invisible speakers

Opposites attract- Jughead x Reader

Request: “Could you maybe do an imagine where Jughead falls for a really positive, popular, smart girl and because of theirs contrasting personalities they run into conflict before realizing they actually compliment each other perfectly? Thanks so much and I love what you’ve written so far!!”

A/N: I loved this idea! I tried not to make it too similar to what happened with Jughead and Betty but it ended up kinda similar, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Jughead and reader are complete opposites which puts strain on their relationship when she invites him to a pep rally.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1'857


Y/N Y/L/N. The golden girl of Riverdale. A straight A student, Rivervixen and friend to all. These were titles you had become accustomed to. You were popular, but not because people feared you like they did Cheryl, or because they idolised you like Veronica. You were popular because you were kind and funny and caring, and because nobody had a bad word to say about you. It was because of this that you were the sweetheart of Riverdale high. Many called you the perfect ‘Girl next door’ which you hated, but unfortunately were used to hearing.

Jughead Jones. The damaged, loner, outsider from the wrong side of the track. An introvert and writer for the Blue and Gold, somewhat obsessed with the murder of the late Jason Blossom, who sat tirelessly in Pop’s diner until the early hours of the morning, working on his novel. And of course, never seen without his signature grey beanie.

Jughead and you were polar opposites, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame. He admired your goodness and innocence, despite all the secrets and lies Riverdale and everyone in it seemed to hold. He loved the way that you were always able to see the good in anyone and anything, which was something he had never been good at. Never had two people been more unalike, but this didn’t stop him falling for you, hard and fast. You and Jughead had met through mutual friends, and ever since he had been absolutely head over heels for you, and soon found out that you felt exactly the same way. As you had expected, people were absolutely flabbergasted when they found out about your’s and Jughead’s relationship, but you couldn’t care less. You were happy and that was all that mattered.

It was sometimes difficult for you and Jughead to find time to spend with one another. It was always either you tied up with cheerleading practice or school responsibilities, or him working on his novel or investigating Jason Blossom’s murder case. The two of you knew it would be tricky from the very start, but Jughead didn’t realise just how tricky it would be.

“Pop’s tonight?” Jughead asked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you grabbed some books from your locker. “I can’t tonight Juggie I have the pep rally remember. I’m really sorry.” You said, turning around to face him. “Oh yeah, of course.” He replied, sounding somewhat disheartened. “Hey why don’t you come? I’m performing with the Rivervixens, I would love you to watch!” You suggested, giving him a huge grin. Jughead’s face contorted slightly, to show his distaste towards the idea. “I don’t know Y/N, a pep rally isn’t really my scene.” He admitted. You frowned slightly, although you knew school activities were something Jughead wasn’t overly comfortable with, you still wanted him to come and support you. “Please Juggie” you whined “Kevin is watching too, you can go with him, and then we could go to Pop’s afterwards?” A long sigh escaped Jughead’s mouth as he rolled his eyes before allowing a small smirk to creep onto his lips. “Okay fine” he said in defeat “as long as you’re treating.” You smiled that bright smile that Jughead could never resist. “Yay! Thank you Thank you Thank you!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around Jughead’s neck and peppering his face with kisses, making him giggle. “Damn it, why can I never say no to you?” He joked.

Kevin and Jughead sat in the bleachers, the rain soaking through their clothes. Jughead appeared very uncomfortable and had to remind himself that he was here for the sake of his girlfriend, as Kevin Keller talked his ear off about how 'dreamy’ Moose looked in his football uniform. You caught sight of Jughead in the crowd as you walked out in your Rivervixen outfit, ready to perform the routine you’d been rehearsing for months now. You flashed him a grin and waved with your pom-pom. He smiled back awkwardly making you chuckle, before you assumed your position to begin. The routine went swimmingly and once it ended you looked over to where you had previously seen your boyfriend. You couldn’t seem to spot him through the crowd, as the Rivervixens had once again evoked a standing ovation. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as your eyes scanned the bleachers for him whilst trying to blink the rain drops from your long lashes. Nope. 'Maybe he’s just gone to the toilet or something’ you thought, but your thoughts were interrupted by your friends; Betty and Veronica. “Well done Y/N you killed it girl, as per usual!” Veronica stated, embracing you tightly. “Thanks V, you too.” You told her, and you were ushered over to sit on the front seat of the bleachers beside her and Betty and the rest of the Vixens.

The game finally came to an end, the Bulldogs taking the lead at the last minute, thanks to none other than your friend; Archie Andrews. Everyone shot out of their seats to congratulate him and the rest of the team on their big win. You on the other hand were still curious to where your boyfriend Jughead could have disappeared to. You tried your hardest to find him, but the now pounding rain and excited crowd made it almost impossible. You spotted a mop of ginger hair in the crowd and made your way over. “Congrats Arch!” You said, throwing your arm around the proud Bulldog. “You haven’t seen Jughead, have you?” You asked, Archie began to shake his head slowly. “Nope, don’t think so, sorry Y/N.” You congratulated him once more before searching the crowd again, looking for Jughead but instead bumping into Kevin. “Y/N you were amazing!” He mused enthusiastically. “Thanks Kev, erm, do you know where Jughead is?” Kevin’s face dropped from his usual smile to a much more serious face, making your heart drop into the bottom of your sneakers. “Just before you finished your routine he just got up and left, without a word. I’m sorry Y/N I tried to stop him!” Kevin told you. A frown found it’s way onto your face, making you feel somewhat hurt that you boyfriend had somewhere more important to be. “Oh ok” you said, your eyes finding the ground. “Well I suppose I better go find him, I’ll see you later Kev.” You said, giving him a half hearted smile and turning to run in the direction of the one place you knew Jughead would be.

You stepped through the heavy metal door, surrounded by bright lights, into the familiar warmth of Pop’s diner. The place had a familiar smell in which you found comfort, and the soft music that played from some invisible speaker was always relaxing. You spotted Pop at the desk and stepped over to him. “Hey Pop, has Jughead been by tonight?” You questioned. He pointed his pen to Jughead’s usual table in the corner where you could just make out a figure leaning against the window. “He’s been here for the last couple of hours. Hasn’t even been writing tonight, just sitting.” You thanked Pop and walked over slowly to see clear as day, Jughead Jones sitting at the table, his beanie-less head resting against the window, a small cup of black coffee on the table in front of him. He must have sensed your presence, or seen you out of the corner of his eye as he turned his head to see you, before turning back to fix his gaze to his coffee cup. You sighed, the concern inside you growing even more. “Jug what’s going on?” You asked him gently, sliding into the booth beside him. He stayed silent for a few seconds and you thought maybe he was giving you the silent treatment, before he mumbled. “I’m sorry Y/N.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry? Sorry for what?” This made him raise his head finally, to look at you again. “Sorry I left” his voice was somewhat raised this time which you had not expected. “I watched you out there and it just made me realise how different we really are. It’s not going to work out and we both know it!” He told you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “W-what?” You muttered. “Come on Y/N. Why are we even trying? You’re the golden girl who everybody loves, who dances at pep rallies and gets straight A’s. I’m the loner with a dead beat dad who came from the wrong side of the track. Who are we trying to kid here? How long can this really last?” You weren’t sure where this outburst came from, but it sounded like something that Jughead had been thinking about for a very long time. “Has it ever occurred to you just how different we really are?” He said, lowering his voice this time, in fear of attracting attention to you both. His words hurt, and you couldn’t pretend otherwise. A single tear slipped down your cheek, and Jughead realised this was the first time he’d ever seen you cry. You’d always been so positive, so happy, and he hated that he’d been the one to hurt you.

You were almost speechless, but managed a small “But I love you Jug.” Your voice sounded so small and so weak as you imagined a life without Jughead in it. The thought was almost unbearable to you. “I don’t care about any of that, I love you.” You said again, and this time your hands made their way to either side of Jughead’s face. His eyes closed and you could see that he too was trying to hold back tears. His hand found its way up to yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “I can’t wake up every morning wondering why you’re with me, or worrying that you’ll leave me one day for a member of the football team. Someone who watches your pep rallies, and takes you to school dances.” He admitted. Your heart suddenly shattered as this boy revealed to you his insecurities and fears. You realised that he hadn’t been saying all this to upset you, but because he was scared of losing you.

“Jughead why can’t you see that none of that matters to me. You’re my boyfriend and I want to be with you!” You told him, and you noticed the smallest smile creep onto his face. You pulled his face closer to yours and pressed your lips to his for a chaste kiss, before placing your forehead against his. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m just scared of losing you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I just got scared you know.” He admitted. You have him a sympathetic look. “I love you Jughead Jones, no difference between us is going to change that.” You buried your head into his shoulder, your hands intertwined beneath the table. “I love you too Y/N, and you know what that say, opposites attract.”

A/N: Don’t forget to send me your requests guys!!

fantastic-fantasy-fanfics  asked:

Steve with Brabeum: reward or prize, please? Your blog is AMAZING!!!!

Originally posted by imaginesofeveryfandom

You had never been one for following tradition. 

Unlike the man you adored, who still got confused when attempting to microwave popcorn and couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed through the cross-hatched screen to watch the tiny kernels pop into buttery goodness, you prided yourself on breaking the old. 

You followed adventure, ideas and could often be found awake at 3am, scrawling on pieces of paper or throwing paint onto canvases with no idea as to what they were to become. 

When you’d decided you wanted to do something special for Steve’s birthday, the first person you went to was Bucky. Ever the silent man, he still spoke enough for you to coax a little bit out of him about what Steve liked. 

‘He doesn’t like surprises,’ Bucky said one morning, spluttering out the words through a mouthful of cereal. 

A few droplets of milk spilt onto the counter. You winced. 


Bucky eyed you curiously as you poured a glass of green smoothie, thick, fruity mixture filling up the slender cup. 

'You’re planning something.' 

You grinned. 'Sort of.' 

'Sort of?' 

'It’s for his birthday. I was thinking of doing a treasure hunt for him to get to his present.' 

'And what’s that?' 

You stared at him for a moment, incredulous. He rolled his eyes. 

'The present, not the hunt. Jeez. I’m old, not incompetent.' 

Scratching the back of your head, you tipped the cup back and drank at least half of the green concoction before you found the right words. The present had been chosen but not yet acquired. You were hoping that word wouldn’t get back to Steve before you’d had a chance to surprise him. 

'It’s…uhm…it’s a ring. I’m going to ask him to marry me.' 

Bucky’s only reaction was a slight quirk of one of his eyebrows. To your surprise, he seemed less irritated than he had by the lack of chocolate milk the previous morning. Quietly, he shovelled another huge mouthful of cereal into his mouth and began to speak through crunches of cornflakes. 

'OK. When are you gonna do it?' 

No questions, no trying to stop you. He was ready to help. You let out a visible sigh of relief. 

'On his birthday.' 

'So two days. OK. I can help.’

Two days later and you had spent more time with Bucky than you had since he’d moved into the compound. He’d followed you around the city picking up little clues that would lead him to the correct place. 

Luckily for you, the night in question was clear and warm, a soft breeze floating through the air just stopping it from being unbearable. Nervously, you tugged on the sleeve of your dress and took a deep, shuddering breath. Waiting. 

In the compound, Steve wandered into the kitchen, his blonde brow furrowed. Having searched the place up and down, he hadn’t been able to find you. The worry that you might miss his birthday made his heart twinge unhappily and had propelled him quickly to the kitchen. 

When he was nervous, he ate peanut butter straight from the jar; it stopped his mouth from saying anything stupid. There was a food for every feeling. Yanking open his cupboard, he felt around for the familiar jar and pulled it out. 

Taped to the front was a fluorescent pink note. In your swoopy handwriting, it read 'GO TO OUR BEDROOM’. A small smiley face decorated it. 

His stomach flip-flopped, intrigued. Reluctantly leaving the peanut butter to rest, Steve took the stairs two by two until he was in front of their neat, white room. It had been just had he’d left it. Except this time, there were two pink notes taped to the mirror. Underneath it was a small square gift. 

The first note said 'COME TO THE FRONT DOOR’, the second 'OPEN ME’.
He chose to follow the second one first, slipping the ribbon off of the box and opening it up. 

Two tickets for flights to Venice sat in a bed of- he discovered with a quick taste test- Skittles. Grinning, he scooped up a handful of candies and shoved them in his mouth, chewing as he made his way down to the front door. 

Bucky was leant up against the front door, playing on his phone. When he spied Steve chewing, he smirked. 


'Hey- you got a note for me?' 

'I might.' 

Steve rolled his eyes. 'Not the time.' 

Bucky stuck his hand into his pants pocket and removed a scrunched up piece of pink paper, sticking it on top of the gift at his feet. It was much larger than the box in the bedroom. The note read 'COME TO THE CANOPY’.

'Can I open it?’

Bucky shrugged. 'I don’t own your life. You do what you want.' 

Steve store off the paper. In his hands was a photo album. With a soft blue leather cover and his initials embroidered in gold, he slipped his hand under the sleeve and opened it up. 

Black and white photographs of him had been neatly pasted on the thick pages. He recognised Bucky’s scrawl, filling in the dates and locations. Those that he could remember. 

Soon the photos turned to colour, photos of you and him, catching him off guard, grinning toothily up at the camera. Reminders of his life. 

Tucking the album under his arm, Steve threw his arms around Bucky, squeezing him tight. Bucky muttered, pretending that he was irritated by the sudden show of affection. 

'Alright, alright- go outside you mad man.’

Steve jumped out of the store and jogged down the winding path that led to the small wooden canopy. He spied the fairy lights tied around every column before he saw the scene as a whole. It was quiet, a soft piano playing through an invisible speaker. 

You were sat on the bench in the middle of the canopy, staring down at your hands, your lip tucked between your teeth. Steve took a moment just to stare at you, to take in the beauty that he got to fall asleep beside every night. Then, stepping onto the canopy, he took a seat next to you. 


You looked up, smiling softly at him. 

'Hey. Happy Birthday.' 

'I thought you forgot. When I couldn’t find you—' 

He didn’t feel the need to finish his sentence. Instead, he leant in and pressed his lips to yours, capturing a soft kiss. After a moment, you pulled away, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

'I have one more gift for you. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.' 

He watched curiously as you turned, digging under the thick skirts of your dress until your hands folded around the tiny black box. 

'You probably wanted to do this, but…I couldn’t wait any longer. I love you, Stevie. More than I’ve ever loved anything. You make me laugh, you make me feel incredible and you make me love. So so much. So…I’m going to hope that you’ll say yes to me,’ you said shakily, before opening the ring box and held it in between you, two silver rings glittering up at you, 'Will you marry me?' 

Steve was silent for a moment. He stared down at the ring, amazed that this was happening. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked, not missing the singular drop that slipped down his cheek. 

'Shit,’ you murmured, knowing you’d said the wrong thing. You made to snap the box shut, but Steve’s hand shot out and stopped the click. He caught your eye. 

'Yes,’ he whispered. 

Suddenly his hands were on your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss, his large, heavy body gently pushing you down onto the bench so he could feel your body pressed against his. 

The box tumbled onto the ground, but neither of you seemed to care. Instead, you focused on the sensation of his lips, the way his hands gently touched and caressed you. The way he loved you. 

Between kisses, you managed to whisper a few words, stroking his hair. 

'Happy birthday Steve.’

anonymous asked:

hey, if you up for it (it's fine if you are not) could you write director sanvers: Lucy goes to Washington and Alex and Maggie go with her and it is not as horrible because A&M are with her OR director sanvers + game night. thanks!!!

So, I’m pretty much always up for these guys just for the record :)

So I did a couple versions of gamenight. Pre-director sanvers but everybody gets to play and everyone’s an asshole at game night in Major Salt pt 2 and a just the girls playing strip poker in pt 1 and pt 2

But if you’re looking for something else along the lines of game night, let me know ;)

Below I present, for your viewing pleasure, Director Sanvers Go to Washington.

Lucy hated these trips to DC.

The quarterly visits were bad enough, really, even just as updates with casualties and containment numbers, listening to old white men bitch about how they shouldn’t rely so much on Supergirl, the bullet-proof alien, and should send out their own men and women out to fight the good fight and die as heroes, all while arguing over the “absurd” costs of proper equipment for those same men and women. Lucy had to stand there and listen as they complained about the costs of housing aliens, when they weren’t human, so why were they getting better treatment than actual human prisoners (they didn’t seem to see the irony in that statement, or bother flipping it around to ask why actual humans were treated worse while incarcerated by other humans). She had to volley poorly-disguised questions about adding lesser charges to the containment policy “for the safety of humans.” She had to deal with the bullshit inherent in being co-director of an off-the-books agency with an alien posing as a black man.

She had to deal with bullshit in general.

But the meetings leading up to the fiscal year budget? Those were brutal.

Sometimes it felt like she and McCain were the only ones who’d ever actually seen action in a room full of armchair officers and draft dodgers. Oh wait, they were.

In spite of the President’s Amnesty project, or perhaps because of it, they were worse than ever. Somehow, Senator Crane had managed to wedge herself onto the budgetary panel that technically didn’t exist, and she was pretty much the only comic relief in a drawn out day of old men and sexism. Really, Crane’s faces when the men spoke were everything Lucy was trying not to show.

Day one was useless. As usual. She took lunch with Senator Crane, a salad ordered by one of her interns, where they talked shit about Crane’s coworkers and all of the brass on the panel. Before they headed in for more government-sanctioned misogyny, Lucy pulled out her phone and turned it on, just to check.

And was immediately greeted by a text from Maggie, of her two favorite nerds posing next to the Superman exhibit at the Smithsonian. They were pretending to square up, captioning it “we got this XOXOXOXO” Nerds.

Lucy held onto that smile right up until she opened the chamber doors.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Secret Government Agency Finances.

Fuck, Lucy realized, I’m a giant-ass nerd too.

It probably wasn’t right to spend the next five hours sorting the idiots in front of her into houses, but it was a helluva lot more entertaining than actually paying attention to the anti-alien rhetoric.

And really, it was almost worth it to return to the suite to find rose petals and lit candles leading to a steaming bubble bath, quiet jazz humming from invisible speakers. Her girls were nowhere to be found, but they were clearly close by. Lucy stripped out of her uniform, laying it out neatly on the bed before sinking gratefully into the water. She melted into the bubbles, moaning aloud at the relief the warmth provided to her battered arches.

A quiet click of the door, the smell of Italian food drifting through the open bathroom door. A quiet murmur of voices, the soft sounds of clothing dropping carelessly to the floor while her own were hung neatly to preserve the creases. Lucy’s eyes remained closed, even as a second body slid into the water quietly, Maggie gently reaching for Lucy’s aching feet. A second pair of hands, calloused and sure, dug into the knots in her shoulders. Lucy half-flinched and moaned, forcing herself to relax into those hands, dropping her weight back and trusting she’d be caught. She forgot, sometimes, that dealing with assholes stressed her out so badly, but they didn’t.

Really, she didn’t know what she did to deserve Alex and Maggie, but she needed to figure it out and soon so that she could keep doing it forever.


Maggie’s hands slid up her calves, the same digging care releasing knot after knot created by those damn uniform heels.

That really should terrify her more than it did.

Instead, she was left warm and relaxed as Alex nudged her forward, where she could slip in behind Lucy and continue the massage down across defined musculature and old scar tissue. A particularly bad knot near her spine, a remnant of Iraq and a roadside bomb where she came out luckier than most, sent her lurching towards Maggie. Surer hands caught her as Alex whispered an apology, arms wrapping Lucy tight and bringing her back to rest against Alex’s longer body.

Maggie leaned forward, nearly climbing up Lucy’s front, to place a lingering kiss on her lips. Alex’s lips followed the earlier path of her massage, first a kiss to the temple, to the ear, drifting down to the base of Lucy’s neck. Even as Maggie placed her hands to either side of the tub behind Alex, trapping Lucy between them, Lucy felt none of the panic she had in previous relationships. With these two, she didn’t have to top for her sanity, for a fear of being stuck and unable to move. Here she could drop her shoulders as Alex bit into the muscle, first gently, then not. As Maggie’s tongue demanded entry, as Alex’s hands wandered her front while her own grasped at thighs and backs and whatever else she could reach. As chests heaved in the warm humidity and water spilled from the tub, Lucy knew she was safe. She was home.

They break for air as Lucy is ready to become one with the water, and all she can do is whimper.

“What about the food?” She asks, breathless, even as she buries her face in Maggie’s neck, lips and tongue tasting salt and perfume. She nips at Maggie’s ear, feels the twitch of Alex’s hands against her breasts even as Alex continues her exploration of Lucy’s neck.

“It can wait,” they murmur, in almost perfect unison, quiet words whispered against Lucy’s skin.

Forever should be terrifying.

It should be.

But Lucy’s found her home.

elvendara  asked:

I need some Jumin fluff! How would he act finding out MC was having twins? I need to know how extra he becomes! LOL

I love some Jumin fluff! I don’t think this is gonna end up too long, but I can say his first reaction is probably:

Originally posted by emilysurvivesgradschool

Fingers clutched at crisp clean linen as they sat in the waiting room of the private clinic. The serene music drifting from invisible speakers did very little to calm his nerves, and no matter how many times his wife squeezed his hand and reminded him it was all going to be okay, Jumin still couldn’t put to rest the nervous energy that had been steadily building inside him. This was all new territory for him. He couldn’t prepare himself for future outcomes, nor even predict possible ones. All he could do was sit and wait, and busy his hands.

A breath slipped out as the name “Han” was called out, and he quickly rose to offer his hand to MC. Gripping her hand tightly, he had to remind himself to be gentle with her as they followed the nurse back into a homey examination room. He calmed as he watched her lay down on the bed, as she had done for him so many times before. Of course, that is what had gotten them in this predicament in the first place. Holding her close to him, he found peace in her steady breathing. She raised her shirt and hissed as chilly gel was squeezed onto her abdomen. The nurse gave a small explanation while preparing the sonogram machine, reminding them of possible further examinations and trying to convey exactly what they would be looking at in a brief moment. 

His arm pulled his wife closer to him while they watched the screen, his brows knitted as he scanned what appeared to be a giant hollow space, and his lungs froze as he heard a speaker pulse out the jumbled sound of heartbeats. Three heartbeats? That didn’t make sense. 

“Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Han! Look at this! I know it is a bit confusing at first. One of those heartbeats you hear is mom, so don’t panic. Everything sounds perfect. The others… well, you see these two little white blobs? Those are baby Hans!” The nurse exclaimed in her cheery professional voice. She looked at the both of them expectantly. MC looked up at Jumin, waiting for his response. Jumin stared at the screen, letting the pulsing of heartbeats flow through him as he processed what he was learning. Two babies. Twins. Two of them. Two. The nervous energy had reached a crescendo and exploded, leaving him still and silent. Thoughts swirled around his mind, but he was unable to hold onto one for more than a fraction of a second. To be frank, Jumin Han.exe had stopped working.

“Honey? Are you… are you alright?” MC called to him, more concerned about her husband that was frozen in place than her own excitement.

“Yes. I’m fine. I’m just very glad everything is as it should be. My love, two of them. We are going to have two children.” He cleared his voice after answering, failing to keep his composure as tears welled in his eyes and his fingers gripped at the fabric of her skin. The rest of the visit was a blur, and he silently wished Jaehee was with them to take notes for him to review. Leaving the clinic, they were silent as they entered the car and headed off to lunch. Finally, MC scooted against him and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, kissed the top of her head, and closed his eyes.

“You’ve been so quiet. How are you feeling?” she asked cautiously.

The words and thoughts immediately tumbled out of him, as they always did when she was around.

“Do you know if it is beneficial or harmful for twins to go to the same schools? We should encourage separate universities so they can learn independence. Of course we need to speak to Saeyoung and find out everything we can about what it is like to be twin. Maybe we should color code them at first if they are the same gender. Do they need separate rooms or would they benefit from sharing one? No, they need to be able to have separate identities so they don’t struggle later in life. What if one is allergic cats? What if one gets into a decent school but the other doesn’t? What if-” 

“What if, for now, we go get lunch and just enjoy this moment and plan how to tell everyone?” She giggled, her body shuddering against him with laughter.

“Oh. Yes, you are right, as always.” He responded with a smile. For the first time that day his shoulder relaxed and he breathed normally. 

The Challenge (Part 33 of Faking It)

33 parts! Only 2 parts left! Hope you enjoy this one!

Faking It Master List

Word Count: 3400ish

Warning: SMUTTY SMUT, strip club, Dean gets a lap dance, squirting

Keep reading

mistletoe and misunderstandings

ten/rose. ~4k. light teen.
this is a secret santa gift to myself basically, because i still haven’t received mine and there has NOT been enough tenrose christmas fic and i was frankly desperate for it. so here it is… a healthy dose of tropey christmas cheese! :P thanks @shutupandlovetennant for looking this over!

When he tells this story later, he’ll say they accidentally landed on the outskirts of a Swiss town three days before Christmas.

As far as Rose knows, it is an accident.

Keep reading

Identity - Chapter Thirteen

Word Count: 1375
Warnings: triggers, mental disorders, suicidal mentions, depression, abuse, cussing, and possible smut later
Summary: Dan is definitely beyond nervous to start at the prestigious boarding school, Harrison Academy. He wants to get away from the past and start a new life, where he meets his dorm mate, Phil Lester. Phil is always happy, it seems, and wants the best for everyone, but as he continues to get to know Dan, he realizes that there’s something wrong with this particular boy that maybe even Dan isn’t aware of.
Chapters: 112


After buying the piano, Phil decided to treat Dan to some Indian food, figuring they could both enjoy a nice meal after months of surviving on solely cereal and stir fry. Dan was touched by how well Phil had been treating him, the generosity going straight to his heart where it swelled and made flowers grow in his lungs.

He wasn’t used to being treated so nicely, wasn’t used to the feelings of happiness overwhelming him. For his whole life, he’d tiptoed around, trying to avoid all touch - physically and emotionally - with all beings. But as soon as Phil appeared, Dan seemed to crave Phil’s touch to the point where Dan’s skin crawled without the older boy in the vicinity.

Keep reading

Chapter 21: Mel

Disclaimer: The Starkillers Cycle contains strong language and graphic content. It is not intended for readers under age 18.

Watching Daphne fly was fun for about three seconds. After that, Mel wanted to shoot herself—and Daphne—in the fucking face.
The escape from Torant was surprisingly smooth considering all the bodies Mel and Daphne had left cooling in their wake. Nico had been good to his word, and no one was following. If Mel had a heart, she supposed she might have felt slightly bad for the poor bastards who’d had to face Nico’s wrath.
Good thing, then, that she didn’t have a heart. Guilt only slowed her down.
Once the SubWolff was out of the Torant atmo and once the adrenaline had left Daphne’s system…Well, that was when the woman’s nerves had seemed to kick in—and when Mel’s patience had worn out.
In her captain’s seat, Daphne’s hands were shaking, and she kept making this gross half-puke sound in her throat. At first, Mel had thought Daphne was wrecked over their recent slaying-spree, but when she said from her matching co-captain swivel chair, “They might not be dead,” Daphne only looked confused.
“The guards,” Mel added, offering a slight lift of her brow. “They might not be dead.”
“I hope they are,” Daphne snarled before coughing into her hands. “How many…girls like me…have they ignored?”
Mel’s eyes thinned. “So if this little sickness display,” she twirled a hand at Daphne, “isn’t your conscience acting up, then what is it?”
Daphne’s breath hissed, her eyes skirting the flight gear and display monitors. Then, in voice steeped with defiance, she muttered, “I’ve never flown a ship this big before, alright? It’s got a lot of working parts, you know—and if I fuck it up, then we all die.”
“Really?” Mel’s eyes rolled straight up to the ceiling, and it took every ounce of self-control she had not to…
Oh fuck it. She gave into the urge for to glare disdainfully. “If you can’t fly, Miss Greene, then put the goddamned ship on autopilot. Otherwise I’ll have to carve out your throat to keep you from making that sound agin—and I don’t think either of us is in the mood for major surgery.”
Daphne glared right back—until she caught sight of the warning gleam in Mel’s eyes. Then, with a long suffering sigh (which was ten thousands times more appealing then her throat-hacking), Daphne programmed in a flight plan to some backwater station Mel had never heard of.
Once that was finished, Mel pushed out of chair, the leather squeaking beneath her and said in her laziest drawl, “I call dibs on Turner. You heal Maddox.” Then she swooped out of the cockpit before Daphne could argue.
As Mel stomped down the glossy stairwell, Colt glanced tiredly up. He looked like shit—pale beneath his tan and vacant-eyed, as if he had no idea what the fuck was going on.
Mel offered him a half smile and stepped lightly over him. “Don’t mind me, Maddox. All will be well for you—I promise. As for you…” She pressed a plasma pistol—one that Nico had slipped her—into the top of Turner’s skull. “Things won’t be so great for you, I’m afraid.”
Turner didn’t look up. Or react. Or even move.
“Get up,” Mel said.
“I’m chained to the bannister.” His voice was surprisingly flat given how much his foot must’ve hurt.
“Don’t bother lying.” She pushed the barrel in until it gritted against his glossy dark hair. His standard buzz cut looked to have grown out, and he was at least two days due for a shave—or at least the Old Turner would have been.
“You’ve been unchained for the past five minutes,” Mel said. “Now get up Turner. We’re walking to the bathroom to heal that nasty little boo-boo of yours. Hallway to right. Third door on the left.”
A momentary pause. Then a soft chuckle, and when Turner finally glanced backward, it was to shoot an apologetic smile Colt’s way. “Don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.”
Colt’s only response was to blink slowly —a look that said he would likely hang himself by his own handcuffs before he ever worried about Turner Hahn.
It was Mel’s turn to chuckle.
Then Turner was on his feet and limping exactly in the direction she’d ordered him. His boots squeaked on the marble, and despite the fact that most of the bones in his foot had to be shattered—not to mention all the veins leaked dry by now—he managed to put the slightest weight on his heel. Enough so that he could move forward with far more pride and poise than he fucking deserved.
It was enough to make Mel want to shoot in the other foot.
They reached the bathroom. She toed the door shut behind her, eyes sweeping over the spacious, black interior. White lights sparkled to life overhead, and soft music started playing from invisible speakers—as if the soothing sounds of piano would somehow make your shit smell sweeter.
Oh wait. No need for sweeter shit. There was now a soft mist of grapefruit spraying from just above the gleaming black toilet.
Fucking rich people.
Right as Mel’s lips parted to order Turner sit on the closed toilet, he sank down on his own. His face was strained, his lips a white line.
So Mel dove into her next order of business and aimed her pistol at Turner’s head. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you and throw your body out the airlock.”
“Because,” he drawled, his voice a helluva lot less pained than his expression. “I’m the only chance you have of avoiding the Fed, Mel. And the Cyrissians.”
“Mmmm, nope.” She had to lift her voice ever so slightly to be heard over that obnoxious fucking piano music. “ I have both of those elements covered. So try again.”
Turner’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. Then he tried again. “Ronin and his Shadows,” he said. “They’ll only protect you so far. But even Ronin doesn’t know how the Gendarmerie operates.”
Mel’s head tipped back, and she watched Turner from the bottom of her eyes. For all that he was playing a tough game, he was clearly on the verge of passing out. “If,” she said coolly, “you’re trying to impress me with your knowledge of Ronin and the Shadows, then don’t bother. His existence is hardly a secret.”
This wasn’t true—not even a little bit. When Mel had been arrested the second time around and sent to Hatha, Ronin and has Shadows had been a secret. The kind that you took to the grave because if you didn’t, then Ronin would make sure you were put in that grave early. And buried alive there too.
But fuck if Mel was going to let the alarm bells show on her face. “Try again, Turner. And this is your last chance, so make it count.”
He huffed a ragged breath, and his eyes fluttered shut. “I have a tracker in my blood,” he said at last, eyes still closed. “If I die, it’ll activate. The Gendarmerie will be here before you can even get this Subwolff to the next system.”
“Oh you do?” Mel said, tone syrupy. She didn’t believe that story, but since she had no intention of shooting Turner—or shooting his ass out of the airlock—she pretended otherwise. “In that case, I’d better find you a stim-kit before infection takes hold.” She lowered her pistol, and after sliding it into the waistband of her pants, she angled toward the washbasin. If this ship was anything like Daphne’s fancy little Scorpio, there’d be some sort of healing device in here.
Sure enough, she found it in the second cabinet she tried—and holy shit, but it was a fancy one. In fact, judging by the P.G.E. tape still wrapped around the tubing, this wasn’t even a for-sale model.
Well, one of the Cyrissians had friends in high corporate places.
Mel unwound the mask and tubing, stretching it toward the toilet. Toward Turner, who made no move to take it from her—and who currently smelled like the unnatural, shit-stifling scent of grapefruit.
For a long moment, Mel stared down at him. In some ways Turner Hahn looked exactly like he had all those lifetimes ago. The same dark, gently angled eyes appraised her. The same nose, slightly crooked nose from where he’d broken it once as a kid and been too slow getting to a stim-kit, wiggled once—and only once—with his current pain.
But the smooth, boyish skin Mel remembered was now rough—with stubble, with age. The lines of his jaw were harder, and Turner’s neck had thickened into a man’s neck. His shoulders too. Even what was exposed of his forearms had corded into more muscular versions of the teenager Mel had left behind.
“As much as I like being scrutinized by you,” Turner began, his words almost inaudible under the music, “I’m in a lot of pain here.”
“Do I look like I care?”
“No.” He shook his head once. “But then that was always the problem, Mel. I never could tell—”
She shoved the mask over his face before he could say anything else.
Instantly, the stim-kit whirred to life, and mist coiled down the tube. It hit Turner’s mouth and he coughed once—a hacking sound that sent him doubling over on the toilet. But he didn’t drop the mask, and Mel made no move to help him.
The minutes ticked past, and Turner’s foot visibly repaired itself before her eyes. Bone grew with a crackling sound like ice forming, while veins and muscles and skin wefted and wove around it—until all that was left was a damaged boot and the gleam of shiny new flesh.
Mel had never been comfortable with this technology—and it wasn’t just because it was so unnatural. So…so inhuman. Ever since her mom had told her what it cost to make each machine—that for the single life a stim-kit could save, there were a hundred who’d died making it—she hadn’t been able to use one unless she absolutely had to.
Fucking rich people.
And fucking P.G.E. too.
But Mel had Rixion steel strapped to her calves now. To her thighs. That meant it was time to make the move she’d been waiting six years to make.
Yeah, there was this new concern of an entire fucking crime syndicate on her ass.  And sure, there was the issue of a fucking Gendarmerie detective sitting two paces away…But that was all good. Nico had told Mel where to find Ronin, and once Mel was with Ronin again…
Well, Ronin had a way of making things happen.
The stim-kit hummed a soft ding! and for some reason the piano music abruptly broke off. It must’ve thought Mel was done with her business here.
She supposed she pretty much was.
She reached out to yank the mask from Turner’s face. It popped off and the scent of sterile lemons rolled out—
His fingers latched on Mel’s wrist. “Look at me.” His words were rough and suddenly much too loud in the silence of the room.
And even though every instinct in her body wanted to snap his wrist in two—exactly like he’d taught her—she forced her gaze to meet his.
His eyes were sharp now, the lines of pain smoothed away. “Did you do it?” he asked quietly.
Mel didn’t have to ask what he meant. “You saw the footage.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—”
“If,” Mel interrupted, heat lancing through her chest and up her throat, “you mean to ask, ‘Was there some reason I did it—some justification for why I murdered my own father?’ Then no, Turner. There’s no good reason. I killed him because I hated him. End of story.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well, you should.” Mel tore her hand free. But without Turner’s fingers, her skin felt suddenly cool. “You should because it’s the truth.”
“The Mel I knew,” Turner murmured, pushing stiffly to his feet, “was reckless and impulsive. But she wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t violent.”
Mel tipped up her chin. Standing at his full height like this, Turner was a full head taller than she. But Mel hadn’t backed down from him in the old days—she wasn’t about to start now.
“The Mel you knew is dead,” she said simply. “Forget her and move on. I know I have.” She shifted her weight to twist away—to leave this stupid room and clear her head of grapefruit and lemons and memories best forgotten.
But Turner sidestepped her, his voice a rough sound that seemed to rumble through the entire room: “The Turner you knew is dead too, Mel, so if you think this little game of chicken is going to scare me off, then you’re wrong.”
She scoffed—the most derisive, disgusted sound she could muster. “I haven’t even begun to try to scare you, Turner. But trust me: when I do, you’ll know from the piss that will be sliding down your leg.” Another scoff, this one hot in her throat and unforgiving. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in the past six years, so you can take your badge and your stupid goddamned title, and you can get the fuck out of my way before I stab your face in.”
Turner didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned ever so slightly toward her and whispered, “And you, Melnara Pamouk, have no idea what I’ve been through in the past six years. I remember who you were, and I remember what we were.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head and batted her lashes. “I’m glad to know I made such an impression, Turner.” Before he could move away, she pushed her hand forward and cupped him through his pants.
His breath hitched and his jaw clenched. But to Mel’s surprise, he didn’t back away.
The Old Turner most definitely would have.
“You know,” he ground out, seeming to voice her very thoughts, “that game won’t work on me anymore, Mel. Things have changed.”
“Really?” She wrapped her fingers around his erection, hot and growing. That had definitely changed from the boy she remembered. “I’m pretty sure it is working, Turner. Unless this”—she rubbed her hand against him, and his breath hissed out—“isn’t what I think it is.”
A long pause, and he wet his lips. Once. Twice. His eyes were dark now, his pupils swallowing everything, and when he finally spoke again, there was no hiding the husky, almost broken quality to it. “But you’re missing something.” He dipped his head down, his nose trailing over her cheek, his breath tickling down her neck. “In the six years since I last saw you, I learned how to play this game on my own terms.”
His tongue flicked out along her ear.
And Mel’s entire stomach cinched tight.
“And I learned how to win it.”
The words trilled down her spine, and though she fought to keep her heart calm, she couldn’t stop the heat from gathering between her legs.
And she also couldn’t keep her fingers from tightening even more around Turner.
One booming heartbeat passed. Then two.
On the third, she slid back ever so slightly—grip still tight—and let a grin fall over her lips. “Well, color me surprised, Turner Hahn.” She stared into his dark, heavy eyes, and she didn’t bother to hide the desire she knew was pulsing in her own gaze. “You have changed a lot in six years. It feels like…” She patted lower, lower. “Yep, it feels like you finally grew a pair. It’s about time.” She dragged her hand back up…and released him.
Then, before he could respond or pull away or do anything beyond try to suck in his breath, Mel had the pistol back out of her waistband and trained on the bulge in his pants. “Now if we’re done with this round of chicken, I’d say it’s time I chained you back to the stairwell. As you’ve probably deduced by now, I won’t kill you.”  She smiled even wider. God, victory felt good sometimes. “But I will shoot you. So move along before I decide those balls you finally grew would look better hanging over Daphne’s steering wheel.”


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