dressed in his robes for the morning lessons. “You know that without me, you’d be late to all your lessons. So step on it. Or do I have to call in Hoseok to help—?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m up,” Taehyung interjects, internally cringing at the thought of Hoseok being called in for assistance in trying to get him out of bed. The boy may have been older than both himself and Namjoon, but more often than not had the tendency to act like a child and Taehyung did not wish to start the day with Hoseok jumping on his bed.

Namjoon laughs at that, throwing the blanket off to the side. “Hurry up alright? You know Master Wooreuk won’t be happy to see you late again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Taehyung dismisses with a wave, sliding to the front of the bed just as Namjoon slides open the door separating the bedroom with the long hallway before his footsteps become the only thing he can hear along the Hwarang household. With a grunt, Taehyung straightens up, laying out his robes for the morning lesson as he gets to work dressing.

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the violet hour | jjk

Originally posted by new-message-bts

summary: in a world where a mark completes itself when you are introduced to the love of your life, jeon jungkook is convinced that he is fated to die alone. here’s a hint, though - he’s wrong. (soulmate au)

• word count: 6.31k

• warnings: swearing; alcohol

→ note: kind of a college au; side vmin. also, i just wrote this already have drabble ideas for this, goodness… hope you enjoy!!

[eight weeks before]

Jeon Jungkook is his own soulmate. Not that he has any say in the matter, truth be told, but he doesn’t need to shout up to the sky and ask the universe himself in order to know what it has planned for him. 

All he has to do to understand is take one single glance at his forearm.

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Cure (Finale)

Bucky Barnes x reader

Notes: trigger warnings! Implications of past sexual abuse, swearing, injuries, memory loss, recuperating, fluff, angst, smut.

A/N: Sorry to spring the end of this story on you guys so suddenly! But even when I could take this in so many different directions, it’s the end for me on this one. Hope you enjoy a happy ending! 

Originally posted by misunderstood-adventures

When we walk around the compound the next day, her hand safely secured in my metal one, there’s several people giving us long stares, most pairs of eyes drift towards her neck, where the mark I left on her is displayed to perfection. I’ve already wondered if I was this possessive to begin with, and my mind immediately responded with: Hell yes, asshole. As you should be.

I can’t disagree.

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{PART 2} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut 

Summary; You’ve entered Jungkooks’ house, but will you be able to leave in one piece?

{Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}

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

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The Best of Times, The Worst of Times (Tommy Shelby x OC)

Hello everyone! Here is a way too long Tommy Shelby x OC one-shot. I’m planning a multi-chapter fic and wanted to experiment with some ideas - so feedback on this would be much appreciated!

“What’s that?” 14 year-old Thomas Shelby asked as he approached her. The boy had been playing a match of football with his brothers and a few friends when he noticed her sat beneath a tree. He recognised her as the sister of his friend and current team-mate, Charles Anderson.

The girl raised her head to look at him. She seemed startled by his arrival, almost dropping the object in her hands, but quickly covered her surprise by lifting it toward him, “It’s called a book.”

Tommy was taken aback by her patronising tone. Did she really think he didn’t know what a book was? He was on the verge of confronting her about it when he caught on to the playful glint in her eye. She was teasing him.

He held back a grin as he rolled his eyes, “I know it’s a book. I meant, what are you reading?”

She smiled up at him and turned the cover to face the boy, “’A Tale of Two Cities’.”

“Charlotte Brontë, right?” he prompted, trying to impress.

The girl giggled at his undoubting and somewhat cocky expression. She shook her head, “Dickens.”

“Oh,” the boy’s face fell in defeat, causing her sniggering to escalate. He moved to sit beside her and attempted to change the subject, “What’s your name?”

“Maggie. Or Margaret if you want to get cut,” he raised a brow at her bluntness, though he could tell she was still just taunting, “Yours?”

“Tommy. Or Thomas if you want to get cut.”

The pair exchanged an approving smile as she extended her hand, “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“And you, Margaret,” he replied as they briefly shook hands.

“You’re a friend of Charles?” Maggie asked the boy beside her.

“Yeah, he’s your brother, right?”

She nodded, “And you’re a Shelby?”

“I am. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she shrugged, “You have that way about you.”

“What ‘way’?”

“A pompous walk. Your brothers have it too.”

Tommy’s brow creased in confusion, “What the bloody hell does ‘pompous’ mean?”

“Arrogant, egotistic, boastful-“

“Excuse me?” Tommy shot her an incredulous look.

She continued, “Conceited, flaunting, pretentious-“

“Alright, I get it.”

She ignored him, “Flatulent, selfish, ostentatious-“

“That’s starting to get annoying.”

“Imperious, overbearing, supercilious-“

“-Ok you made that one up. That’s not a word.”

She then began to giggle again, laughing at the astounded expression on the boy’s face. Tommy guffawed at her nerve. Even at 14, he wasn’t used to people being so direct with him –especially a girl. He just stared at her, watching her laugh. Her cheeks had reddened and her eyes were creased shut. She had placed a hand over her stomach as she bent forward, her curls falling into her face. Eventually, despite his attempts to resist, Tommy found himself laughing too. The way her eyes glistened as they reopened ignited something within him. Pure joy seemed to invade his senses, making him forget, even just for a brief moment, all the misfortune his father was causing with his reckless antics. It had been a while since he had laughed like this.

Through his blurry eyes, Tommy noticed the book had fallen from her lap. He picked it up and studied it. Noticing his movements, Maggie turned to face the boy, still beaming. Her breath caught slightly as his eyes lifted from the book to reach her own. Just as her books would describe, they were a cloudless blue. Or perhaps they were azure whirlpools that she wished to dive into and drown in - she was certainly experiencing a similar spinning motion as he gazed at her. It was as if all the novels she had read were manifesting into reality and creating her own romantic hero.

“Read to me.”

His voice broke through her reverie. She blinked as she noted his arm outstretched, motioning for her to take the book back.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she looked at him, perplexed, “What?”

“Read to me,” he replied. Tommy nudged her upper arm with the corner of the book.

She let out a short chuckle and hesitantly took the novel from him. As they passed it, their fingers barely brushed– but they certainly felt it. Their eyes snapped to lock onto each other’s. Tommy’s heart clenched. Maggie’s skipped several beats. Both unknowingly held their breath. This was definitely something she had read in a novel. Frozen, the book remained held between their two bodies-


A football flew toward them at a powerful force and hit the tree above them, instantly destroying the moment. Their gazes broke to watch as the eldest Shelby brother ran toward them.

“Sorry, Tommy!” Arthur yelled as he retrieved the ball. He turned to throw Maggie a quick, apologetic smile before turning around and resuming the match.

Maggie released a long breath, almost grateful to have been distracted. The boy beside her cleared his throat and looked back to her, “So…read to me?”

She dropped her gaze to the book before offering him a soft smile, “Sure.”

Tommy struggled to keep himself from grinning at his victory. He shuffled slightly to lie back in a more comfortable position on the grass.

“Just don’t think I’m going to re-read the first 67 pages just so you can follow what’s going on,” she sneered, cheekily, “If you get confused, read it yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” he found himself smiling at her, “It’s no problem. Just pick up from where you left off.”

He watched eagerly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opened the book to the correct page. Quietly clearing her throat, she began, “’For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. And when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you…’”


The years progressed and the pair grew closer.

After the war, Tommy was not the same. No one was. He became riddled with nightmares. Blood, wires, mud, the damn shovelling. He hardly slept. The increasingly dark shade beneath his eyes was a clear indicator of that. The headaches too. He would not reveal any of this to the others, of course. No matter how much he craved comfort, he could not ruin his image. And so, he kept his torment to himself.

But Maggie knew. She worked it out for herself. He allowed her to. Maggie volunteered as a nurse. She was in France. She saw the horrors too.

Often she would stay late to clear up the betting shop for the boys. She would hear the whimpers and muffled yells coming from his room. Knocking gently and waiting for his approval, she would unobtrusively close the door behind her and sit beside him on the bed. After handing him a glass of water and placing a cool, wet towel on his head, she would reach over to his small bookshelf. After choosing a book, she would open it and begin to read. No other words would be spoken before or after. All he needed was reassurance that he was safe and not alone. He didn’t need to explain himself. She understood. She was there for him.

In a complete contrast to his hot, heavy illusions, her serene tone created a calm, content atmosphere. The words would drip from her tongue into his hear and instantly numb his senses. Eventually, this ease would allow him to drift into unconsciousness.

He would wake to find her gone. However, the book would always be placed on the table beside him as a reminder of her visit, like a notification that she was genuinely present. It would become a regular occurrence. They had silently agreed to never discuss what happened the next day. It was their private, almost nightly ritual. They wanted to separate the War from their civilian lives. There was no need for it to distract them from their day-to-day lives.

On this particular day, Tommy knocked on her apartment door. She opened it with a warm smile, “Tommy! What can I do for you?”

“There is a family counsel at 6 this evening. Be there,” and with that, he began to walk away.

She called out, “But, I’m not family. What’s going on?”

He stopped on the street and turned back to her. There was a hint of playfulness in his eye as he spoke, “’Family not only needs to consist of those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we would give blood.’”

Maggie stood bewildered in her doorway before a grin brightened her features. He had to suppress his own smirk.

“Thomas Michael Shelby,” she drawled in astonishment, “Did you just quote Dickens to me?”

Tommy turned from her confounded expression and sauntered down the street without a word.

Maggie let out a short laugh as she watched his retreating form. Once he had turned the corner, she closed her door and reflected on what he had said. Their relationship had now gone beyond acquaintances. Beyond friendship, in fact. He considered her family.

That night, Tommy stopped by Maggie’s apartment. She had not been present at the family meeting and he came to find out why. Knocking on her door, he called out for her. No response.

He knocked again. No response…except for the small sound of female weeping.

His heart began to beat wildly. His mind became frenzied and swam with endless disastrous scenarios. Before he could consider any other action, he ran to her back door she always forgot to lock and barrelled into her front room. His heart shattered at what he saw.

As a victim himself, he recognised the symptoms almost immediately. Maggie was sat in the corner of the room. Her knees huddled to her chest. Her arms gripped onto them so fiercely that the nails seemed to be breaking skin. Pale tear marks streaked her dark red cheeks.Her eyes were sore, wide and staring straight at him. Her cries had quietened.

As if realising he had caught her, she suddenly struggled to her feet and wiped at her wet cheeks. She looked guilty. Her eyes remained glazed as she tried to avoid his.

“T-Tommy?” she spoke, her voice timid and almost inaudible. It was not the smooth and confident voice that read to him every night. That’s when he realised; she was broken. Like him, the War had ruined her.

“Maggie,” he greeted, attempting to keep his voice strong and assuring.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” she sniffed.

“You weren’t at the meeting. I came to see if you were alright.”

“Oh,” she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve again and attempted to smile at him. She failed.

“Maggie?” he called to her, gently.

“I’m sorry about the meeting, I completely forgot,” she quickly replied, as if trying to avoid the question he would no doubt ask.


“I was just…cleaning the apartment,”  she avoided his gaze and looked behind him, “Did you break my door?”


She made to move to the door, “Because if you did, you know you’re paying for a new one, right? Because I don’t have the mon-“

He reached out for her arm as she passed. The touch made her freeze and turn to him suddenly. Tommy almost flinched as her red-rimmed eyes locked onto his.


She knew what he was going to ask. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Are you alright?”

There it was.

“I’m fine,” she tried to say as convincingly as possible. It didn’t work.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking,” she almost spat.

Tommy simply continued to looked at her, unconvinced by the bravado she tried to portray. His gaze seemed to snap something in her and she burst into tears again, shaking her head frantically.

Tommy reached out for her. She felt his cool palm press against her burning cheek. The other hand found its way to the back of her head and cradled it to his chest. Easing into his arms, Maggie allowed herself to sob. This was the first time she had cried in front of someone else since she was young. Even after the news of Charles’ death, she refused to let others see her this way. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was scared people would see it as a weakness. Being a nurse on the front line did not allow for tears. She had a job to do and she had to get it done. There was no time to grieve. But without the War, there was nothing to distract her from thinking of what she had witnessed.

Her hands gripped onto his upper arms, as if to stable herself.It was then that he noticed her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Tommy was worried she would fall. Removing his hands from her face, he reached down and picked her up behind the legs. Once she had wrapped her arms around his neck, he led her to the bed and lay her down. Once she had manoeuvred under the covers, he knelt beside the mattress.

Reaching out for her hand, he looked at her sincerely, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. I understand. Just don’t lie to me and tell me you’re ‘fine’.”

She just looked back at him for a moment with those red eyes before slightly nodding her head. Tommy nodded too and made to move away, but she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Maggie watched as Tommy looked down at her before gently removing his palm from her hold. He began to walk away. He was going to leave her in this state. Maggie wasn’t angry with him for that decision. He was a busy man with things to do. Also, seeing her in this state may awaken his own trauma. That’s the last thing she wanted.

Closing her eyes, she saw the haunting images. Maggie allowed more silent tears to leak from beneath her eyelids. They only re-opened when she felt a pressure on the mattress beside her. Fluttering her eyes open, she saw Tommy had returned…with a book.

He had gone to the shelf in the next room and picked up ‘Great Expectations’. How could he leave her in this state? Especially after all she had done for him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. Tommy wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to dealing with emotions. So, he decided to start by trying out her technique. Besides, it worked for him, didn’t it?

He climbed onto the bed and sat beside where she lay. He crossed his legs, opened the page she had marked as her current place and cleared his throat.

Tommy began to read, “’love her, love her, love her. If she follows you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her.’”

He paused when he heard her sniffs cease and breaths even out. Looking down beside him, Tommy saw that Maggie was asleep. Her face, although still blotchy, was showing signs of returning to its regular pallor.She looked at peace.

Gently sliding from the mattress, he placed the book on her bedside table, as she always did for him. Looking back to her, he could not resist reaching out to brush the hair from her forehead. He found his fingers tenderly caressing her cheek for another minute, before he leaned over and placed his lips delicately to the side of her mouth. Without a word and cautiously avoiding making any sound, he picked up his cap, angled it on his head and left the apartment.

The words he had read resonated as he made his way home: love her, love her, love her.


Scenario: This guy sitting behind me on the bus was harassing me and when you got on you came up, took the seat next to me and said “Hey sweetie, Mom wants to know when and where you want to meet them for dinner. I was thinking the diner down the road from us”
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 1,848
Author’s Note: I remember an anon asking me about Jimin stories, so I figured it was about time I got around to that. This may or may not be based on personal experience when I went to university in the city.


Public transportation, as it turns out, is the bane of your existence. You’d think that for someone who has undergone 2 years of the same routine, of keeping to yourself with your ear buds and notebooks and eyes glued to your phone screen for a majority of the ride into downtown, you would have gained a better hand in not attracting too much attention to yourself.

However, the hard jab into the back of your shoulder blades makes you almost think how much safer you’d feel if you had just decided to drive to school—sure, it may cost more and traffic sucks sometimes and driving in it of itself is so exhausting sometimes, but you wouldn’t have to—!

The voice starts as a murmur, drowned out by the steady beat of music ringing in your ears, and you think you might be able to ignore the man entirely before the jab comes back and actually hurts to the nature in which it’s right against a nerve. You flinch slightly upon contact, jerking away from the touch as you become reminded of your slight repulsion of physical touch—especially from people you don’t know very well.

Craning to look over your shoulder, you find yourself coming face-to-face with a man much older than you, his beady eyes giving off intentions for prying on individuals much younger than himself—who eyes you with so much possession that it makes your stomach churn. His gaze holds an expectancy that you wish to ignore, but are unable to do so now that you’ve given him some of your attention.

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wolfbro92  asked:

Hello, I am trying to avoid falling into the pit fall that is trying to write a female character who is very in control of her sexuality and also dresses in fairley reveling way, without objectifing her. She dresses like she does because she wants it to be very clear to every one around her that it is not a matter of whether not she could punt you through a wall but rather how far you would go after that. and she is well out of the 'confused' period of her life, and into the 'proud to be me' .

Hello!  For the purposes of this response, I’m going to assume you’re a (heterosexual?) male author, in which the first step I’d recommend for writing about this is to consult as many women as possible about it.  Seeing as I am a women, I’d say you’re ahead of the game in this department.  

Next, here are some personal tips and rules of thumb for writing about sexual female characters without sexualizing them:

1.  Treat them as people.  

Regardless of how promiscuous, attractive, and sexual your character is, she will have defining traits beyond that.  Focus on your character’s personality before you describe her appearance.  Spend some time working out her idiosyncrasies, quirks, likes and dislikes, that don’t involve sex.  Make sure she’s a well-rounded character before you even think about focusing on her sexuality;  her appearance should be an afterthought, not a defining feature.  

This goes for characters of all genders:  regardless of how stunningly attractive they’re emphasized to be, regardless of the author’s relentless descriptions of their “rock hard abs” or “ample breasts,” the characters I find most attractive are invariably the ones with a strong and well-defined personality.  

Basically, regardless of how sexy your character is, she is, first and foremost, a person, with a fully developed personality.  Remember that, and you’ll be several steps ahead of your fellow male authors.

2.  Make sure she’s dressed practically and appropriately.   

Revealing clothes are great.  I’ll show cleavage like nobody’s business.  But don’t fall into the false empowerment purgatory of ridiculously revealing clothes that are neither appropriate to the situation nor practical for what your character is doing.  

For instance, if your character is kicking ass and taking names, she should not be doing it like this:

If your character is setting out for a fight, avoid gratuitous cleavage, showing too much skin, and basically anything that looks like it could just as easily be exhibited in a Victoria’s Secret ad.  

Some more practical options for your female characters include full-body spandex (like male superheroes have been wearing since spandex was invented), cargo pants and tank tops, and athletic-wear.  I also personally enjoy basically any character in full-body latex or leather, and it’s totally not because its a personal kink of mine.

In a quiet, controlled, dress up-y setting, your character can wear the revealing clothes she prefers, but there are some basic guidelines for this as well:      

3.  Stay away from gratuitously focusing on breasts. 

“My full breasts swelled invitingly over the lacy rim of my sports bra.”  “Her small breasts swung loosely beneath her poncho.”  “She purred as she contentedly patted her young breasts dry.”

So many male writers do this, and it never fails to grate on me.  Even if your character is wearing the most cleavage-bearing, Jessica Rabbit-esque getup imaginable, she will not be thinking about her boobs 24/7, especially if it’s told in the first person. 

The only time I’m actively thinking about my breasts is when I’m thinking about how much they’re fucking annoying me.  Right now, for example, I’m thinking about them because all my bras are in the wash and the only one available was one of my mom’s sports bras, and it feels like a goddamn binder.  

Do I love them?  Am I happy to have them?  Yes, but sometimes they fucking suck, man.  

On that note, however, the feeling of taking off a bra is heavenly, and I do occasionally like putting my hands on them for no particular reason.  

If you want to emphasize that your character is physically beautiful, and she’s wearing revealing clothing, here are a few body parts that I wish authors would pay more attention to: 

“The lean, well-defined muscles of her back rippled like liquid.”  

“The slit up the side of her evening gown showed off a smooth expanse of thigh.”  

“Her hair was braided to one side, calling attention to her slender neck and sharp jawline and showing off her toned shoulders.”     

This might be the queer gal in me talking, but I’d say that’s a definite improvement.

4.  Allow her to have physical flaws.

“Her lovely sloping waist gave way to voluptuous hips, perfectly mirroring the ample roundness of her bosoms.  Luscious locks of silky blond hair framed her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones, accentuating lush lips and a petite button nose, large eyes framed with lush lashes.”  

This is a condensed version of the descriptions I’ve read.  Authors, particularly male authors, will take up entire pages describing flawlessly beautiful female characters that probably couldn’t exist outside of a magazine.  

Don’t do this.  Even if your character is stunningly gorgeous, it’s her physical idiosyncrasies that will make her memorable.  Give her a honking laugh, a birthmark, a scar, one crooked tooth that stands out in an otherwise perfect smile.

Moreover, as a general rule of thumb, stay away from cutesy descriptors “petite button noses,” “doe eyes,” “lush, long lashes,” “doll-like,” “porcelain skin,” and basically anything else that sounds as though you’re describing a children’s toy.  One or two characters can have these features, but when every female character sounds like a porcelain doll, it gets tiresome. 

Confession time:  I like to endow my male characters with these traits just to throw people.  A lot of my male main characters will be described as having large, doe-like eyes with long lashes, lush pink lips, delicate features, and/or basically everything else cute and “feminine” with which female characters are frequently endowed. 

I feel like it’s quietly subversive, because there’s a lot of pressure for male characters to constantly be masculine (if not, it’s usually presented as comedy relief), just as it’s customary for female characters to consistently be effortlessly cute, delicate, and feminine.  

Your female characters will not always be cute, delicate, and feminine.  Even the most gorgeous people in the world will occasionally wake up with static-y, bird’s nest hair and dark raccoon circles under their eyes.  They get body odor, they go to the bathroom, they get bad breath, they get unsightly rashes, have allergic reactions, get bug bites.  

Granted, you probably won’t need to describe that in gratuitous detail, but you need to realize that women aren’t goddesses.  If your character has perfect makeup, she’s put a lot of time and energy into learning how to do perfect makeup, applying it every morning, et cetera.  If she has a perfect body, she probably works out a lot, eats a steadily healthy diet, and/or has some pretty perfect genes.  Traditional femininity is hard work;  it isn’t simply a natural state of being for women and girls.

Basically, it all goes back to point one:  treat your female characters as people.   

5.  Be open to criticism.

This applies for writing all marginalized groups to which you don’t belong.  I can and do write characters of color, for example, but I need to be open to criticism from actual people of color for when I’m doing it wrong.  

If you’re straight (which I am not), you can and should write queer characters, but you need to be open to the critiques of actual queer people when they tell you how to improve.  

And you (and again, I’m only assuming you’re male here, as it isn’t specified) can and should write female characters, but you need to keep an open ear to real women if they say you aren’t doing it right.  

This isn’t personal, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person;  what a lot of people need to understand on this website (and the internet in general) is that we will never reach a state of total ideological purity, just as we will never understand the experience of groups to which we do not belong.

Accept it, commit to the journey of bettering yourself as a person and as a creator, and realize that criticism is not a personal insult to you;  it’s a means by which you can grow.

I really hope this helps!!


So basically dating this one-of-a-kind wartortle would include:

  • well you’re one of the luckiest people alive cause you got yourself a PERFECT boyfriend
  • such boyfriend material, I can’t even
  • he would be so sweet and caring towards you 
  • and he would basically do anything for you and i mean ANYTHING 
  • like you could kill someone and he would keep his mouth shut and help you get rid of the body 
  • because he loves you the most and he wants you to be happy 
  • would spoil you and show you so much affection when you two are alone
  • is literally as lost as a puppy without his owner when you are not around 
  • although when you’re out he isn’t much of a PDA fan, but would always have you close to him, hold your hand while playing with your fingers
  • he would comment about how beautiful you are quite often and how well you match together and just lots of cheesy things 
  • “do you see how perfect your hand fits in mine?” 
  • “you look really beautiful today”
  • would like calling you pet names; the obvious: “baby”, “love”, “sweetheart” 
  • and since he’s wartortle, he would probably call you his “jigglypuff” cause it’s just as cute as you are
  • does aegyo for you when you’re sad or angry cause he knows your like it 
  • since he likes playing video games so much he would always ask you to play with him 
  • and if you weren’t into it he would offer to teach you 
  • also you guys would watch so much anime and read so many mangas 
  • that by the end of the year you would have a growing collection and no space to put new books  
  • your dates would be really chill, like going to the movies or the park 
  • he would always want to pay for everything and wouldn’t accept “no” as an answer 
  • on special occasions though he would take you out on a fancy dinner 
  • like you’d come home from classes or work and find a note on your bed which says 
  • “hey beautiful, sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch today. I’m picking you up at 8, wear something nice. I love you the most”
  • although he pings me as someone who would be quite uncomfortable going to fancy parties, I think he would only enjoy them if you were with him 
  • like company dinners for example, would be so boring without you; but once you’re there he would have this huge smile plastered on his face
  • “wanna get out of here?” 
  • and you agree so you follow him to the rooftop 
  • and it would be like a scene out of a movie; just you two standing on the cold pavement and he gives you his jacket cause it would be windy 
  • and you end up talking about the two of you and your secrets, your insecurities, future, past, present and every subject there is 
  • “i wish you’d be mine forever, i’m never going to let you go”
  • “i can’t believe you’re so perfect. how did i even manage to make you fall in love with me?”
  • “you know I love you so much, Y/N. I would literally fight the whole world for you”
  • “just stay with me forever and I don’t need anything else”
  • he would always make sure you ate, sleep well and take care of yourself so he would constantly check up on you even if he is busy practicing 
  • and the problem with onibugi is that he cares so much about the others that he forgets about himself 
  • so you have to remind him to take care of him too since you don’t want him to get sick or hurt himself from training too hard
  • he isn’t one to speak about his concerns often, but you can always tell if something is bothering him 
  • he would still deny it though and you have to assure him that everything is gonna be ok and you believe in him and you’re so proud of him 
  • cause I think besides the whole “nation’s leader” image he has pretty low self-esteem and needs constant reassurance from you that he’s doing well
  • always hugs you when you sleep together 
  • and sometimes it would be really hot and you would move away from him 
  • but 5 seconds later he is scooting closer and cuddling you again  
  • he pings me at someone who would be into creating an atmosphere rather than just having sex cause he is horny
  • he has medium leaning towards high stamina 
  • now this man right here… this man makes love; he does not have sex or fuck; Kim Jonghyun makes love to you
  • and he doesn’t make love only to your body; he also does it to your soul and mind 
  • personally I believe sex would be mind-blowing and not because he is a god in bed (which is 50% why) but he takes so much care with his actions and cherishes every part of your body and takes his time with everything
  • just telling you how much he loves your arms, abdoment, eyes, mouth, legs, everything 
  • and if you were to be insecure because let’s say you got stretch marks on your body or some other minor faults he would be the sweetest guy 
  • “baby, I don’t care, you’re so beautiful with and without them” 
  • “you don’t have to worry, you’re perfect, you’re amazing, you’re my love” 
  • always making sure you get to come and are pleasured 
  • he would be more of a giver than receiver in terms of oral; he wants you to feel good and doesn’t care much about himself 
  • quite vocal; would like calling your name a lot, a soft moaner with deep grunts and lots of: 
  • “fuck, babe”
  • “oh my god this feels amazing”
  • “you’re so perfect, don’t stop baby” 
  • I also think he’d be into lazy, morning sex 
  • like you just woke up and you’re cuddling while kissing each other
  • and then one of his hands travel lower towards your hips and when you don’t stop him his fingers go straight to your core and start massaging it 
  • and then all of your clothes are on the floor as he is thrusting slowly, lazily
  • he would enjoy hearing your soft moans as he kisses your neck 
  • would LOVE for you to ride him as he gets to look at you and play with your chest and have his fingers on your hips or ass 
  • he’s a switch and doesn’t ping me as someone who would be overly dominant 
  • his dominant side will only show if he is jealous or if you are trying to make him jealous on purpose 
  • then, good luck to you cause you’re gonna be sore the whole week 
  • he would take whenever and wherever as he groans “you’re mine and only mine” in your ear
  • he would like it for you to be in charged, I think he secretly enjoys it so much 
  • like if you were to straddle him and take control 
  • “you’re not allowed to touch me, jonghyun. now be a good boy”
  • he would bite his lips visibly horny and it would take so much force for him not to touch you 
  • while you kiss every inch of his body and ride him slowly, teasingly 
  • until he is so desperate that he is begging for you to let him touch you 
  • and when you do, he flips you over and stares at you with dark eyes 
  • “i’ve been waiting so long for this, baby” 
  • quite vanilla though; I think he wouldn’t be very open to trying rough bdsm or anything that may possibly harm you because he cares too much about you 
  • as for his kinks, I don’t know why but I think he would really like food play, shower sex (SO MUCH, SO HOT), blindfolds, lace, dry humping
  • he would like seeing you in pretty lingerie, that would make him want to treat you like a princess 
  • says “I love you” a lot when you are doing it and always when you are done
Infatuation - Part 3

Originally posted by bangtanbanchan


Summary: You are now a Pre-K teacher and you meet Jaebum, a single dad. 

Genre: Romance, teacher, single dad

Warnings: smut in later chapters, swearing

Definition of Pre-K: teacher for children at the age of 4

“Jaehwan, why don’t  you go sit in the living room and watch some TV. I have to go to work.”

Jaebum knelt down and kissed Jaehwan’s cheek. 

“Dad where are you going?” There was sadness in Jaehwan’s tone. 


He patted his son’s back to prompt him to leave.

Today Jaebum was in a bit of a bad mood. After Jaehwan left the room, Jaebum began speaking to Jackson. 

“Babysit Jaehwan today. I have to finish up last week’s case. I think we found the murderer, but now I have to investigate this case even though it’s you and Yugyeom’s job.” Jaebum spoke firmly to Jackson.

Keep reading

Pleasurable Pain (Lucifer x Reader)

A/N: Hello Reader-chans! As promised, here is my Luci x Reader smut! Criticism is helpful and welcomed! Also, notes, reposts, and your comments give me life! Anyway, hope you enjoy!~

Rating: M

Word Count: 5,387

Warnings: smut! mentions of a car crash, oral (female recieving), light!dom!Lucifer, virgin!reader (because why not).

Originally posted by magnificent-winged-beast

“Pants, moans, and a series of occasional groans echoed throughout the room, covering up the sound of skin slapping upon skin. He had set out a hard pace, driving you absolutely insane. His grip on your hips was tight and painful, liable to leave bruises of his hands for days to come. Slowly, he pressed your chest into his, dropping his face into the hollow of your neck. You let out a tiny gasp at the feel of his stubble against your clavicle, moving your hands up to card your fingers through his hair. In response, he breathily moaned against your neck and scraped his teeth along the top of your shoulder, slowly biting down and adding pressure. He thrusts became more brutal at that, soft growls making themselves more audible. Your small gasps and mewls became louder and you gripped his hair tighter, pulling on it. You were too much in a bliss to worry about ripping the strands from his head. And then you felt it coming. Your first real orgasm. The coil you felt in your belly only got tighter and tighter as you became louder. He let out a guttural groan at your tugging, his grip becoming impossibly tighter-”

You awoke in a cold sweat for the seventh day in a row, panting. The wetness dripping out from your beyond soaked panties reminded you that you’ve yet again had that dream. Letting out an unsatisfied and frustrated sigh, you lifted yourself out of your own sweat-soaked sheets, walking/waddling over to the bathroom in your room with a new pair of underwear and a clean towel. As you cleaned and dried yourself off, your mind wandered back to the recurring dream. Or nightmare. You weren’t sure yet. You didn’t even know who was the male within it. It was mostly a blur with many intense new feelings. But you were completely sure it was just hormones. After you threw yourself into the hunting life at the age of 14, you’d left everyone you had ever known and never really…popped the cherry. You were now the age of 22 and it just wasn’t really much of a concern to you as was killing all the abominations that poisoned the world.

You slipped on the clean undergarment, sighing in relief. They were boring old white panties. You didn’t see a problem since there was no one to impress. Your wardrobe mainly consisted of the white underwear with the acceptance of one set of lingerie. Beside that, it was loose fitting shirts and pants, flannels and one black tank top with a pair of overly sized sweatpants. Basically, anything that wasn’t too tight fitting so you could still be your agile self in them. You hated feeling constrained. It just wasn’t you.

Yawning, you checked the time. 12:05 A.M. Pretty sure the Winchesters wouldn’t appreciate you barging in their precious bunker with an equally shitty excuse. Ah, Sam and Dean Winchester. You had met the boys alongside a hunt against a Djinn and they were less than pleased when you managed to get yourself captured. There, you met their angel Castiel. He was quite the interesting individual. Also living proof that angels and demons existed. Hooray.

They rescued you and brought you to their bunker, helping you regain your health. You didn’t wish to be touched by the angel and they weren’t going to bring you to a hospital. So there at the bunker, you had figured out that you absolutely sucked at socializing. There was at least a stutter to every sentence you spoke and a blush as red as cherries that filled your entire face, including your ears. You were an embarrassment to yourself. You could just picture Dean’s shit-eating grin. He thought it was funny you couldn’t  communicate around them all. Narcissistic bastard. Sam was better at it though, giving you a sympathetic smile and patience. Castiel only tilted his head and furrowed his brow, as if he was trying to figure out what was wrong with you. Even you didn’t know. As you resided there, they told you some interesting stories, like how their dad introduced them to hunting and how they met Castiel. Then there was the stories of Lucifer. Those always caught your attention.

The way they described him captivated your interest. Maybe it was because Satan was real and it horrified you. Or maybe it was  because in some ways, you understood him. Cast out by your father, called nasty names by people. You listened to the brothers’ painful struggle with the Devil, mentally taking notes on his character and influence. Strangely though, the way they described his actions flickered a sense of vague familiarity. Although you really did feel bad for Sam, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was like in person. What did he look like? Er- his vessel anyways. You were still new to the whole “angel-human vessel” thing. You suppose the stories were supposed to intimidate and terrify you, but they only made you curious. And your curiosity always lead you into trouble.


That was two weeks ago. Today is just another lonely day. You were packing your bags, getting ready to leave. You’d finally concluded your hunt against the werewolves down in Topeka, Kansas. You checked the clock again. It’s 5:34 P.M. It would take you roughly two hours and fifty-five minutes to drive to the Winchesters’ location in Lebanon, Kansas. Deciding it’d be nice to go check in with them, you threw your shit into the trunk of your truck and got in, making a quick pit stop to grab some snacks for the road. Afterwards, you were off to Lebanon.


You were having trouble staying awake. ‘C’mon Y/N, just a few more minutes.’ You had tried not to sleep as much during the weeks for fear of the dream coming back to you. It had worked, but now you were having trouble staying awake when you needed to most. Your fingers loosened on the steering wheel as you slowly nod off yet again. Sleep was calling to you…and you were slowly answering to its call.

‘…Y/N…’ A voice sang.

You struggled to keep your eyes open.

‘…Y/N…come to me…’ It said again in that tune. It lured you…like bugs to a light. The honking of a horn sounded from a distance.

You jolted with a gasp, seeing the lights of the vehicle a second too late. You swerved your car to the side, screaming internally. You managed to spin off the road, the right frontside of your car hitting a tree, which sent you flying. You couldn’t scream. Only watch with wide eyes as you and your car came closer and closer to the ground. As soon as you made contact with it, your life flashed before your eyes. First hunt…first kill…first injury. You felt your head hitting all over and your body jolting around as your seatbelt clung to you. The airbag in your steering wheel came to life like a punch to the face, knocking your head back. Your first legal gun…first FBI badge. Your car barrel rolled deeper into the forest until it hit a tree, stopping your jostling.

Your vision was dizzying and your pain was extreme. You were disoriented, fumbling for your seatbelt. A pain became evident in your head. You groaned, black spots adorning your already failing vision. Slowly, your movements lessened, your body becoming limp as the blackness took over, rendering you unconscious.


You woke up with a gasp, sitting up completely straight. Panicking, you look around. You were in a room, laid on a bed…wait a minute. You were just in a car crash…where the hell were you?! This wasn’t the bunker as the layout and style of the room were so different. Besides that, the brothers didn’t know you were coming. You slowly got up, investigating the detail of the apartment. It was way fancier than the typical shit hole apartments you stayed in. It was clean, no sign of mold, insects or deteriorating of any furniture or wood. You silently crept around, searching for the door. You needed to get out of here. You realized then you were in perfect shape as well. You could’ve sworn you broke a couple things back there. Your heart rate increases, nervous energy beginning to swarm you. You’ve been kidnapped. If so…then where was the kidnapper-

“Oh. Isn’t this a surprise? I didn’t expect you to be awake for ehhh…say a few more hours. But humans. Ever the stupidly stubborn ones. Especially you hunters.” A male voice echoed throughout the room. He sounded impressed. Or annoyed. Maybe both?

Squeaking in surprise, your vision flied about, trying to find the source of the voice. Strangely though, the speaker sounded vaguely familiar…

You felt a hand grab your shoulder. A particularly cold hand at that.

“Caught you.” The voice said. You could feel the smirk upon your captor’s face. Slowly, you raised your head, to come face to face with a…chest. You slowly raised your head higher, heartbeat thudding against your ribcage. Finally, you caught the face of a man. He was smiling…and wasn’t too hard on the eyes. He had his light tan hair spiked up in no particular direction. Beautiful ice blue eyes…No. You shake your head. ‘Now’s not the time Y/N damn.’

“Hiya there.” The man greets, the smile unfading and the hand on your shoulder not leaving. With every word he spoke, that sense of vague familiarity continued to radiate in your mind. Coming back to your senses, you immediately uppercutted the guy, stepping away from him and running to where you assumed the exit was. You need get out of there, call the Winchesters for help- you quickly skid to a stop. Needless to say, there was only one thing blocking your way from the exit.

The man chuckles, rubbing his unshaven chin and jaw. Blood coated his teeth. “Heh…you’ve got a hell of a swing Y/N.” His eyes glow red for a second and the blood disappears. Your eyes widen at the mention of your name. You didn’t give him your name. Also his eyes…they glowed red. Wait…no…he couldn’t possibly be. You could’ve sworn the brothers said they locked him back away. He smiles again, stepping towards you slowly, arms waving about. You back up at his pace, heart beating unbelievably fast and a blush rising quickly on your face. His smile widens and his index finger points at you, steps unfaltering. “You have an idea to who I am…don’t you?” You swallow. One person came to mind. “Y-You’re Lucifer, aren’t you?” You stuttered, continuing to step away from him.

An arrogant smile makes way onto his face, arms opening up in acknowledgement and his chest seemingly puffing in pride. “In the flesh.” It was then your back hit a wall. Your eyes widen and your breathing increases, blush darkening. It was then his steps stop as well. He was only a few feet in front of you, predatory smile set on his face and his arms now crossed comfortably at his sides. He had you trapped. With no one in knowledge of where you were. ‘Fuck.’ “Now,” His eyes flicker elsewhere and his fingertips connect together as his body faces yours. There was no escape. “Let’s try this again. I am, in fact, Lucifer. Otherwise known as an Archangel, Satan, the Devil, King of-” “I don’t care.” You quickly interrupt, surprising even yourself. His cold, ice blue eyes, which had previously wandered to a place somewhere on another wall, snapped back your terrified ones. His smile drops for a second. You gulp.

Lucifer’s eyes narrow and his mouth slowly turns up in a warning smile. “Excuse me?” His tone was threatening, making your heart rate skyrocket. The atmosphere dramatically shifts from playful to dangerous, the reality of the situation finally dawning on you. You’re in the same room with Lucifer, the actual Devil, who’s standing not a few feet away from you with a predatory look in his eyes. Oh and he could kill you with the simple snap of his fingers. You press yourself into the wall, eyes betraying you. “I-I’m sorry! P-please don’t k-kill me-” A snort breaks its way through the tension after you manage to stutter a sentence. You look at Lucifer, who was chuckling at you. He thought your fear was funny. “And you’re supposedly a hunter…” He begins to move again, walking slowly to the right of you, an index finger pressed on his smiling lips. His eyes bore into yours, as if he’s looking straight into your soul. Like every romantic story cliche. Expect this situation was far from romantic. Try terrifying. His eyes then proceed to drag over your body, examining you.

“Now then…I’m not going to…peel the muscle off your bone and nail it to my wall…no…that’s not why I’ve brought you here,” He says, eyes annoyingly staying glued to your shaking hips. “Although you have quite the mouth on you,” He raises his eyebrows, eyes flicking back up to yours, nothing but sexual intent in them. He rubs his bottom lip with his finger and stops walking. You noticed his smile was gone too. “I’ve brought you here because…well…” He was suddenly inches away from you, chiseled features right in your face. You flinch. He continues to stare you down, no more playful nature in his being. “I keep getting visions of you,” His hands slam into the wall next you your head, his arms both caging you in and scaring you. “ And I have no idea how or why but they’re really affecting my plans- scratch that. Greatly affecting them.” You stare up into his eyes, calming a bit as you realize he had no intent to kill you. He really was a beautiful creature…that you couldn’t deny it even if it was wrong. His eyes narrow again, as if he was suspecting you of something. The blush continues to stain your face at his close proximity. You couldn’t help your virgin ways. Even if it is Lucifer…dammit. Attention was attention.

He licks his lips, the movement slow. Your eyes immediately flick down to them. He continues to speak. You note how his voice drops an octave and there’s a certain huskiness to it. “And somehow…I suspect you’ve had them too.” His cold breath fans your cheeks. Suddenly, the dots connected. With a widen of your eyes and a sudden intake of air, you finally figure out who was the male within your dream. That dream. You become frightfully aware of the blush burning your cheeks, but it’s beat by the searing gaze Lucifer sends you. He smiles then, nothing but lustfully. “I don’t hear a no…and judging by your not-so-obvious reaction, I’m going to assume I’m correct. Not that I’m always wrong.” He moves closer, nose brushing against yours. His eyes dropped for your lips for second before flicking back up to your eyes. He whispers now. “You’re making my ears bleed from how much you’re talking Y/N.”

You lick your lips, looking up at him. He’s watching you, as if he’s expecting another escape attempt. You swallow your fear. “I…I have nothing to say.” You manage to blurt out. He chuckles dryly, looking down at the ground. “See now, I find that hard to believe considering how vocal you were during all those…phantasms.” Lucifer smirks, raising his eyebrows suggestively and looking you back in the eyes. You glare, face flaming again. You turn your head away from his gaze. You were unsure how this situation was going to end, but you hoped it did with the brothers and their angel somehow busting in and saving your ass a second time. But you know that isn’t going to happen. Because you didn’t want that to happen. Because you knew, deep down, you instead wanted this. You just didn’t have the confidence nor time to actually make it happen. At the same time though…he’s the fucking Devil. And that’s just so fucking wrong.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Lucifer pipes up, looking at you with a suspicious gaze. You look at him, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Consequences.” You deadpan. His eyes narrow, looking as if he’s offended. “If you’re thinking about the Winchesters-” “That’s exactly what I was considering-” “Oh for fuck’s sake-” He was quick to grab you by the back of the neck with both of his cold hands and press his lips to yours rather roughly. It definitely shut you up and dispelled any doubt in your mind like that. You were unsure what to do with your hands as they clench up at your sides. Lucifer seems to notice, taking your forearms and lifting them to his shoulders without breaking the kiss. You quickly got onto what he was doing, wrapping your arms around his neck as he wraps his around your waist. He presses your chest to his, coaxing a kiss from your lips. It sent a jolt straight to your core.

Eventually, you got the idea of it and timidly kissed back, questioning if you’d done it right. Lucifer hums in approval, kissing your lips one last time before pulling back, looking at you.

“I don’t think you know what those visions do to me…” He whispers, intensely staring into your E/C eyes. You muster up the courage to conjure up what you hope is a sexy voice. “No…I don’t think I do.” You say, looking up at at him with half-lidded eyes. ‘Was that ok?’ You hope it was. Lucifer moves so his mouth is against your ear. He chuckles lowly. It sent another jolt to your core. A weird sensation began to boil in your belly. “Guess I’ll just have to show you then…” With that, he rolls his hips into yours, driving you back against the wall. You let out a gasp that turned into a shuddering moan, clawing his back through his shirt. You felt his arousal rub against your jean covered core, making you yet more turned on. He groans into your ear, nibbling it. You elicit a mewl of some sort, scratching the back of his neck now.

“Mmm I want to hear you make more noises like that…it’s a good thing we have all night.” Lucifer mumbles into your neck, lifting you up by the back of your thighs. You squeak, tightening  your grasp around his neck. He chuckles, catching your lips fiercely. “I’ll make you forget. Who the Winchesters. And my brother are. After I’m finished. With you.” He says between kisses, carrying you to the bedroom. You giggle. “Promise?” He drops you onto the bed, licking his lips. “Write it down if you must sweetheart.” You squeal, giggling as you crawl back on the bed to give Lucifer some room. You kick off your boots and socks along the way. They tumble randomly on the floor somewhere. He quickly crawls over to you, lustful look in his eyes. He then grabs you by your calves, yanking you towards him impatiently. Taken by surprise you yelp, putting your hands on his shoulders. He chuckles, kissing you yet again. As he massages his lips against yours, he manages to unbutton your pants, tugging at them. Your eyes open in fear, not quite ready for that yet. You bite his bottom lip, hoping it would get him to stop. It did. He pulls away, licking his lip. His eyes seem to darken a little more.

You look up at Lucifer, showing your fear. He sits up on his knees. “What?” He asks, holding back the need to fuck you into the bed. “I…I-I’m…” You were unsure how to tell him. Your cheeks flame up in embarrassment and shame. You couldn’t tell Satan you still had your innocence…hilarious. He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue. He keeps shifting from his obvious discomfort. You try not to stare. Taking a deep breath, you gather any dignity you have left. “I’m still a virgin.” You blurt, flushing up in shame. ‘Could you have said it more bluntly Y/N?’ You look away, feeling a little self conscious. You hear a snort and a shift in the bed as Lucifer places himself over you, face in your neck. He kisses it softly, slowly moving up to your jaw, nipping along the way. You make noises you never thought you could make. Noises of undeniable, pure pleasure. Small noises, but new sounds at that. You could feel yourself slowly soaking through your clothing, and that strange but not unwelcome sensation churning deep in your belly. He kisses up to your ear, nibbling on it again. He whispers softly. “I know. It’s plainly obvious sweetheart. Anyone doesn’t notice is an idiot.” He looks back into your eyes to gauge your reaction. Well that kind of hurt. You narrow your eyes at him, pouting your lips. You know he was right. He crawls up farther, getting his hips snug between yours. “I’ll try my best to be slow. No promises.” You nod, licking your lips. “I’m going to take off your shirt, mkay?” You nod again, swallowing.

So slowly, intimately, Lucifer lifts your shirt over your head, dragging his fingertips across your skin intentionally. With each inch, you felt more and more exposed. With each inch of revealed skin, he planted a kiss, staring deeply into your eyes. Strangely, it calmed you a little. The way he was treating this- you- as you might break. He eventually got the shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere random. It left you with your upper half exposed in only a boring white bra. ‘How sexy.’ You look down. You didn’t really know this was going to happen. You felt a finger on your chin, lifting your head up. Lucifer stares into your eyes. His are clouded with lust. You’re sure yours are the same, with hints of nervousness and embarrassment here and there. “Y’know…I always thought lingerie was a bit overrated anyway. So I don’t care.” You smile a little. That comforted you a bit. “Besides…white brings out the stains far more than any other color.” He smiles devilishly and captures your lips in a quick kiss. You blush, kissing him back. He wasn’t too bad. He breaks it, reaching his hand around to the clip of your bra. It floats there, waiting for your consent. You bite your lip, slowly nodding. He swiftly unclips the bra in a single-handedly practiced motion. You do the rest, slowly taking off your bra to expose your breasts. You look down, arms twitching at your sides as you fight the urge to cover your chest. Lucifer fondles them a little, giving them both a quick peck before taking off his clothes. A shiver runs down your spine. All of them. With a single snap of his fingers. He tilts his head back, sighing in relief as his arousal is released from its confines.You, on the other hand, were blushing like a mad woman, eyes nearly bulging from out of their sockets. Why didn’t he do that to you? He looks back at you, smiling proudly and licking his lips, winking. Well, you weren’t expecting that. You couldn’t stop staring at it. Would it even fit? ‘Doubt it.’

Lucifer moves back in, tugging at your pants. He looks at you, asking permission. You swallow nervously, nodding your head. He then puts a hand on your lower back, lifting it. You flinch at how cold his touch is. He’s silently asking you to raise your hips. So you do. Then yet again, repeating what he did as his slid off your shirt, he slowly took off your pants, planting kisses which each inch of exposed skin. His gaze bore into yours. It was getting increasingly more difficult to hold himself back as you writhed and moaned at the sensations. When your pants were off, he threw them carelessly elsewhere. His hands smoothed up your legs, which were slightly stubbly. He didn’t seem to care, placing his hands on your hips. He lays comfortably on his stomach, shifting time to time. He lifts your lower half, laying your thighs on his shoulders. His face right in your soaked through white underwear. The only barrier between his eyes and your untouched flower. You swallow, your nerves getting to you. Lucifer stares at the wet stain apparent on your underwear and some of the glistening juices that seeped onto your thighs. He groans a bit at the sight. “So Y/N…I’m gonna have to make you cum a few times. Just to make sure you’re prepared before the big stuff,” He chuckles, winking. “Pun totally intended.” You snort, rolling your eyes. He lightens the mood a little, making you feel a bit better and less nervous. “That means I’ll have to touch you. Is that ok?”  You take a deep breath, calming yourself a bit. Your heart thuds against your ribcage. You’re about to expose your honey pot to Lucifer himself. And you’ve never shown it to anyone before, let alone allow anyone to touch it other than yourself. Lucifer only watches your internal struggle, fingers lightly tracing the band of your panties. ‘This is your chance to finally become a woman Y/N.’

Finally, with a deep sigh, you nod to him, giving your approval. He watches you steadily, dragging his teeth across one of your hipbones before slowly sliding off your soaked underwear, throwing it in a random direction. You bite your lip, looking at him. You feel exposed and self conscious. “Hm…” He runs his fingers through the prim curls there, feeling them.  He looks intrigued. ‘Is that gross? Is it bad I don’t shave down there? Does he not like that?’ A series of insecure thoughts crossed your mind, lowering your self-confidence by the second. He smiles like a child who’s introduced to a new toy. “Not what I’m used to, but I like it.” You smile a bit, feeling better about yourself. That however, changes quickly. “So no one’s touched you…here?” He somehow magically found your clitoris, placing an index finger on it, slowly adding pressure. You let out an embarrassingly loud moan, your hips lifting a bit. All your insecurities disappeared with a simple touch. ‘Fuck.’ One of your hands ran its way through his hair, gripping it. He groans, shifting his hips a bit. “You like that doll?” You nod, biting your lip. His eyes darken. Another shiver rolls down your spine. More of your juices come flowing out, staining the sheets below. “Mm…you’re so fucking wet for me.” He murmurs mainly to himself, dragging a finger across your slit. You moan at the touch, arching your back to it. You tug on his hair a bit. He groans again, grinding into the bed.

You honestly never expected for this to happen. You didn’t think you’d be tainted by anybody. Yet here you are, the Devil between your thighs. Lucifer stares intensely into your eyes, placing one long languid lick to your pussy. You moan, gripping his hair in one hand and massaging a breast with the other. He continues to lick at you. You feel him shiver underneath you slightly, groaning against you. “So fucking good…” He mumbles. You groan softly, petting his hair. He was doing pretty good at keeping it slow. You feel him insert a finger inside you. The feeling was so foreign but it felt so good. You mewl, lifting your hips off the bed. He slowly pumps the finger back and forth, gaze varying between you and the digit. He seemed enamored with the way it disappeared inside you. You felt him shudder again at the way your inner walls squeezed his finger. The strange feeling in your stomach that you had felt earlier came back stronger, seeming to tighten up. You moan as he steadily gets faster, adding in another. A small pain became evident as his fingers strained your walls. Though the stretch hurt only for a second before it was drowned out by the pleasurable sensation. You let out noises you never had before, flushing up from the simulation. You were a little embarrassed at how vocal you were. Lucifer simply watches, grinding into the bed to relieve himself a bit. Eventually, you got up to three digits pumping in and out, your toes curling and your thighs shaking. You felt something coming, your voice raising an octave. He suddenly presses his mouth to your clit, giving it a suck. The feeling in your belly seems to explode and you let out a loud, long shuddering moan, shaking as your eyes rolled to back of your head, your orgasm rolling through you. Lucifer catches his lips on your folds, lapping up all you have to offer. You pant as you finish, stroking your fingers through his hair. He lifts his head back up, licking his lips. Your fluids coated his lips and dribbled down his chin. You blush a bit at the sight. His gaze is in riddled with lust and want. He sits up, wiping your moisture off his face with his wrist. “I can’t wait any longer.” He growls, pulling you towards him.

You squeak, although it’s followed by a moan as he rubs his thick member against your core, coating it in your slick. He grips your hips. “Think you’re ready for this Y/N?”  He groans, looking down at you as he continues to gently stimulate your clit. You pant, looking back up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I was born ready.” You breathed, laying your back against the bed and grinding against him. He grunts, readying himself. You close your eyes, waiting. Without hesitation, Lucifer swiftly thrusts into you, stilling after. In one full swoop, your virginity was gone and a sharp pain took its place. You yelp in pain, tensing up. He groans at your sudden tightness, crushing your hips in his grasp. There will be bruises. You’re sure of it. “Sh-Shit Y/N. Relax.” He pants, his eyes squinted slightly in pleasure. You whimper in pain, nails digging into his shoulders. “I sh-should’ve made you cum a few times more…Sorry doll.” He pulls out gently, slowly thrusting in. You let out a choked groan, gripping his shoulders tighter. That one didn’t hurt as much. But he’s just so fucking big. “Mmpf…you’re so warm.” He groans, gritting his teeth as he thrusts back in slowly again. You mewl, clawing a bit. He kisses you then, reaching between your bodies and rubbing your clit with his free hand. You moan into his mouth, loosening your grip a bit. He fit. The pain slowly subsided and was quickly replaced with an overwhelming sensation of pleasure. You moan, squeal and mewl, gripping at his neck and shoulders. Lucifer starts slow, making sure you’re ok and not harmed too much. Your walls flutter around him as you writhe in pleasure, opening up to him more. He groans and moans occasionally, speeding up a bit and pushing you further into the bed. You mewl, rolling a nipple in your fingers. It added more to the pleasure. He adds more pressure to your clit, driving you crazy. Eventually, your first orgasm hits you hard, leaving you screaming his name. He simply moans in response, kissing you passionately. He continues to pound into you though, prolonging your orgasm. Soon, a second one follows. Then a third. You lose count of how many times you orgasm, just taking time to enjoy this bliss. Lucifer hadn’t cummed yet, but he wasn’t complaining…much. He finally gets to fucking you into the bed at inhuman speeds like he wanted. You were hollering mess at this point, jostling around like a ragdoll. His thrusts are irregular and desperate. He was close. He leans over to your ear. “I want you to scream my name again as I cum.” He growls, breathing heavily. You squeal in response, carding your fingers through his hair. Lucifer speeds up, moans and growls becoming more audible. Your voice slowly raises as well, hands gripping his hair tightly. It came closer and closer. Until it hits you both surprisingly at the same time. He bites down on your neck as he cums and pulls out as you scream his name in pure pleasure for the umpteenth time. He cums all over your stomach and chest, flopping over to your side. You pant, trying to catch your breath as you lay there post-orgasm. After he recovers, Lucifer gets a nice warm cloth for you to clean yourself off with. You thank him and do so. Afterwards, you both lay in silence, relaying the moment. He’s softly running his fingers through your hair, spooning you.

“I still remember their names.” You suddenly say, looking to Lucifer. He looks back at you, confused. “What?” “You said you’d make me forget Sam, Dean and Castiel’s names once you were through with me.” You giggle. A wicked grin finds its way to his face. “I did, didn’t I?” “Yep.” He rolls back on top of you. “Then I guess I have to keep fucking you until I do.”


Be My Muse [2/2]

Pairings: Bucky x Reader || Steve x Peggy (mentioned)

Summary: Modern AU. This part involves blind dates and fluffy confessions.

Warnings: Implied/mentioned smut. Language.

Notes: Part 2 for my entry into @just-some-drabbles‘ writing challenge.

[Part 1]

My Masterlist 

“I don’t want to go!” you whine petulantly.

You’re sat at your dressing table, Wanda standing behind you as she arranges your hair into a stylish updo. Natasha is perched on the table in front of you, helping you apply your blush and highlighter, whilst Peggy — in true Peggy fashion — is lying on the bed, contributing to the conversation every now and then.

“Really, Y/N, what’s the worst that could happen?” Natasha chides, dusting the makeup brush over your cheekbones.

“That the guy could be an asshole and this could go down as one of the worst dates in history?” you suggest.

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anonymous asked:

Genji and Angela in an arrange marriage maybe?

Soooo like Princess Angela and the son of an Emperor, am I right?


Gency. AU. Fluff. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. 

One day. He only has one more day of freedom and of his own choices. Father says he should be proud, happy to be serving the clan as such. But as many times as Hanzo likes to label him, Genji is not a fool. The second son has very little value. A pawn to be married off in deals with other clans and empires.

The King and Queen sit across from them. Tall and graceful. Somehow, they convey respect without that air of fear. Their guards are of bright colors and small weapons. His eyes keep straying to the girl sitting at their side. Her foreign, blonde hair rare among his people.

The Princess.

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A Terf's Opinion On Transgenderism

Alright, since I’ve never clarified my actual opinion on transgenderism anywhere to anyone, I will do it here. Do not necessarily associate it with the whole radfem community, we aren’t a hivemind and clearly have different opinions on this matter.

Surely, I come off as harsh most of the time, but that’s mostly because people attack me. If you’re rude to me, of course I’m going to be rude back.

After all the death and rape threats that were sent to me, directly or indirectly, and other women that share my ideology, has made us turn more bitter, while I have never seen us send those. We might have, but I have never seen proof of it, except for some anons, but that isn’t proof.

So, without further ado, let’s get into it.

There are two sexes, male and female. The sole purpose of the existence of two sexes is reproduction.

Males have certain characteristics females don’t have, and vice versa.

Males are the ones who do the impregnating, females are the ones who give birth. It’s like this with nearly all mammals.

Male and female are not just used for us, but for animals as well. It’s for getting specific. Male humans are men, female humans are women. Male cows are bulls, female cows are just cows. Male sheep are rams, female sheep are ewes. Male horses are colts, female horses are mares.

Let’s not go too deep into other animal’s build and behaviour and stay with humans for now.

Men and women were made to be distinguished from eachother in a blink, so it’s easy to decide whether you can or cannot mate with the person.

To be able to see whether someone is biologically male or female, we have secondary sex characteristics. You have the obvious ones, like breasts, amount of hair growth, difference in hand size, and difference in foot size, fat distribution, but you also have less prominent ones which themselves seem to make a small difference, but combined with all the other characteristics, they make a bigger difference, like more prominent brow bones, a less square jaw, males mostly have an upperbody that’s just as big as their legs and women often have legs longer than their upperbody, pheronemones, and there’s way more. 1,500 sex differences have been found.

Internally, we’re also very different. Women have a certain reproduction system and men have a certain reproduction system.

All of this is relevant in sexual attraction and reproduction. This is, essentially, what you’re attracted to; if you don’t care about what your mate looks like, you are bisexual, since you’re into both of the sexes.

Intersex people have a medical condition, and depending on what condition they have/what other reproductive organs they have (if anyone who knows more about intersexism would like to add anything or correct what I’m saying here, feel free to), their sex can be found. Intersex people are a small percentage of the world and don’t make the sex binary less true.
(Note: I heard AMAB and AFAB were stolen from the intersex community. You can do better, guys. Just turn it back to male and female. I’ve seen even trans intersex people say they don’t want intersexism to have anything to do with transgenderism, or to be used as some sort of “gotcha”, because it really has nothing to do with it.)

And that is all that biological sex means. It naturally says nothing about your opinions or feelings or personality.

What does form you for a part, though, is socialisation. So, what toys you had to like as a kid which were gendered by your parents, or whether your mother told you “boys can’t cry”, and later on you find pornography and think it’s okay to call women sluts and beat them up in bed because you think they like it, or your parents tell you about clothes that are too short, you are being warned about rape and men being dangerous, you hear women being called sluts later in your life, all of that influences your actions.

However, this is not a result of being born a certain way. This is mass socialisation that has been happening since whenever men decided they were more important than women. They did this so they can have full access to our bodies, since we’re the ones who bear the children. Marriage was originally invented to give men free access to women’s vagina whenever they want.

This socialisation is called gender. It’s the method used to oppress all women that were born female.

All of this has already been said, but I haven’t specified anything about transgenderism yet.

Transgenderism is something I, like truscum, only see as a medical solution for certain people with sex dysphoria. If you have sex dysphoria, you can choose to transition, but there are other ways to battle sex dysphoria, which other people choose, so not everyone with sex dysphoria is trans, but ANYONE who is actually trans, has dysphoria. I wholeheartedly respect these people and wish them only luck and happiness to come, although I don’t believe they will ever be male or female, biologically.

However, I’m not so content with the other two brands of (trans)genderism, AKA:

1. equating female to femininity and equating male to masculinity;
2. anyone can call themselves anything they want and they are that. A woman is someone who identifies as a woman, a man is someone who identifies as a man, and there are endless possibilities. Only you can decide your gender and your gender is your true self. You may not assume anyone’s gender, you have to ask.

I hate both of these, but not equally.

The first one, although disgustingly regressive, is consistent, at the very least. It agrees with the conservative view; “males are masculine, females are feminine”. The only difference is that conservatives try to change feminine males into masculine males (and vice versa), and the trans community thinks you should transition feminine men to females (and vice versa).
Iran proves this to be true; homosexuals, often gender non-conforming, have to transition (AKA have their genitals mutilated against their will) to be made straight. Conservatives often prefer transgenderism over homosexuality (especially combined with gender non-conformity).

The second one is one that comes with many risks that people don’t seem to see. Imagine everyone calling themselves whatever they want, because they feel like it, take Daniëlle Muscato for instance. How do we point out male on female violence in the Third World? Do we say: “Maybe the people that mass rape those people identify as genderfluid and the people that are raped identify as non-binary?” Or even worse: “Maybe the people that mass rape those people identify as female and those people identify as male?”

This is why gender identity/liberal feminism isn’t doing anything to help the Third World. You fail to do classbased analysis and give yourself to the patriarchy, promote abuse in sex, promote pornography, promote legislation of prostitution (when most people harmed are girls and women of colour, and most trans people that are harmed at all are twoc in the sex industry), you promote beauty as something good rather than something irrelevant to you as a person, you promote calling rapists by their pronouns, you promote the greatest idiocy of this century.

And somehow, I’M evil? You guys will be the downfall of my people! Sex trafficking is HUGE in Morocco! Why can’t we say that males are the problem, illegalize sex work without punishing the women and punishing the men that partake instead, see that giving your body to prostitution because otherwise you’d live in poverty doesn’t mean you’re willing, and make some fucking progress? Can’t you guys see that most people who willingly do sex work are white/western people?

…Wow. That was long, but I had to say it. I haven’t even clarified everything. I hope this clears up at least some confusion.

Show Me

Originally posted by destinyhayden

A/N: I love this so much, like I’m making my own heart ache a little here, damn. Thankyou so much to @a-smol-badger for the request that I never would have thought up on my own atm. That’s all I got to say honestly. 

Request: Is there a possibility you could write an imagine where y/n is an art student and her latest class assignment is human figure and she wants to draw jug and he gets scared and self conscious that he has to be shirtless but y/n assures him he is perf

Word Count: 1,882

Warnings: boi has body confidence issues for a hot second, that’s it.

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A Hero in Black (Part One)

Jughead x Reader

Request: Could you write something about the reader being missing and jughead being really worried. And when he finds the reader they have a really romantic moment and he saves her. But not the typical kind of romance. A jughead kind of romance.

Warnings: Kidnapping, swearing

Word count: 2,728

A/N: Think Brandon’s piece he performs at Idyllwild (The Fosters). That’s the kind of good she’s playing here.  I also tried third person so tell me what you think?? I also got very carried away, so I feel it deserves a second part, since i left the prompt kinda (okay very) unfinished. I can’t help myself, I love a good cliff hanger.

(Y/N) sits at home, playing the electric piano in her room. The grand piano downstairs isn’t tuned correctly, so she has to make due. College auditions are coming up, seeing as she’s a junior, and everything has to be perfect. She has at least three auditions for her top picks, and they are all a little less than two months away. She practices every day, for at least two hours a day with no distractions. Her parents barely even notice she’s there anymore, they’re so busy wrapped up in work and whatever else they have going on they couldn’t care less where she is or what she’s doing. They’re out of the house at bars and friends houses most of the weekday. It sounds worse than it actually is, this way, she can practice as loud as she wants anytime she wants without bothering anyone. She likes it like that.

 She has the music laid out in front of her, but she barely needs to look at it, the piece flows out of her fingers from memory. Her eyes close ever so slightly, really feeling every note and rhythm.

“That’s a really fancy version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star huh?” a voice makes her jump in her seat, causing her fingers to pound on a horrible combination of keys.

She turns her head to see none other than her best friend, and long-time secret crush Jughead Jones leaning on the window frame as he peeks in the room with his head.

“Actually that was Wheels on the Bus.” she mocks, smiling as she spins around on the piano bench, turning to face him, leaning her elbows on her knees.

She mentally kicks herself, because she almost forgot, it was Wednesday, the day that Jughead always comes to write his novel when she practices.  He says her playing makes him write better, or something, but she can hardly believe it.

He climbs in through the open window and takes a seat on the bench right inside it, flopping his book bag on the floor as he does so.

“Well don’t let me interrupt.” He says, holding his hands up as he leans against the window frame before shoving them in his pockets, their usual location.

She can’t help but smirk as she turns back to the piano, placing her fingers lightly over the keys before picking up where she left off before she was so rudely interrupted.

She leans into your music this time, her whole body moving with the notes, and in that moment she could’ve stayed there forever, surrounded by the sound of keys filling the room. She almost forget someone is in there with her, before hearing a light clapping while hitting the last notes.

She lets out a breath, turning to see Jug smiling at her.

“That was good for a beginner.” he teases, getting up and motioning for her to move over.

She obeys, making room for him on the bench in front of the instrument.

He makes a big deal about cracking his knuckles and waving them a whole bunch before overdramatically placing them on the keys ‘delicately.’ She stifles a laugh, putting a hand over her mouth as she waits for what he’s going to do next.

He raises his hands ever so slightly before coming down fast, pounding several dissonant keys before continuing to play what she can only discern as some awful combination of the two mentioned kids songs.

Her hands reflexively go to Her ears, chuckling at his serious face while plays a few more chords, before he finishes with sliding his hand up to the highest note and back down again.

She slowly drops her hands, only slightly concerned he would continue.

“What, no applause?” he asks, giving her the side eye with a raised eyebrow.

“I think you should stick to the keys of the laptop variety.” She tells him, nudging his shoulder.

“Yeah, right.” he scoffs, getting up and going over to his backpack. He sits on the bench by the window again, pulling out his laptop and opening it, “The Jason Blossom case has stalled for the past few months. They haven’t found anything new. My novel has remained a blank page.” he says, looking at something on his laptop.

“Who cares what the cops are saying, weren’t you doing your own investigation with Betty?” she asks, trying not to sound too jealous or put any emphasis on the question. She has to remind herself that he’s allowed to hang out with other people besides her, even if that includes one of the most beautiful girls in school that she could never compete with.

She knows that he’s been investigating for a long time with her, but strangely he’s never talked about it that much. Her guess is that he doesn’t want to bother her with it, her focus being on music and all. She really wouldn’t mind hearing about it, though.

“Yeah, but that came to a screeching halt when we found the car on fire and Polly came home. She said she didn’t have time, but wished me luck.” he says, pulling up the document the novel is located in. Sure enough, it hasn’t been written in in a few weeks.

“You must have been getting close.” She says, taking the music off of the stand and putting it away in a folder on the floor next to her. She contemplates for a moment on the solution. Jughead is obviously very passionate about this, at least for the sake of his novel, and she doesn’t want him to stop something he loves doing. “What if I help you?” she proposes.

“What? (Y/N)? Really?” that gets him to look up, “but you have those auditions, I can’t rope you into all this.”

“Nonsense. I’ve practiced so much my hands might as well fall off and I’ll still be able to play.” She jokes, earning a small smile from her best friend, “come on, let me help.”

He sits and looks at your for a few moments, adjusting his beanie, a strand of his black hair falling to the side of his face as he does.

It seems like the silence goes on forever, when really it’s probably only a few seconds.

“Okay.” He finally says, “but only when you have actual freetime, not when you’re supposed to be practicing.”

“Deal.” she says with a smile, standing up to join him at the window, “when do we start?”

About two weeks later she is in full on investigation mode, while still practicing every day, her audition dates growing closer by the minute. Jughead still comes over every Wednesday, but she sees him a lot more often now. She’s not opposed, but their Wednesday sessions of just sitting with each other while she plays and he writes still hold a special place to her.

Today, in the early Monday afternoon, she’s  in the room with all of the pictures and connections all over the wall, looking over the latest work. They were getting close, she could feel it.

“So he roped you into this?” She hears someone ask, looking over to see Betty, smiling as her hands are on her hips, raising her eyebrows.

You give her a half smile, “More like I volunteered.” she says with a shrug.

“Why?” Betty smirks, walking over, her blonde ponytail bouncing with the sway of her walk.

“I think you know.” (Y/N) says, crossing her arms in a light-hearted way.

“Enlighten me.” Betty gestures to the board, looking at it with (Y/N).

“I wanted to spend more time with him.” (Y/N) admits, a blush coming over her cheeks. She’s a bit surprised at herself for telling Betty this. They’re not really friends, (Y/N) only know her through Jug. It’s the honest truth, though, and it’s not incriminating for a girl to want to spend more time with her best friend. And a friend of Jug is a she could deal with, she tells herself. She only half believes it, though.

“He talks a lot about you.” Betty says, “he talks about the way you play, the jokes you guys make.” she has a sad smile over her face, like there was something she was just realizing.

“Well you guys are pretty close, too. He practically ditched me to hang out with you.” (Y/N) rebuttals, trying to not sound too sassy about it. She knew it wasn’t Betty’s fault, at least not completely.  

Betty stands there, looking at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” (Y/N) asks, noticing Betty’s change in attitude almost immediately.

Betty takes a few breaths, closing her eyes, taking a few moments before responding, “We kissed.”

“What?” (Y/N) asks, turning towards her. A shock going through her system she wasn’t expecting. That can’t be possible, surely Jug would’ve told her something like that. Her vision begins to spin as she tries to process what she’s heard.

“I -we- Jug. I kissed him.” Betty says again, an apologetic look coming over her face, like she’s done something terribly wrong.

“Oh.” is the only thing that can come out of (Y/N)’s lips, her world shattering around her. There was a sliver of hope before today, just a small one that maybe he would like her back, but now… she wasn’t so sure.

“It was nothing, I swear.” Betty lies, trying to make it feel better, trying to erase the bomb she just gave (Y/N). Betty knows that what happened between her and Jughead was wrong in some capacity. Betty knew that deep down, Jughead wants (Y/N), but Betty can’t help her feelings.

“Sure.” (Y/N) says, brushing Betty aside as she walks out of the room and down the school steps. She needs to get away, she decides, just for today. She needs to disappear for the afternoon to think.

She walks as far as she can away from town, wanting to get some fresh air. She knows that she’s probably being a little over dramatic, but at the same time she doesn’t care. If Jughead is her best friend, why is he still such a mystery?

A car pulls up beside her, but she doesn’t think anything of it. She isn’t concerned with anyone else now.

She hears a window roll down, but she ignores the sound.

Her heart beats are starting to increase, though, making the slow moving car feel like a heavy weight on her chest. There is definitely something fishy going on. She begins to speed up, but the car starts to follow. She slows down, it keeps pace.

She’s afraid to look over now, but out of her peripheral vision she can see a figure in a mask, driving a white van with tinted windows. Of course, the most obvious thing parents tell their children to stay away from.

She closes her eyes for a moment to catch a breath, trying to decide on what to do. She is too far out of town to run all the way back without causing a scene or them catching up. Her phone is in her backpack, and it will be too obvious as to what she’s doing if she tries that.

She’s stuck.

A touch catches her off guard as she spins around, and then doubles over in pain as the man makes a swift punch to her gut. Her backpack falls to the ground, her notebooks falling all over the gravel side of the road.

Before she knows it she’s being thrown in the back of the darkened vehicle, the stench of alcohol and weed filling her nostrils, making her gag. Her hands are tied tightly behind her back with rope before whoever her captor is closes the door, plunging her in darkness.

The car begins to move, and she has a sinking feeling she might be in some deep shit.

Jughead knocks on the bedroom window later the in the week, on Wednesday, of course. He hasn’t seen in her in a few days, seeing as they don’t have any classes together, he assumes she was probably busy practicing and taking a bit of time off from the murder case.

The window is closed, which is unusual. Normally (Y/N) leaves the window open a crack for him, always playing piano. He loves to sit and listen to her play, teasing her and writing when he has the time.

Her playing is one of the only things that can calm him in the midst of dealing with his dad and his novel. Her help with the murder is beginning to lighten the load, it seems like she spends just as much time on making connections as she does making music.

He cups a hand around his eyes as he peers in through the window, looking for a sign of her in the room. There’s nothing, though, which is also odd. He has been coming over every Wednesday since he can remember, since they were little kids. He comes in through the window, always.

He pulls out his phone and opens a text message to her.

‘i need to play my rendition of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” for you. where are you?’ he writes, pressing send, trying to make it sound as light hearted and not needy as possible. He knows she’s busy, that she may still be doing school work or out running errands, but it’s just so unlike her to not be practicing in her room on a weekday afternoon.

There’s no response, so he waits. He waits for an hour, which turns into two.

Soon it’s sunset, and still no sign of (Y/N).

The next day, Thursday, he approaches Betty.

“I need your help.” he says, making her heart flutter in her chest despite her protests to make it stop.

“What is it?” Betty asks.

“I know you said you don’t want to do any more investigating, but I think (Y/N) is in trouble.” he says under his breath.

“What? No, I just saw her Monday.” she says, pulling the books she is carrying closer to her chest.

“She wasn’t there yesterday. She’s always there on Wednesdays.” he says, a sinking feeling coming over his chest. Deep down, he knew.

“Maybe she forgot?” Betty shrugs. It’s not like she doesn’t care, because she does, she just knows that her and (Y/N) are in rocky territory right now, and she’s not even sure if she could call them friends. She wants to be friends, but knows it probably won’t happen.

“She doesn’t forget.” He argues.

“She’s probably fine, Jug, you’ll probably see her later. Don’t worry about it.” she dismisses him as the bell rings, walking down the hall.

The thing is, he can’t dismiss this feeling. This feeling of trouble.

He adjusts his beanie and begins to make a plan, trying to think like (Y/N) would. He exits the school, walking down the road. He notices a music notebook along the road out of town, and he knows she was there. She must have dropped it, or it must have fell. He looks around, and only then does he notice skid marks driving off the road on the other side of the road. They were fresh, like they had been caused only a few days prior. The tracks continued through the grass, off into the distance.

He contemplates what to do, looking at her stuff once more.

He kneels down and opens the notebook, reading the music notes on the page. On the top, the title of the song read, “A Hero in Black”. Underneath, “for Jughead”. His heart wrenched, looking at all of the marks on the page. It looks as if it’s been redone about a million times, pencil marks everywhere, notes appearing in patterns he can’t understand. There’s a pain in his chest, and suddenly he knows.

It took her disappearing for him to realize, but he likes her, and he needs to tell her. He may be overreacting, but a part of him doesn’t care. Wherever she is, he needs to get to her, in a cheesy-romantic kind of way that kind of makes him of want to vomit, but pulls on his heart like nothing else ever has.

And so, he sets off down the road, not knowing where it’ll take him.

Tag list: @always-chocolate @theselfishllama @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @idle-lanes @xbobaaa @juneb (If you wanna be on my tag list, just ask!)

Part Two Here

You May Say That I’m A Dreamer

Fandom Writing Challenge | envydean
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Destiel
Prompt: Ice Skating
Word Count: 2,362
Summary: Dean’s been a fan of the men’s figure skating for as long as he can remember. He’s always been fascinated by how the contestants move on the ice, contort their elegant bodies into beautiful positions and land each jump with grace – not that anyone at school knows this, they only know Dean as the tough-man soccer player. When Dean’s favourite under twenty-one’s figure skater transfers to his school, sparks fly.


Dean glances at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen only for a spark of panic to shoot through him. There’s still seven minutes left of the YouTube catch up video he’s watching and he wants to finish it, except that will make him late for school. Four lates in a row and he’ll end up getting a detention which means he’ll be even later watching the video. Dean wishes it would be a simple choice, school or men’s figure skating semi-finals.

Dean growls as he hits the pause button before slamming his laptop harder than he intended. He’ll watch it after school, he decides he would rather wait than get yelled at by his dad for the late mark letter he’ll no doubt receive. Dean grabs his backpack and heads down stairs before locking the door behind him and walking the well-known route to school.


There’s barely anyone around when he arrives, only the last few people filing into their classes for the start of the day. His English class is, unfortunately on the other side of the school grounds and he makes a dash for it. Mr. Crowley isn’t Dean’s number one fan in the first place and Dean doesn’t want to get into his bad books when he’s in his final year of high school.

When Dean sneaks into class, there’s none of the usual hustle and bustle that he’s used to at the start of the lesson. Instead, the class is silent and they’re all looking to the front of the class. For a moment, Dean wonders if all eyes are really on him and when he looks to the front, he’s expecting Mr. Crowley’s glare.

Except, he’s met with strikingly familiar blue eyes.

Keep reading

Miraculous Ladybug - Final Showdown

Adrien Agreste has always worked to keep a schedule. Even when he is late, it’s planned, he has a reason, he is prepared. 

Just once, Adrien Agreste was nearly too late. Just once, Chat Noir was completely unprepared.

Running, leaping, falling, and praying, Chat Noir flips over a building turret, hoping, needing to not be too late. The people of Paris see a black blur streaking towards the Notre Dame, or they would have were they not fleeing in fear, away from the vaunted cathedral. 

He’s opposite the Notre Dame, the only thing in his way the glittering Seine. Most days, he would be fascinated with its beauty. Today, all he can focus on is the whirl of reds and blacks and purples, clashing in a horrible dance atop one of Paris’ most coveted tourist spots. 

Just for a moment, the dance slows. Just for a moment, Adrien sees his ethereal Ladybug. 

Bruises of every color litter her skin, her flashy crimson suit worse for the wear. There’s blood flowing from her left ear and Adrien feels a fury rise in him, realizing how close Hawkmoth was to stealing the Ladybug Paris treasured. With the fury comes a crushing sense of guilt. Here a villain with aspirations of world domination, a man who craved nothing but the downfall of the admired teen superheroes, a monster, had been planning his great finale. 

And, where was Adrien?

In Spain, on vacation, enjoying Nathalie’s lilted Spanish and the cacophonous streets of Madrid. 

He had been taking a jovial stroll in the Plaza Mayor while Ladybug, sweet Ladybug, was calling out to him, asking for help from her other half, trusting him to be there. 

Adrien remembered, seeing her face plastered across an LED screen, “Una tragedia en Francia.” A tragedy in France.   

He had run. Ran and leaped and fallen and prayed.

Please. Please let me not be too late.

Now, Chat Noir zeroes in on his partner, using his baton to leap the Seine and skirting up the side of the Notre Dame with ease, landing a flying kick to Hawk Moth’s chest as the corrupt Miraculous holder gets a little too close to Ladybug for his liking. 

With the villain busy reeling, he whips towards his beloved where she’s frozen, startled. Then she’s moving, but not in a good way. Up close, he can see it’s much worse than he’s thought originally. She’s bruised, bloody, and beaten, and she’s tired. He can see in those beautiful blues how exhausted she is, having to transform and release over and over and over again. Over and over with no one to help her. Because he wasn’t there

She moves, and Adrien watches as Paris’ femme fatal collapses on herself, fatigued muscles finally giving out. No doubt, she’d been running on adrenaline for quite some time now, and he was her relief. The energy she had been forced to maintain drained out of her and then she was falling, but this time, he was there to catch her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats it like a mantra into her hair as he holds her to him as gently as possible, “I wasn’t even here, wasn’t here to support you, to fight with you, to protect you when you needed it most, I’m-”

“Shh, kitty, don’t apologize.”

The world around them is burning but she is calm and collected. She is a hero.

“But I have to. I wasn’t here, Ladybug, and now look at you, you’re hurt, you’re-”

She cuts him off a second time, and this time she’s smiling. Her lip is split and there’s a scratch across her cheek but she’s smiling.

“Listen to me,” her hands come up to cup his face, “This is not your fault. Okay? It’s not. There is no way you could have known, Chat Noir. I was just lucky enough to be around.”

She laughs then, rusty and mingled with a cough, but there’s love and trust and happiness in it and Adrien kind of really wants to cry. The sky is blue, the birds are singing, and there’s a final showdown taking place on the Notre Dame. Just a few miles away, civilians are enjoying the Louvre without much cause for distress. But to Chat Noir and Ladybug, their whole world is this ancient Gothic cathedral. Everything ends here. The big boss battle, as Nino would call it. Except this is real life and they don’t respawn if they die. 

“It’s going to be okay, kitty. I know what’s going to happen, what you have to do, she told me, Tikki told me. It won’t be easy, but you’re going to do it Chat Noir. Paris needs you to. I need you to. I believe in you.”

It’s fond and confusing, but then Ladybug is closing her eyes and Adrien feels the panic rising in his throat. No, no, no, not her, not her

There’s a soft glow at her feet, and Adrien watches, unable to move, as Ladybug becomes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A small part of him is glad, glad its her, he had begun to see the signs and hoped against all hope it was her. Wonderful, clumsy, kind-hearted Marinette, with a penchant for sass, though only around his alter ego. There had been something so Ladybug about her, and as he had become closer to her as both Adrien and Chat Noir, he had become almost certain. 

Now, Chat Noir wishes it wasn’t her. Wishes it wasn’t Marinette’s body he was holding in his arms. The panic consumes him until his ear flutters, and he hears the telltale thump of her heartbeat, and relief slackens his body. His attention is taken by a weak squeaking by his ear, and he turns to see a wide-eyed, beat up looking, crimson Plagg. Marinette’s kwami. Before he can speak, she’s cutting him off. In a different situation he’d laugh at how alike both kwami and holder were. 

“There isn’t time to explain, but Marinette most likely told you something. Her body can’t take another transformation, but I have just enough energy left for one more. You need to let me into your Miraculous. I know it sounds crazy, but this is what Chat Noir and Ladybug were meant for. This is the power of the two most powerful Miraculouses.” 

It’s a lot to take in and Adrien honestly doesn’t understand, but he nods, setting his shoulders. He will avenge Marinette, and he will beat Hawk Moth. For the both of them. For the world.

He holds his ring hand out to the tired kwami, who takes a deep breath before diving head on, into his ring. For a moment, she simply disappears. Then Adrien feels it, the soft tingling and a buildup of, of something, a feeling. His suit begins to change, ebony fading to a pretty violet, golden whorls interspersed evenly. He feels his claws grow sharper, metallic gold, and gauntlets rise to encase his forearms. His baton alters as well, the ends tapering off to a point. At his hip, rests a yo-yo, similar to the one his partner is famous for. 

As the transformation completes, Adrien recognizes the emotion welling within him. Protectiveness. Ladybug is creation, Chat Noir is destruction. Together, they are protection from all evils that threaten the people they love.

Light glints off the tip of his gauntlet as Adrien Agreste storms towards the moth who flew too close to the light, eyes blazing gold.

author’s note - so while i do think it’s probably going to be mari who does the whole chat noir/ladybug combination jazz and i love that, i think it would work really well for adrien too? we’ve seen the lengths he has gone to to protect ladybug(he died for goodness’ sake) and i thought it would be interesting to write! thanks for reading :)

Hello! I’m Flora, and this is my first ‘studyblr’-ish post, which are basically tips on how I started to learn new habits and make new healthy routines and just became more productive, in general.

But please remember that this guide and these tips are not guaranteed to work for everyone, so skim through them and see which would best suit you, your schedule and what interests you!

(These are all only based on my experiences.)

Keep reading


Hooked | Guard

Series: Worth Fighting For

Note: Part two is here! So this has been long overdue since it was supposed to be Worldwide Day for write-a-thon, but oh well. Writing this really made me wanna go to DC…so I did lmao. Anyway, enjoy. :)

Word Count: 4559

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

AU: Boxing

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death

Summary: Thomas Jefferson, a world-famous boxer who is pegged as a self-centered asshole that has everything — good looks, fame, fortune, talent — trains for his big fight against Alexander Hamilton. When he moves to Washington D.C. to be closer to his family, he meets someone who will look past his outer shell and get to know the real him.

“You’re going out with him again?” Alex asked. “This is like the seventh time in the last three weeks.”

You were currently facetiming your best friend before he had to leave to do an interview for some sports magazine. You both had tried to stay in contact with each other over the past few weeks even though he was really busy. Just because he was five states away didn’t mean that you couldn’t talk every once in awhile.

“You’ve been counting?” You snickered.

“That’s besides the point, Y/N.” He deadpanned. “He’s no good for you.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You don’t know him, Alexander. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“I know enough about him, okay? Have you even done any research on him?” Alexander asked. “The guy rode to fame on his father’s back, he thinks he’s on the top of the world, and he’s a wannabe playboy…need I say more?”

You scoffed. “‘Wannabe playboy’?”

“Yup. Wannabe playboy. He probably flaunts his fame and  money around to get women. Then when he’s bored, he’ll drop a girl and move onto another one.”

“Stop making assumptions, Alex. Thomas isn’t like that, okay? He’s actually very kind and–”

“–egotistical and self-centered and narcissistic.”

“Those all mean the same thing.”

“Again,” Alexander said, “that’s besides the point.”

“Alex, I get that he’s your enemy because of your upcoming match, but damn. You haven’t been this harsh with any of your previous opponents. Would you please give him the benefit of the doubt? I actually like him.”

“Oh no…” He said in realization. “You don’t like like him, do you? Please don’t tell me you do…”

You stayed silent. Thomas and you had bonded a lot over the past three weeks. Each time the two of you hung out, you’d show him a bit more of DC. You had learned that in addition to being interested in law, he was also a pretty big history buff. He’d tell you various facts based on the many historical places you went to. The nation’s capital was completely loaded with history, so there wasn’t a time that went by when he didn’t say anything related to the country’s past.

“Y/N?” Alexander interrupted your thoughts.

“…well, you told me not to tell you…” You trailed off sheepishly.

His eyes widened. “Goddammit, Y/N, seriously? I mean, seriously?! Jefferson? Why him? Out of all people.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “He’s cute and funny and actually very sweet.”

“You’ve known him for three weeks, Y/N.”

“A lot can happen in a short amount of time, Alexander.” You said. “Plus, it’s not like I’m saying I love him. I just think–”

You were cut off by Alex groaning. “I don’t like him, Y/N. Please don’t end up dating him.”

You gave him a stern look. “You don’t have to like him, Alex. I don’t need your approval if I want to date someone. I can’t believe you’re acting like this, you should be happy for me finally wanting to settle down and date someone…”

“I’m just trying to prevent you from getting your feelings hurt–”

“I know you mean well, but I’ve got this.” You sighed. “I can handle myself, okay?”

Alex was hesitant and you could tell that he still didn’t agree about Jefferson, but he nodded anyway. “Fine, okay, I’m sorry.” He breathed out.

“Thank you.” You replied before checking the time. “Alright, well, I gotta go. I have to be at the gym in 15 minutes. Good luck with your interview, you’ll do great.” You said, giving him a thumbs up through the camera.

He chuckled, giving you a half smile. “Take care, Y/N.”

“You too,” you responded, hovering over the ‘end call’ button. “Bye, Lex.”

You saw the chopped up video of him waving before you ended the call, leaning back in your seat with a sigh. You wished that Alex could be more understanding, but unfortunately he was very stubborn and hard-headed. That being said, it didn’t stop you from living your life and making your own decisions.

After you ended your call with Alexander, you got ready to go out with Thomas before you left your apartment to walk to your family’s gym. A couple minutes later, you saw him leaning against the wall in his purple zip-up hoodie. Once he caught sight of you, he pushed off the light-colored brick and waited for you with a small grin on his face.

“Hello, sir.” You voiced in a terrible old British accent as you approached him. “Are you ready to continue our DC journey?”

“Why of course, milady.” Thomas said in a fancy voice, holding his arm out for you to take. “Lead the way.”

You smiled as you walked down the sidewalk arm in arm with Thomas. This banter was normal now between you and the notorious boxer. You had grown extremely comfortable with the guy and let your true colors (and your extremely goofy side) show around him.

“So what do we have planned this afternoon, madam?”

“Well, I was hoping I could surprise you, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Surprise me, you say?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. I was thinking about taking you to a– special place, then get dinner afterwards at a restaurant of your choice…if that’s okay with you, of course.”

“That sounds magnificent, my darling.” He said sweetly, making you to burst out into small giggles, which then caused him to grin widely.

Still smiling, you removed your arm from Thomas’ and stuffed your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. It was the start of spring, so the weather had warmed up some, but not enough for you to go outside without a jacket of some sort.

“So, how was training?” You asked, glancing up at him as you raised your hand up to hail a cab.

He shrugged. “The usual. James worked me non-stop like he does everyday.” A yellow cab pulled up beside you guys. “But I’m getting quicker, that’s for sure. So whatever crazy training plan he has is actually working. I’m feeling really good.” He laughed before he pulled the cab door open, gesturing for you to get in. “Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him before you climbed into the cab with him following shortly after.

“Gravelly Point, please.” You requested kindly to the driver before you turned to Thomas to continue your conversation. “Anyway, that’s good. I’m glad you feel good about it.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, looking out the window before he turned to send you a smirk. “So, ‘Gravelly Point’, eh? What’s that?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll find out in ten minutes or so when we get there.”

“I could just google it, you know.” He commented, holding his phone out to taunt you.

“Don’t you dare, Jefferson. I will fight you if you do.”

“Sure you will, Y/N.” He chuckled, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“I will, you’ll see.” You said, watching your city pass by outside of the window.

Twenty-five minutes later, due to horrible DC traffic, you had finally arrived at the destination on the outskirts of the city. You thanked the driver and paid him before you and Thomas climbed out of the car.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the area of open green grass with picnic tables scattered around and a football field in the distance, “is Gravelly Point. I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

You watched Thomas as he looked around with wondering eyes. Gravelly Point was a park near Reagan National Airport that DC locals knew of. The openness of the park allowed people to come and relax as they watched planes come in for landing one after another. It had become one of your favorite places in the area simply because of how beautiful it was. In the far distance, you could see the Washington Monument in plain sight across the body of water between the lands.

“It’s weird,” you noted quietly, walking through the park with Thomas at your side, “it’s a Saturday and there aren’t that many people here.”

“Oh well,” he mused while grinning down at you, “more room for us.”

About 15 minutes later, after you guys explored the place a bit, you found a stretch of grass with a perfect view of the airplanes, Washington Monument, and the river all in one scene. It was truly a beautiful sight even though the sky was gray from the weather being a little cloudy.

Then all of a sudden, Thomas plopped down on the grass and laid back, supporting his head by locking his fingers behind it.

You raised an eyebrow as you looked down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Relaxing.” He voiced with his eyes closed. After a couple of seconds, he spoke again, cracking one eye open. “You should too. C’mon, it’s great. Join me.” He said, reaching his hand up towards you.

With a roll of your eyes and a chuckle, you took his hand and let out a surprised squeak as he pulled you down to lay next to him.

“Aw, come on, don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming.” He laughed, lifting his head up slightly to watch you get on your knees to crawl over and rest your head on his stomach, lying perpendicular to him while watching a plane pass above you.

“I didn’t, and I honestly don’t know how I fell for that stupid trick. It’s the oldest one in the book.” You replied with a playful sigh. “I must not be as sharp as I think I am.”

“You said it, not me.” Even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was smirking.

You reached your arm out to blindly slap him somewhere you hoped would hurt him. You could feel him shake with laughter as he caught your hand, preventing you from hitting him.

The two of your stayed like that, messing with each other, talking, and listening to the planes loudly go by every once in awhile; it was actually very relaxing and tranquil. Also, Thomas was as comfortable as a pillow…you could definitely get used to this.

“Did you know that at the time it was finished, the Washington Monument was the tallest building in the world?” Thomas asked, looking at the famous landmark in the distance and breaking the peaceful silence between the two of you that lasted for a good while.


“Mhm,” he mused, “then in 1887 the Eiffel Tower surpassed it.”


“Yeah,” he replied as he subconsciously and gently ran his hand through your hair.

A small grin tugged at your lips as you hummed in acknowledgement, closing your eyes in content.

“What,” he asked.

“Who knew a boxer could be such a history geek?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, causing your smile to widen.

A few seconds later, Thomas spoke up again. “Hey, did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” You murmured, not bothering to budge at all.

A beat passed. “That.” He said again. “You seriously aren’t feeling any raindrops?”

Then, as if on cue, you felt a drop of rain plop directly on your forehead, causing you to open your eyes and sit up, glancing at the sky. It had gotten significantly darker and grayer since the two of you arrived at the park.

You and Thomas slowly rose to your feet with widened eyes.

“Shit, this isn’t good.” You commented.

“…I’m gonna call an Über and let’s hope that it gets here soon.” Thomas said.

“Good thinking.”

As Thomas ordered an Über, droplets of water started falling down faster and faster. Before you knew it, it was pouring. You and Thomas walked back towards the empty parking lot while getting soaked and looking for some sort of refuge. The only cover you could think of was a tree, and the only trees in your general area were small trees with barely any leaves on them. Oh well, they were better than nothing.

“Alright, new plan.” You said once you got underneath the tree for the tiny bit of cover it provided. “We’re completely soaked, so I don’t think going to a restaurant is the best idea.”

You sat down, pulling your knees up towards you. Thomas hummed in agreement as he lowered himself down next to you, leaning back on the trunk of the tree.

“We could go back home, shower and get dry and stuff, then you could come to my place and eat.” He proposed. “I can make the best mac and cheese.”

You breathed out a laugh despite your slightly saddened state because of the weather. “The best?”

“The best.” He confirmed with a grin. Somehow, he managed to find a way to make you smile even though you were in a bad situation.

“I thought you said you weren’t cocky,” you teased.

He chuckled. “Okay, I will admit, I’m a bit cocky when it comes to cooking my favorite food.”

You playfully gasped, shaking your head. “And here I thought you were different than the others.”

He grinned down at you. “I am.”

You rolled your eyes as you laughed again, ignoring him. “Yeah, we can totally do that. I wanna see if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Ooh,” he chuckled. “is that a challenge?”

“I-it might be.” You stuttered due to the cold feeling you felt consuming your body because of your cold wet clothes.

“Well, then challenge accepted.” He said, trying to lighten the mood.

In the small silence that had grown between you two, you looked up to see Thomas gazing down at you. The rain had him completely drenched, like you, with water droplets dripping off the ends of his hair and jawline.

“I would offer you my jacket, but you already have one on, so that would be useless…” Thomas trailed off before he wrapped an arm around you, hugging you tightly against him. You immediately felt yourself warm up a bit, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were blushing or because of his body heat. Probably both. “This will have to do for now.”

“I’m sorry our plans got screwed up.” You murmured loud enough for him to hear over the rain, before leaning your head on his shoulder. “I should’ve ch-checked the weather.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, Y/N.” He said softly, gently grabbing your chin to tilt your head up so you could look at him. “You have no control over Mother Nature.”

“I know, but still…”

“Things happen for a reason, okay?” His beautiful brown eyes stared down at you full of care before he started to slowly lean down.

Was this really happening? Holy shit, holy shit, it was.

Your brain began to short-circuit as your faces drifted closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your lips as your noses grazed each other. You were so close to him, so close.

The moment was ruined by Thomas’ phone sounding loudly in his pocket, making him pull back and drop his forehead to your shoulder, letting out something that sounded like it was between a sigh and a groan.

“Über’s here,” he murmured, before he stood up, extending an arm out to you. You took it and let him help you up, afterwards Thomas kept a hold on you and enlaced your fingers as you fast-walked towards the only vehicle in the parking lot.

No words were exchanged throughout the entire ride to your apartment building. You weren’t sure if it was due to the shock of almost kissing Thomas for the first time, or due to the fact that you were both freezing to death…again, it was probably both.

When you arrived outside your apartment complex, Thomas mumbled a quick thank you before he paid the driver with damp cash. Grabbing your hand again, he climbed out of the car and pulled you along with him, making sure to get inside the building and out of the cold, wet weather as quickly as possible.

When you approached your apartment a couple minutes later, Thomas finally let go of your hand, making you immediately miss its warmth and the way it felt in yours. You unlocked your front door and looked back at Thomas to see him…shyly?… smiling down at you once again.

“Don’t take too long, okay?” He said softly.

You returned his grin before you replied. “I won’t.”

While you showered and changed into dry, warm clothes, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the subject of the boxer who lived two doors down. You liked him. You really liked him; you had almost kissed him…in the rain no less. How cliche is that?

What would have happened if you did kiss? Were you ready for a potential relationship with him? You two were already close, and you often flirted with each other…and he was exactly what you were looking for in a guy. He was sweet, kind, charming, funny, and just an overall genuine guy. Oh, and not to mention he was extremely attractive.

You’d grown incredibly close to the guy in the past couple of weeks. You felt like you had known him for a lot longer than it actually had been. The two of you talked about everything when it came to food, sports, entertainment, and music. However, there was one topic that neither of you really seemed to touch on: family.

The both of you avoided the subject. You remembered him briefly mentioning his mom and sister, and that his parents were divorced, but nothing really past that. You knew very little about his dad, and you still had yet to tell him about yours, but you didn’t want to push him into talking about anything. You knew your boundaries.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you finished getting ready, quickly running a brush through your hair before you made your way over to Thomas’ apartment.

“Alright, I’ll admit it, Jefferson. You were right.” You sighed, before sinking onto his couch next to him, sitting indian style. Some sit-com you barely recognized was playing on his TV with low volume. “Your macaroni and cheese is incredible.”

“I told you,” he said, sending you a smirk. “A girl like you deserves only the best.”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes before you turned your attention back to the TV.

A few minutes later, Thomas broke the comfortable silence that fell between you two. “If I had some wine I would offer you some, but–”

“No, it’s okay.” You cut him off. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” He asked, clearly confused. “I mean, I don’t drink either because I can’t have alcohol while I’m training for a fight…but it’s interesting that you don’t at all. Can I ask why?”

“It’s, uh…kind of a long story.” You let out a quiet sigh before looking down at your fiddling fingers.

Thomas looked at you with caring eyes, immediately knowing that something was up. “It’s alright, we have time.” He assured you. “If you want to share, that is. I mean, you don’t have to.” He quickly said.

Well, you might as well tell him now.

“No, it’s okay,” you told him, “I wanna tell you.”

In the corner of your eye, you saw him nod as he gazed down at you with concern. You mentally prepared yourself before you began to speak again.

“It happened four and a half years ago. Dad was working late again at the gym because it had just opened. When he left to go home, he was just…he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was dark, and he was walking on the sidewalk safely, or what was supposed to be safely, when–” you had to pause for a moment to take a deep breath. It’d been awhile since those words had come out of your mouth. “He was killed. Hit and run…by a drunk driver…and….”

“…you haven’t drank since.” Thomas finished softly, causing your eyes to snap up to his. You nodded silently, watching the understanding expression form on his face.

In a split second, Thomas had pulled you to him and wrapped you in a warm, tight embrace, similar to the one at the park, except this time it was more meaningful.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into your hair. “That must be hard.”

“It’s okay,” you voiced into his chest as you clutched onto his shirt, breathing in his intoxicating scent. “It’s been difficult, but I’ve learned to cope with it. Time is helping, I think.”

Thomas nodded as you both stayed there for a bit, holding each other with the low droning of the television in the background. Over some time, you had shifted to you leaning your head on his shoulder with his arm around you as you sat in a peaceful silence. You were subconsciously fiddling with the fabric of his magenta t-shirt before your attention shifted off the TV and was fully brought to the shirt color.

“You wear this color a lot,” you noted quietly, letting a bit of curiosity seep into your tone. “A lot of your boxing gear is this color, too.” You murmured, recalling the times you’d seen him training with similar colored shorts and shoes.

“It’s my little sister’s favorite color,” he began to explain, his voice just above a murmur. “When I was in LA, I rarely got to see her because I was across the country and training non-stop almost year-round. She thought that, because I was so far away, I…I’d forget about her one day. So, one time when I visited her a while back, she, with the help of my mom, gifted me a pair of magenta shorts so I could remember her whenever I fought and/or trained.” Thomas smiled at the thought before he continued. “I’ve stuck to the color ever since. Purple wraps, purple training gloves, shoes, everything. I do whatever I can to make up for the fact that I wasn’t always around, even when she’s not watching.”

“That’s so sweet,” you murmured, before pulling your head off of his shoulder to meet his gaze. “Is that why you moved here? To try and see them more?”

“Well, yeah, in a way–” Thomas cut himself off by clearing his throat before he could finish the sentence and nodded, breaking eye contact. “My mom needs me now more than ever. I also needed to just– get away from my dad and the press. We don’t exactly have the best relationship.”

“You and your dad, or you and the press?” You asked even though you already knew the answer.

“Both.” He sighed, thankful for the slight shift in conversation. As much as he loved them, talking about his mom and sister was a bit of a sore subject for him, as much.

“I figured,” you replied.

“He just– my father won’t quit.” Thomas said, shifting his eyes to the ground. “He has no humility or empathy for anyone, and it saddens me. My father doesn’t care about anyone but himself; the only other things he cares about are money and fame. He treats me like a puppet and treats my mother and sister like shit whenever he sees them. I had to get away from him, even if it was only for a couple of months.” Thomas sighed, unwrapping his arm from around you to drop his face into his hands. He felt bad about talking about this to you. “And I’m so sorry about complaining about my father in front of you when yours– ”

“Thomas, no, it’s okay. I completely understand you.” You said, pulling his hands away from his face. “This situation is completely different from mine. Just because my dad was killed doesn’t mean that you have to put up with your father’s shit. What he’s doing to you isn’t okay; it will never be okay. Moving here to put distance between you and him was the right thing to do.”

Your response earned you a grateful smile from Thomas, which made your heart flutter.

“Now, what’s up with the press?” You asked, figuring that now was a good time to let him vent since he was talking openly to you about things.

As a boxer, he was trained to always keep his guard up, yet around you he found that he almost always let it down.

“Nothing, I mean, I think I’ve told you most of it already.” He said, recalling the numerous times he’s complained about the press. “The media won’t stop exploiting my life for profit. It’s gotten to the point where if I complain about it, it’ll just backfire on me and make me look even worse than they originally did. I just hate that they have the wrong impression of me…and I can’t change that. I’ll never be able to change that.”

You nodded in understanding. You remembered Alex’s lecture from earlier, telling you about how Thomas was an asshole.

“You know,” you began softly, tilting your head up to make eye contact with him. “Alexander keeps telling me that you’re a selfish, stuck up, arrogant, womanizing dick. He claims that he’s done ‘research’ on you to ‘protect me’, which I’m pretty sure is just him looking up articles that say bad things about you.”

Thomas sighed and hung his head for a moment before he lifted it back up to look at you again. He knew that Hamilton would do shit like that, he just didn’t want you to believe the lies Alex and the media spread around.

Thomas’ thoughts were interrupted when your hand came up to cup his cheek.

“I think– no, I know Alex is wrong, Thomas.” You whispered, your heart beating wildly in your chest from your bold move. Little did you know, Thomas’ was doing the exact same. “You are sweet and kind and charming and ambitious and compassionate. You are not the man everybody says you are. Their opinion doesn’t matter because they never got to know you like I did, even though it’s only been a few weeks…a few great weeks.”

When you finished your speech, you were met by Thomas’ lips lightly being pressed to yours. You were surprised at first, but quickly melted into the kiss as his soft lips glided smoothly over yours. He began to panic once he realized what he had done.

Thomas pulled away all of a sudden to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out softly, “I shouldn’t have–”

You answered by softly pressing your mouth to his again, silencing him effectively. Thomas’ kisses were tender and careful, pouring countless emotions into each one. His arms pulled you closer to him, molding your bodies together as your lips moved heatedly against each other.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you first knocked on my door.” He panted, smiling after he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you introduced yourself as Sweaty.” You laughed, caressing his scruffy cheek with your thumb.

“I didn’t introduce myself as Sweaty,” Thomas breathed, rolling his eyes. “You were just being a smart ass.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Sure, Jefferson.”

“You know it’s true.” He retorted.



“Shut up and kiss me again.” You said, opening your eyes to see him gazing down at you with hooded ones.

“Your wish is my command.”