julie in leather jacket

You can bet that Barbara never let up on teenaged Jason Todd.

“A cigarette? Ooooh, edgy.”

“Outta the way everyone, baby James Dean coming through!”

“A leather jacket? In July? No no I get it, can’t let them think you’re not committed.”

“Whoa! Sorry, I just wasn’t sure if Grease Lightning was going to pop out from behind you.”

wretchedhumanbeing  asked:

hiii! i'm so sorry if this is obnoxious and i'm asking for too much, but could you guys PLEASE update the "established", "4th of july", and the "stiles wears derek's leather jacket" tags?? these are some of my favorites and i'm going on a long trip and need to stock up on fics lol. thank uuuuuu <3 this blog is everything!

established was updated pretty recently so i’ll do the other two (have a nice trip!!)

july 4th

I Pledge Allegiance by bleep0bleep (1/1 | 1,381 | PG13)

Derek tenses. “It’s fine,” he says quickly, staring at the stars-and-stripes patterned speedo in his hands.

Or, the one in which Derek is the only one at the pack barbeque without a swimsuit, but is determined to socialize anyways. Even in a speedo.

Swim by rainsoakedshoes (1/1 | 2,746 | NC17)

“I thought it might be a bit cooler by the water,” Stiles said. “But I was wrong.”
“The waters nice though,” Derek pointed out. He edged forward so he was sitting on the very edge of the dock, and his feet were submerged in the water.
“You thinking about a little moonlight swim?” Stiles teased, knocking shoulders with Derek.

Deal with it. by xXToxicKlutzXx (14/14 | 40,396 | R)

Stiles is driving his jeep down the road when suddenly , he feels sick. He pulls over and gets out of the car right as he is about to puke. He knew drinking as much as he did was not the best decision but what was he supposed to do? His dad worked all night , His best friend blew him off ever since he got back together with Allison, and his elementary school crush Lydia was in love with Jackson. Now it was just Stiles… All on his own. Now what? It was Stiles all alone in the woods, throwing up. Wondering what to do.

The Fireworks Aren’t Only in the Sky by augopher (1/1 | 4,899 | PG13)

A family outing to the annual Beacon Hills 4th of July BBQ leads to confessions of love and a revelation.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game by zjofierose (1/1 | 3,063 | PG13)

It’s all fun and games until someone catches a baseball with their face, Stiles.

stiles wears dereks jacket

Looking for something? by pizzz_10 (1/1 | 848 | NC17)

Derek can’t find his jacket, thats because a certain teenage boy has it

Leather & Us by PolarisTheYoungWolf (1/1 | 1,536 | NC17)

Prompt: Stiles wearing only Derek’s leather jacket …

tease me with your love by Finduilas (1/1 | 645 | R)

Stiles is wearing Derek’s leather jacket. And nothing else. 

Convenience Store

He came in one day when you were still nursing a hangover over your register.

It was only 10 AM. You realized later on that this was an unusual time for him to come in. The door chimed and you groaned internally, unprepared to start the day as a functional human being.

Your interest was peaked when you glanced at the reflective glass and saw someone wearing what appeared to be a heavy leather jacket. In July. Curious, you watched as the stranger ran a hand through his raven locks and walked over to the fridge.

He was broad shouldered. Tall. Wore some heavy boots and a couple of heavy ring on his fingers. You licked your lips anxiously. His aura was intriguing and you were suddenly nervous about seeing his face.

He swung open the door and rummaged through the bottles. You bet yourself he would get a Red Bull. Or even a beer. He totally seemed like a guy that would get a beer at 10AM. The sleeve of his jacket rode up a little and you saw what seemed to be an intricate tattoo. You squinted to inspect further but he suddenly cleared his throat, grabbed a carton of milk and began to gulp it down with gusto.

You watched as a trickle of milk rolled down his chin, his adam’s apple beating rhythmically. When the last of the diary had reached his mouth, he gave a satisfied sigh, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth.

You wondered if he was the Terminator.

He sauntered over to the register, milk carton still in hand and you got a real good look at him. He was good looking in the way that it was almost too predictable. Steel grey eyes, high cheekbones, full lips. His hair fell effortlessly round his jawline. He wore a white tank top under his jacket which failed to conceal the plethora of tattoos spread across his chest. His fingers were tattooed. It was almost as if he purposely trying to look scary to distract everyone from noticing how handsome he was. You tried to suppress a scoff.

“How much?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbly. His stormy eyes looked past you, tired but alert.

“Two forty nine.” You replied, your eyes scanning his face, trying to memorize his features so you could remember this as the most interesting customer you’ve had so far.

He dug into his pockets, dropped the change, and walked out before you had time to open the register. And he was gone. Just like that. Just like a dream.


It was August 9th the next time he came in.

You were working the overnight shift. Why you agreed to this, you still weren’t sure. You wanted to torture yourself. Maybe you were bored. You assumed you’d see more interesting characters at night. You were almost wrong.

The bell chimed as you chewed your gum and you barely glanced up from your trashy tabloid magazine. You sensed him before you saw him. You smelled the leather and the faint scent of cigarettes. He was already at the fridge when you finally saw him.

He grabbed the same as last time. One liter, Mrs. Perry’s fresh farm whole milk. You were two percent fan. You wondered if normal people even drank whole milk anymore. He opened the carton again and drank it in one steady gulp. You watched as milk dribbled down his chin again.

He walked over and nodded at you. He seemed more awake this time.

“Pack of Marlboro” He drawled, setting the empty carton down on the counter. You reached behind you to get them feeling his eyes on your back. He opened them immediately and placed a slender, death stick between his lips as you ran the register.

You wondered if he always opened products before paying for them. You could see where he was coming from. Testing out the product before committing right? What’s not to say the milk wasn’t spoiled (it wasn’t–you only stocked it this morning) or the cigarettes weren’t faulty (you wouldn’t know, you’ve never smoked). It was perfectly reasonable.  But you know if your manager was on duty he would reprimand you.

You stammer the price out this time. He reaches deep into his pockets and leaves a crumpled twenty. He’s out the door before you can give him the change.


It was almost 2AM when you start dozing off. You’re doing an overnight again. This time it’s on purpose.

You’ve only thought about the leather clad stranger about fifty times. Everyday your head would perk up for every customer entering the door but it wasn’t him. Not at 10AM or 7PM. The only logical explanation was that he’s vampire. Hence he only comes out after midnight. So you switched with Peter, the chubby, watery eyed new guy for the overnight. He was more than happy. You wonder if you made a stupid mistake.

Visions of cigarettes, milk, leather and spice cloud your half closed eyes. The door dings but you’re too exhausted to care at this point. You hear laughter and footsteps towards the fridge and you know it’s not him. He doesn’t laugh. At least you’ve never heard him.

“Padfoot, I don’t know why I agreed to this. I really don’t think they’re moving tonight. You’ve staked out here for the past month. Its not today.”

The fridge door slams and you finally snap awake. You see a mop of jet black hair and your heart leaps for a second. You blink rapidly only to realize its just a man with a wide grin and glasses. He’s holding a red bull. Typical.

You ring up the register when you see him. He has a pack of crisps this time. The milk is already open and finished. His friend visibly cringes at the empty carton.

“Honestly Pads, I don’t know you can drink a liter of milk every frickin day,” the friend blanches putting his red bull on the counter.

You forgot to breathe. Your heart is going a thousand miles a minute. The thoughts racing through your head are actually quite simple. His name is Padfoot (what kind of name is that??). He looks gorgeous.He does drink a liter of milk every day. He looks so fricking gorgeous He’s been staked out here for a month?!

Before you can stop yourself, your humongous mouth opens. “Are you an assassin?” You blurt out, staring Padfoot in the eye. There is a silence. You are mortified. Maybe Padfoot is his code name.

The friend speaks first, early leaning forward with a cheshire grin. “Well depending on who you’re asking, he might as well-”

“Give it a rest Prongs” Padfoot snaps in response.

Oh no. You’ve offended him. But you might be right?

Padfoot clears his throat. “I’m a detective.” he states. “Undercover,” he adds quickly when you look over his attire. Same leather jacket.

“Me too!” Prongs chimes in. “We’ve been investigating a drug trafficking ring that we think might have their headquarters close to here. Dead boring honestly. Haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary in weeks.”

You nod as you began to bag up the items. Internally, you’re ecstatic. A detective. You know an assassin was too good to be true. But a detective is better than you could have hoped. You wonder if you should work only overnights from now on. You should talk to Peter.

The man named Prongs continued to blabber but you tuned him out. He’s a little noisy. You turn eagerly towards Padfoot and offer a tentative smile. He clears his throat again and pulls out a wallet.

“If you see any suspicious activities, give us a call.” He states casually, sliding a card towards you. You stop breathing again. He nods and heads out.

The card reads: Sirius Black. Senior Investigator.