lets call this 'i have too much time on my hands'

Harvey Weinsten sexually Harassed Lupita Nyong’o

Lupita: “I have been following the news and reading the accounts of women coming forward to talk about being assaulted by Harvey Weinstein and others. I had shelved my experience with Harvey far in the recesses of my mind, joining in the conspiracy of silence that has allowed this predator to prowl for so many years. I had felt very much alone when these things happened, and I had blamed myself for a lot of it, quite like many of the other women who have shared their stories.

But now that this is being discussed openly, I have not been able to avoid the memories resurfacing. I have felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I have felt such a flare of rage that the experience I recount below was not a unique incident with me, but rather part of a sinister pattern of behavior.

I met Harvey Weinstein in 2011 at an awards ceremony in Berlin, while I was still a student at the Yale School of Drama. An intermediary introduced him to me as “the most powerful producer in Hollywood.” As an aspiring actress, I was of course eager to meet people in the industry but cautious about strangers, and the intentions of men in general. So I tried to vet this famous producer by asking my dinner-table companions what they knew of him. A woman who was a producer herself cautiously advised me to “keep Harvey in your corner.” She said: “He is a good man to know in the business, but just be careful around him. He can be a bully.” And so I exchanged contacts with him in the hopes that I would be of consideration for one of his projects. I wanted to keep things professional, so I made a point of referring to him as “Mr. Weinstein.” But he insisted that I call him by his first name. In this first encounter, I found him to be very direct and authoritative, but also charming. He didn’t quite put me at ease, but he didn’t alarm me, either.

Not long after we met in Berlin, Harvey wrote to me inviting me to attend a screening of a film — a competitor’s film similar to one he had produced. He said we would be watching it with his family at his home in Westport, Conn., which was not far away from New Haven, where I was living at the time. He would send a car to pick me up. I accepted the invitation.

The driver and I met Harvey in the little town of Westport, where he informed me that we would be having lunch at a restaurant before getting to his home. I did not think much of this. It was a busy restaurant, and as soon as we sat down he ordered a vodka and diet soda for himself. I asked for a juice. Harvey was unimpressed with my choice and told the waiter to bring me a vodka and diet soda instead. I declined and said I wanted the juice. We went back and forth until finally he turned to the waiter and said, “Get her what I tell you to get her. I’m the one paying the bill.” I smiled and remained silent. The waiter left and returned with a vodka and diet soda for me. He placed it on the table beside my water. I drank the water. Harvey told me that I needed to drink the vodka and diet soda. I informed him that I would not.

“Why not?” I remember him asking. “Because I don’t like vodka, and I don’t like diet soda, and I don’t like them together,” I said. “You are going to drink that,” he insisted. I smiled again and said that I wouldn’t. He gave up and called me stubborn. I said, “I know.” And the meal proceeded without much further ado. In this second encounter with Harvey, I found him to be pushy and idiosyncratic more than anything.

We got to his home after lunch and I met his domestic staff and his young children. He took me on a brief tour of the house before he rounded us all up in the screening room to watch the film. He had just produced a similar film of his own, but everyone was raving about this rival version.

I settled in for the film, but about 15 minutes in, Harvey came for me, saying he wanted to show me something. I protested that I wanted to finish the film first, but he insisted I go with him, laying down the law as though I too was one of his children. I did not want another back-and-forth in front of his kids, so I complied and left the room with him. I explained that I really wanted to see the film. He said we’d go back shortly.

Harvey led me into a bedroom — his bedroom — and announced that he wanted to give me a massage. I thought he was joking at first. He was not. For the first time since I met him, I felt unsafe. I panicked a little and thought quickly to offer to give him one instead: It would allow me to be in control physically, to know exactly where his hands were at all times.

Part of our drama school curriculum at Yale included body work, using massage techniques on one another to understand the connection between body, mind and emotion, and so I felt I could rationalize giving him one and keep a semblance of professionalism in spite of the bizarre circumstance. He agreed to this and lay on the bed. I began to massage his back to buy myself time to figure out how to extricate myself from this undesirable situation. Before long he said he wanted to take off his pants. I told him not to do that and informed him that it would make me extremely uncomfortable. He got up anyway to do so and I headed for the door, saying that I was not at all comfortable with that. “If we’re not going to watch the film, I really should head back to school,” I said.

I opened the door and stood by the frame. He put his shirt on and again mentioned how stubborn I was. I agreed with an easy laugh, trying to get myself out of the situation safely. I was after all on his premises, and the members of his household, the potential witnesses, were all (strategically, it seems to me now) in a soundproof room.

Earlier Harvey had sent the driver to the store to buy a boxed collection of “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency,” an HBO show that he had produced. This was the project he thought I would be right for, he said. (I later found out that the show had not been on the air for some time.) As I prepared to leave his home, he presented it to me. He wanted me to check it out and let him know what I thought. He would be in touch about it. I left for New Haven with his driver.

I didn’t quite know how to process the massage incident. I reasoned that it had been inappropriate and uncalled-for, but not overtly sexual. I was entering into a business where the intimate is often professional and so the lines are blurred. I was in an educational program where I was giving massages to my classmates and colleagues every day. Though the incident with Harvey had made me uncomfortable, I was able to explain and justify it to myself, and shelve it as an awkward moment. His offer to me to be a part of the HBO show was a very attractive one and I was excited about it, especially as I would be graduating in another year. I didn’t know how to proceed without jeopardizing my future. But I knew I would not be accepting any more visits to private spaces with Harvey Weinstein.

I decided to invite Harvey to come to a production I was in at school. Perhaps that way he would really see what I had to offer, and he would see my colleagues, too. He accepted the invitation, but the night of the production, he sent a message saying he had been caught up in New York and would be unable to attend. He would make it up to me. So when I received an official invitation to a staged reading of his new Broadway show, “Finding Neverland,” I was not surprised. I was still debating whether I should accept his invitation, and so I responded saying I was not certain that I could make it because of my school schedule. He responded with exactly the words I needed to hear: Come with whomever you want to come with. And so I invited two of my trusted male friends.

We attended the reading, and afterward Harvey invited us all to a restaurant for dinner with his comrades and collaborators. He sat me next to him, and another actress sat across from me. He had my friends sit at a different table. The talk was shop the whole time and Harvey held court with ease. He was charming and funny once more, and I felt confused about the discomfort I had previously experienced. I looked at the actress who I was informed had just worked with him on a project, searching her face for any sort of indication that she too had been made to feel uncomfortable by this powerful man, but of course I saw nothing. We did not stay very long because we had to catch a train back to New Haven. My friends had been equally charmed by Harvey. He knew when to turn it on if he wanted something. He was definitely a bully, but he could be really charming, which was disarming and confusing. I left feeling that perhaps he had learned my boundaries and was going to respect them.

A couple of months later, I received an email from Harvey, inviting me again to New York for a screening of “W.E.” After the screening, we would have drinks in TriBeCa. I then received a phone call from one of his male assistants to arrange my transportation. Feeling more confident about the new sense of boundaries that we had established in our last meeting, I attended the screening on my own this time. Afterward, as planned, his male assistant arranged for me to get to the Tribeca Grill, where Harvey would be joining us. I met a female assistant when I arrived there. I was expecting that it would be a group of us, as it had been for the reading, but she informed me it would just be Mr. Weinstein. She would sit with me until he arrived. She seemed on edge, but I could only imagine how stressful it was to work for a man who had so much going on.

Harvey arrived and the assistant immediately disappeared. We ordered drinks and starters. Again he was offended by my nonalcoholic beverage choice but he didn’t fight me on it as hard. Before the starters arrived, he announced: “Let’s cut to the chase. I have a private room upstairs where we can have the rest of our meal.” I was stunned. I told him I preferred to eat in the restaurant. He told me not to be so naïve. If I wanted to be an actress, then I had to be willing to do this sort of thing. He said he had dated Famous Actress X and Y and look where that had gotten them.

I was silent for a while before I mustered up the courage to politely decline his offer. “You have no idea what you are passing up,” he said. “With all due respect, I would not be able to sleep at night if I did what you are asking, so I must pass,” I replied.

His whole demeanor changed at that point. “Then I guess we are two ships passing in the night.” I had never heard that saying before, so I remember asking him what it meant. “It means just that,” he said. “We are two ships going in two different directions.”

“Yes, I guess we are.”

“So we are done here,” he said. “You can leave.”

We got up, having not eaten anything, and he led me out of the restaurant. My heart was beating very fast. A cab was hailed for me. I said I would take the subway (I could not afford a cab at the time), but he handed me some money and told me not to be silly, take the cab. Before I got in, I needed to make sure that I had not awakened a beast that would go on to ruin my name and destroy my chances in the business even before I got there.

“I just want to know that we are good,” I said.

“I don’t know about your career, but you’ll be fine,” he said. It felt like both a threat and a reassurance at the same time; of what, I couldn’t be sure.

I did not see Harvey again until September 2013 when I was in Toronto for the premiere of “12 Years a Slave,” the first feature film I was in. At an after-party, he found me and evicted whoever was sitting next to me to sit beside me. He said he couldn’t believe how fast I had gotten to where I was, and that he had treated me so badly in the past. He was ashamed of his actions and he promised to respect me moving forward. I said thank you and left it at that. But I made a quiet promise to myself to never ever work with Harvey Weinstein.

Not long after I won the Academy Award in 2014, I received an offer to play a role in one of the Weinstein Company’s forthcoming films. I knew I would not do it simply because it was the Weinstein Company, but I did not feel comfortable telling this to anybody. I turned down the role, but Harvey would not take no for an answer. While at Cannes, he insisted on meeting with me in person. I agreed to do it only because my agent would be present. In the meeting, he was honest about intending to persuade me to do his movie. I told him I simply did not feel it was a role I needed to play. He said he was open to making it bigger, more significant, maybe they could add a love scene. He said if I did this one for him, he would do another one for me — basically guaranteeing backing a star-vehicle film for me. I ran out of ways of politely saying no and so did my agent. I was so exasperated by the end that I just kept quiet. Harvey finally accepted my position and expressed that he still wanted to work with me at some point. “Thank you, I hope so,” I lied.

And that was the last of my personal encounters with Harvey Weinstein. I share all of this now because I know now what I did not know then. I was part of a growing community of women who were secretly dealing with harassment by Harvey Weinstein. But I also did not know that there was a world in which anybody would care about my experience with him. You see, I was entering into a community that Harvey Weinstein had been in, and even shaped, long before I got there. He was one of the first people I met in the industry, and he told me, “This is the way it is.” And wherever I looked, everyone seemed to be bracing themselves and dealing with him, unchallenged. I did not know that things could change. I did not know that anybody wanted things to change. So my survival plan was to avoid Harvey and men like him at all costs, and I did not know that I had allies in this.

Fortunately for me, I have not dealt with any such incidents in the business since. And I think it is because all the projects I have been a part of have had women in positions of power, along with men who are feminists in their own right who have not abused their power. What I am most interested in now is combating the shame we go through that keeps us isolated and allows for harm to continue to be done. I wish I had known that there were women in the business I could have talked to. I wish I had known that there were ears to hear me. That justice could be served. There is clearly power in numbers. I thank the women who have spoken up and given me the strength to revisit this unfortunate moment in my past.

Our business is complicated because intimacy is part and parcel of our profession; as actors we are paid to do very intimate things in public. That’s why someone can have the audacity to invite you to their home or hotel and you show up. Precisely because of this we must stay vigilant and ensure that the professional intimacy is not abused. I hope we are in a pivotal moment where a sisterhood — and brotherhood of allies — is being formed in our industry. I hope we can form a community where a woman can speak up about abuse and not suffer another abuse by not being believed and instead being ridiculed. That’s why we don’t speak up — for fear of suffering twice, and for fear of being labeled and characterized by our moment of powerlessness. Though we may have endured powerlessness at the hands of Harvey Weinstein, by speaking up, speaking out and speaking together, we regain that power. And we hopefully ensure that this kind of rampant predatory behavior as an accepted feature of our industry dies here and now.

Now that we are speaking, let us never shut up about this kind of thing. I speak up to make certain that this is not the kind of misconduct that deserves a second chance. I speak up to contribute to the end of the conspiracy of silence.”


I’m so happy Lupita shared her story and I have so much more respect for her and commend her for sticking by her morals. It’s disgusting that Harvey would even try something with her while his kids were in the other room, what a sick bastard

A Package Marked “Return to sender”

Story by reddit user manen_lyset

My neighbor is one of those annoying wannabe YouTube personalities. Over the years, I’ve seen him cough out cinnamon, lay flat on the hood of his car as it slowly creeps down the driveway, and douse himself in lukewarm water, all the while screaming epic win, epic fail, or, fuck, epic maintenance of the status quo, for all I know. It can get tiring to watch him go about his shenanigans in the pursuit of viral fame. So, when he knocked on my door the other day, told me he was going away for a few weeks, and asked that I get his mail, honestly, it was a relief. I can’t explain the peace of mind I had knowing I didn’t have to brace myself for any of his stupidity for a while. I was always afraid his stunts would wind up bleeding over into my life.

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13.01 coda

YAY WE’RE BACK, EVERYONE!!! Did you miss me?? I missed you.

If you would like to be added to or taken off of the master tag list for the season 13 post-episode codas, please send me a message ASAP. Thanks, guys!

Anyway, this scene definitely should have been in the ep.

“Can he teleport?”

“What?”

“The kid!” Dean snaps. “Does he have wings?”

Sam stutters out that he doesn’t know, and, right. How would he? Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it comes away bloody - his lip stings where he’s touched it.

He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. He’s trying his absolute hardest to keep it together, but his hands shake regardless.

“We can check along the main roads,” Sam placates, mistaking his silence for frustration. “We’ll be faster in the car than he is on foot, assuming he doesn’t fly, and he can’t have gotten far.”

Dean opens his eyes, but he doesn’t reply. He keeps his back to his brother.

“It’s going to be ok, Dean,” Sam says, only a few feet behind him now, and damn it if that just doesn’t break Dean’s heart all over again.

Soon enough he hears the dirt start to crunch under Sam’s shoes. He has to swerve around Dean to get to the passenger side, his usual post in times of crisis, but Dean lets out a sigh just as he gets his hand on the door.

“Wait.”

Sam turns back to look at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean swallows. “I need you to help me with something first.”

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Once upon a time there was a beast and a curse and an enchantress, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Better put it this way: once upon a time a girl was locked in a castle, and she begged so hard not to be the sleeping princess that she became the beast. That’s more like it, anyway — fairytale logic. You get what you wish for, but it isn’t what you want.

“Don’t let it be a prince,” she begged, “don’t let it be a kiss I can’t see coming and can’t refuse.”

Enchantresses, wicked fairies, call them what you will — they’re all the same story in the end. No one will remember if this enchantress began the story by giving the princess a naming day gift of a hundred year sleep once the tale switches to another track. The point is that she didn’t mind granting this one favor. Maybe it was an issue of statistics. Maybe she thought finding a girl who would fall in love with a princess-beast would be harder than finding a prince to kiss her, make her curse harder to lift (considering the probabilities of who might wander onto the cursed castle grounds). As if girls who love girls don’t know they have to fight harder to begin with, as if they won’t cross miles for each other.

So maybe there was a spindle once, but now there is a rose, and a girl who wanders through a thorn maze unable to find her way. This is the wrong story, she thinks to herself, clutching her leather satchel tighter, but she doesn’t know what the right story is.

“Let me through?” She suggests to the roses that grow squeezed between their own thorns along the twisting hedges. “I’m looking for the love of my life. I’m in a hurry.”

She’s met only with the rustling of leaves and haughty scoffs. “No prince ever found his true love by being in a hurry.”

“I’m not a prince. I’m a shoemaker, and I’m lost. Can you let me through to the castle?” It rises dark and spindly overhead, but though it seems so close she can see no way out of the maze.

Laughter, echoing through the hedge corridors, and then something dark prowls around the corner and half-crouches there, hidden as much as possible under a hooded cloak. Shining talons dig into the earth under their feet.

The beast says, “A shoemaker? You really are in the wrong story.” Her voice is gravely and doesn’t match the laughter. That must have been the roses as well.

“I have glass shoes,” the girl says, staring at those claws. “Or I can make something sturdier, if you give me time.”

“I don’t have enough time of my own to be giving it away,” the beast says, bored, and gestures around them. Even now the hedges seem to be encroaching further into the maze’s corridors, the roses growing and multiplying. One day soon, the girl realizes, the maze will entirely fill in, and the castle will be blocked off.

She’s clever, and she’s brave, and those are the two most important things for a fairytale heroine to be — besides pretty, but that’s easy enough to fake with the right kind of smile. “Then don’t give it to me,” she says, “we can share.”

So the beast reaches out one arm, fingers tapering into knives that she curls so gently they don’t more than scratch the girl’s skin — and the shoemaker takes it with an earnest gravity, looking right under her cloak’s shadow and into her eyes.

The beast’s eyes are unnaturally big and inhumanly shaped, but they’re not cruel, and in fairytales the evil beasts always have cruel eyes. The girl bobs a polite curtsey, using the beast’s arm for balance, and sees those eyes narrow slightly with amusement.

They walk through the twists and turns of the maze to the castle, the beast bent slightly so as not to tower over her guest. “About those shoes,” she says, when they reach the front doors, golden light spilling from the entrance hall and shining through the delicately carved details in the ancient wood.

“In the morning,” the girl says, and because she clearly has not even entertained the thought that she might be argued with, the beast cannot summon an objection. She watches the girl follow an unfurling carpet along the floor to a dusty guest room with no hesitation, as if every dwelling should be as accommodating.

And in the way of fairytales, that’s enough to make the beast fall in love — a disregard for every unspoken rule, a smile that glimmers in the darkness. Should I tell you that the moment the girl arrives at breakfast the next morning the beast can barely look away from her for a moment, that she stays by the girl’s side as she produces leather and tools from nowhere and searches floor by floor for the perfect room to work in — or should I let you imagine for yourself?

Gradually the hood is pulled back, eventually the cloak discarded altogether; they sit in patches of sunlight together to eat lunch, staring down at the maze below. Roses and leaves devouring each other and everything in slow motion.

“If you stay too long you’ll be trapped here,” the beast warns, anxious when the girls shows no concern in her usual solemn air as she watches the maze devolve.

“I haven’t finished your shoes,” is all she says. Each new morning she promises that in return for this latest night of hospitality she is making the shoes more beautiful, and each evening that she has not finished she stays another night.

Sometimes when the girl has gone to bed the beast sneaks back into the workroom, in agony over whether to rip out the stitches or finish the work for her.

Leave before you are trapped here forever.

Stay here forever because I love you.

Each night she does not touch the shoes and returns to sleep herself, and in the morning the girl thanks her for letting her stay, as if the beast could ever turn her out, and promises to repay the night with even more beautiful shoes.

And each morning the beast says, “That’s fair,” and wishes she could find different words, the words she means to say.

The maze grows. The roses are larger than hands with fully spread fingers. The corridors are barely large enough for a small girl to squeeze through. In the dawn light it is lit gently and slightly pink, but the sight of it is painful. The wide window of the workroom shows the progress the maze had made alarmingly clearly, and it’s only then that the beast wonders if that was the appeal of this room over all the others.

The girl appears silently in the doorway as she has for the past week. “Thank you for letting me stay last night. I’ll repay you—”

“No,” the beast says, her voice alarmed and rough. “No. You are leaving now.”

“Now?”

“Before you can’t leave. You must go now.” Her throat is closing up and her voice growing thicker with each word. They’re not the words she wants to say.

The girl cocks her head, a curiously nonjudgmental silence. Finally she crosses the room to her worktable and picks up the shoes, turning them around and around again. They’re boots, really, and almost comically big in her hands. The beast cannot tell if they are as beautiful as she was promised, because the girl is smiling now and that eclipses all else.

“Are they finished?” She asks.

“Yes,” the beast says, unable to choke out anything more.

The girl leaves the boots on the table and swings her satchel, out of nowhere, across her shoulders. “Thank you for sharing your time,” she says. For a moment she holds the beast’s hand in both of hers, and then she’s gone. From the window the beast can watch her leave; for all her trouble getting there, she finds her way out with ease.

She leaves the workroom and doesn’t return all day.

Do beasts grieve? She hadn’t thought they could. She hadn’t grieved when the curse was settled on her; she hadn’t grieved at the idea that it might never lift once the maze finally knit itself together during the coming night. But the loneliness she feels now was different. The absence of the shoemaker is something worse. She’d had no choice in her fate, but she had told the girl to leave. This misery she’d brought on herself.

At night she wanders back into the workroom out of habit, sleepless and hopeless and refusing to glance out the window. Has it happened yet? Is she truly trapped now, or will it happen in five minutes, an hour, at dawn? She stares at the boots for an indeterminable amount of time before she thinks of putting them on.

She does so only because she thinks the girl wanted her to wear them; left to her own devices she might have destroyed them with as little thought as she now gives to slipping them on. They are big enough, and the fasteners are easy to close even with her unwieldy claws. Designs etched into the leather yet invisible in the darkness spiral and branch out beneath the thumb-pad she runs over them. Vines, she thinks. Roses.

A tear slips out, or three, as she stands in her beautiful new boots and smells leather and rotting roses. I want her back, she thinks, even as a wave of thankfulness rises up from the deepness in her, thankfulness that the shoemaker will never feel this trapped. I want to go to her, she revises. Since she doesn’t know how, she goes to leave the workroom instead.

One step and darkness is rushing past her. The rough scrap of stone walls, the rustle of leaves and the tearing of thorns, night air soft all around her. She has stepped not into the hallway but out of the castle, beyond the maze, into the star-dappled night.

“What did you do?” She asks, alarmed, almost before she sees the shoemaker sitting cross-legged on the grassy hill, as still as if she has been waiting all day and night. “What happened?”

“I found what I came for,” the girl says calmly. “And I made her shoes.”

A voice told him where to go, and he went.

Maybe there was a time when the word of a disembodied voice would not have been enough. He doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember a lot of things. He remembers a lot of things. He remembers the wrong things.

He is slow. Maybe he wasn’t always slow, but he is slow now. There is no straight line between points. He considers every tree and every flower. He picks apples and catches lizards. He stares at the sky, and chases the stars.

He doesn’t speak much. He’s told he never did. He wonders if it was then what it is now, the way the words taste wrong and never fit on his tongue. Hylian and Hylian and Hylian but it never sounds right to the points of his ears. His first language is foreign and his accent is nowhere. He doesn’t sound like a hero. He doesn’t know what he sounds like, but he knows he doesn’t like it. It grates the way any wrong thing grates. He says nothing, and no one seems to mind.

He catches beetles, and stops to take pictures of fish.

In the burnt husk of a home, he finds a rusted shield. It didn’t do them much good, whoever they had been. He finds them all over, these floors without ceilings, these roofs without walls. He wonders, always: have I been here before? Did I know them, once? This house on the mountain, this cabin in the woods, would they have recognized me? Was this a name that fit on my tongue?

He learns to bake a cake, breaks rock salt and rubies from veins of ore in the earth.

He moves the sails of a raft with a Korok leaf, and he thinks: this should be easier. He wills the wind to move, but there is nothing. He looks out at the ocean and thinks: what might we find there? His raft is dead wood. He is alone.

He catches fairies in his hands, pink light and warmth and a faint ringing in his skin. They never complain. They never speak. He opens his hands to let them go, and they are the wrong color. The Great Fairy laughs, and it’s so much prettier than it used to be. Than it never was. He rolls glass bottles in his hands, but he doesn’t take them with him.

There is something restful in this. He can’t explain it, even if he had words to try. In his long slumber something inside him came unmoored, and he knows things he must not. He is tired. He knows this most of all. There is work to be done. There has always been work to be done.

He lights a fire, roasts a fish, picks at the flaky meat while it’s still hot enough to burn his fingertips.

He thinks of a sister he never had. He thinks of a grandmother he never had. Did he know his grandmother? In the Lost Woods he stares at the Deku Tree, and knows this is not home. There is a green-haired girl on the backs of his eyelids, and she sounds like three notes repeating.

He finds an ocarina made of wood, and runs his fingers over the holes. Three notes, repeating. He plays them, and nothing happens. He checks the shape of the moon and his reflection in the water. He plays three notes, different this time. There is nothing but an ache.

It sounds more like his voice than his voice ever did, and that hurts worse than silence.

He tries to remember Mipha. He wants to remember her most of all. They were friends, he is told. Close, he is told. He has nothing but fragments and a shirt that fits too well. When he tries to remember, he sees blue scales instead of red.

Zelda is Zelda is Zelda. She is the reference point around which the world turns. She is always Zelda, even when she isn’t. Her face is always her face. He is grateful and resentful in turns. There are so many people he would remember, if he could. Instead there is Zelda.

Ganon is not Ganon is not Ganon. He doesn’t know if Ganon has a face. He’s had so many faces. Was this ever a man, this manifestation of malice? He remembers eyes of gold, he remembers snouts. He recognizes the smell of him in burnt cloves and blood.

Fear is red lights and a blue glow. He knows these things were hope, once. He can’t remember it. He can’t remember seeing six metal legs and believing they would save him. Did he always know that it was helpless? It feels like he should have known.

The words are different, but the meaning is the same. He is procrastinating. If he needed an excuse, he would call it training. He would say they need every advantage. He would say they will only have one chance. No one asks for excuses. He says nothing.

Zelda has waited a hundred years. She waits, still.

She remembers a boy who never rushed her. She remembers, the way he does not, his silent patience while she found herself. While she took too long to find herself. She will wait for him to find himself, even if he takes too long. They may doom the world with their patience, but does the world not owe them this? There are so many worlds, and so few of them are kind. What could this world have been, if it had been kind? What might she have saved if it had not demanded saving?

She did not save the world. She will not save the world. She saved a single point of kindness who did not ask it from her. She will not ask it from him, but he may save her all the same. He is courageous. He is kind. Please, be careful.

He catches Koroks in durian trees, and chases dragons through canyons.

He jumps off a cliff to land in a stable, and no one there sees the hero he should be. He is no one, he is nothing. He is halfway to a beast, but they’re grateful for his help, when he offers it. He always offers it. He doesn’t know how not to.

His hands are calloused. Sometimes they bleed. He ties up his hair every morning, and does not stop. Swords fit so neatly in his hand. Sometimes he uses them to light fires or carve birds. It’s just easier. A sword is all he knows. He’s trying to be more. This might be beyond him.

Sometimes he growls when he’s angry. Sometimes he rips things apart with his teeth. Sometimes dogs follow him, but sometimes they whine. The shadows aren’t always unfriendly, and he feels them like fingers in his hair. There are eyes like fire in the mirrors at night, but he can only see them in the corners of his eyes.

The first time the Gerudo catch him, it was because he tried to scale their walls. Why did he think that would work? Urbosa would laugh if she knew.

He catches horses, but they’re never the right one. The hooves are wrong, the gait is wrong. They are never a part of him, an extension of his own legs. He rides across fields and they hesitate the way she never did. He whistles three notes, sometimes, but it never works.

He finds it, eventually. The place the voice told him about. Walls without a roof. Has he been here before? Surely he has. It’s night when he arrives. His footsteps make no sound. This is how he navigates the world, now, quiet as the sky. It’s easier this way. He kneels down to catch the latch on the chest, and when it opens, he cannot breathe.

He stares at it for a long time.

The moon is only the moon. His skin is still his own. Eventually, he breathes again.

He almost laughs.

He slides the mask onto his face.

Serendipity | (M)

Originally posted by jengkook

❝ The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. After forgetting to click out of his pornhub incognito tab last night, you find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook at 3am watching the rest of it.❞

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Suga Daddy: Part 11

Suga Daddy: Part 11 (m)

Word count: 8.3k

Genre/Warnings: smut, angst, language, dom!Yoongi, choking and dirty talk

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi comes with you to Jungkook’s graduation.

I think there might be just a few chapters left. 

Parts: {playlist} one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

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Richie Tozier hasn’t spoken a word to anybody since he came to Derry in the middle of the school year. Until he talks to Eddie Kaspbrak.

Chapter one.

He sits in the back of the classroom with his head on the table and his eyes closed, chocolate curls dancing along his forehead and plump lips curled into the most beautiful frown. Nobody knows why he’s here, or where he’s come from, just that he smokes expensive cigarettes and smells like an adult’s cologne. Sixteen-year-old Richie Tozier has not spoken a word to anybody in the eleventh grade since the first day he arrived—December seventh, Eddie would never forget it.

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spellbound (m)

Pairing:  Jimin x Reader
Genre: witch!au (sort of based on the secret circle), smut, comedy, slight angst
Warnings: dom-ish!jimin, magical sex rituals (so slight blood play, breath play, temperature play), rough sex, cumplay
Word Count:  10k+
Summary:  The only reason you agreed to do this magical ritual with Park Jimin’s Circle was for the sake of your own Circle - to strengthen your individual magic. Yes, that means you’ll have to fuck him, but no, you weren’t happy about it because you hate Park Jimin. Once again, you were only doing this for your Circle. 

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dating tom holland...pt. 3
  • if i’m being honest, he’d probably smell amazing 24/7
  • not even his cologne just like his scent, there’s just something so comforting about him too
  • the day before he had to leave for press or filming he’d cling onto you like a koala
    • “I’m not letting go until I absolutely have to,” he’d whine as you tried to push him off
    • “tom I have to pee,”
    • “no you don’t that’s false,”
    • “GET OFF ME BEFORE BAD THINGS HAPPEN”
  • reluctantly letting go of you so you could go pee
  • hearing your name through the door
    • [Y/N]!!!”
    • “come baaaack”
    • “….I can hear you pee” followed by loud giggling as you flush the toilet and quickly was your hands
  • he promises to call, text, and facetime you as often as possible when he’s away
  • and obviously he sticks to his promises cause he’s that guy™
    • “I miss yoooouuuu”
    • “harrison doesn’t cuddle like you”
    • “I miss your cooking” 
  • reuniting with each other is both your favourite things
  • you’d be waiting at the airport, trying to be as lowkey as possible since there was already a swarm of paparazzi’s
  • him noticing you as soon as he stepped through those doors
  • running and jumping into his arms as he threw down all his belongings
    • multiple kisses all over your face
    • whispering “i’m gonna make up for all our lost time when we get home”
  • and he so does
  • not being able to keep his hands off you the second you step through the door
    • “what gotten into you, tom?” you ask as he nips at your neck and collarbones
    • he freezes before shyly looking up at you, “I-I had a dream…about you…” he trails off
  • you nearly moan at the thought of him having dirty dreams about you
  • sloppy makeup sex 
    • both your actions would be so rushed, just wanting to be connected with each other
    • “fuck, I missed you so much babygirl,” 
    • him trying to make you come at the same time as him
  • as happy as he is to see you, he’s also exhausted and starving so you tell him to take a nap as you make something for dinner
    • “but I wanna nap with my girl,” he’d try to coax 
    • “after dinner,” you bargained as he let out a huff but agreed
  •  waking him up with head scratches 
    • whining when you stop and throw the blankets off him
    • not at all fazed by his naked body
    • him being surprised at you being unfazed because ????? 
  • him always trying to get you naked
    • “let eat dinner…..naked,”
    • “let’s play strip monopoly!” “not a chance tom,” “strip uno?”
  • “tom no”
  • “TOM YES”
  • he can be such a child, hiding all your left shoes or the toothpaste because it’s only a minor inconvenience 
  • whenever you’re at home with him and his family he becomes so much more british
    • “tom I can’t understand what you’re saying anymore”
    • “WHADYA MEAN M8″
  • him getting genuinely jealous when you pay more attention to tessa than him
    • “I’m spider-man though!!!!” he’d whine as you rolled around with tessa
    • having enough of your shit and picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder and bringing you to him room
  • when tom is sick its so much worse because he’s so much more clingy but you also don’t wanna get sick
    • “just a kiss on the nose, please darling” he’d beg as you sighed, finally giving him
    • tilting his head up so you end up meeting his lips instead
    • “if you get me sick i’m gonna kill you, holland”
  • you sitting on his lap because he loves having his arms wrapped around your body
  • if you were in public he’d always be checking behind your back for paparazzi’s because it was date night 
  • baking together becomes a tradition with you guys
    • him smearing icing down your nose before licking it
    • “you taste amazing, sweetheart,” him winking before you choke on a breath  
  • you lying in his lap in bed on nights you can’t sleep
  • so he begins playing with your hair and softly singing to because he knows that’s what puts you out like a light
  • waking you up with slopping kisses all over your face
  • you’re not a morning person so you don’t appreciate being woken up and put your pillow on your face
  • so he ends up eating you out and you can’t even get angry cause it was one of the best orgasms ever
    • “still hate me for waking you up?” he asks cheekily as you roll your eyes playfully
    • that day ends up full of sex, cuddles, and food
  • working out with him but he just ends up getting distracted by all your movements 
  • which leads to post workout sex
    • “your ass looks amazing in those pants, but it looks even better without them, darling,”
  • he secretly loves being domestic with you
  • like he loves doing laundry or cleaning the apartment and even going grocery shopping because he’s imagining your future
    • “you ever think about us? in the future?” he’d ask one day and he immediately regrets it thinking you’ll start freaking out
    • “all the time, bubs,” you say with a smile and he thinks his heart is gonna leap out of his chest
  • his parents and brothers already call you an old married couple
  • both of you agreeing that you’ve still got a long ways ahead of you before you wanna get married or start a family 
  • but you both want to 
  • you’re both each others rocks, always there no matter what time it is
  • sweet little kisses throughout the day 
    • like on the nose
    • or the forehead
    • of the top of your head
  • if you’re wearings rings he’s 100 percent going to play with them when he’s holding your hand 
  • he makes sure to bring you back a souvenir from each place he visits, even if it’s a magnet you love it so much 
  • sharing headphones while waiting for the plane to start boarding 
  • playing ‘guess the song’
    • “i lose every time though,” he’d whine but you just stuck your tongue out
    • purposely playing songs he doesn’t know just to see him pout
    • “you’re just too cute,” “i’m not cute, i’m hot,” “okay, tommy, whatever you say,”
  • him getting tipsy on the plane 
    • “let’s join the mile high club,” while giggling
    • “tom i’m trying to watch a movie,”
    • “and i’m trying to get laid,”
  • he’s actually such a child sometimes and you have to threaten him with no more sex until he finally calms down
  • if he has a random question he will ask you as if you have the answer
    • “how long are giraffes necks????”
    • “how do dolphins sleep with one eye open??”
  • poking your cheeks whenever you’re ignoring him 
    • “pay attention to meeeee,”
  • lying in between his legs on his chest because he insists on having you as close to him as possible
  • YOU’RE BOTH HEAD OVER HEELS FOR EACH OTHER AND ADORE ONE ANOTHER 

A/N: i died and came back then died again i h8 myself

The Dozens of Times Eddie Kapbrak Came Home, and the One Time He Didn’t

(A Story in Sonia’s POV)


–There was the one time Eddie came home angry. Slamming doors, cursing under his breath. I was upset at the language, but more worried he’d catch a little finger, or a toe in the cabinets or doors. I asked why and he pushed me away. He had always been doing that lately. Am I being too much of a worrier? Maybe I am. He’s older now, and doesn’t need me as much. As much as that hurts to admit, seventeen is old enough to be independent. 


–He came home crying again. He’d been doing a lot of that, too. Something was different. He came to me for once. I was selfishly happy, but that left me when I saw him. He had a bruise under his left eye. His lip was cut, and his hands were shaking and red, a sign that he’d had a panic attack again. Those signs used to be foreign to me until he told me those weren’t asthma like I had thought for years. I’d like to think of myself as an almost expert on them now. The only thing hard for me to tell anymore is what might cause them. He has them so often. Eddie comes to me, and sits down, panting. He looks worn down and sad and resigned, as if he’s accepted a heavy fate, or like he was waiting for a piano to fall on him. 

This time when I ask him what’s wrong, he crumbles and starts to cry again. He tells me Henry and his psychopath friends cornered him in the locker room, and roughed him up. He shows me his ribs, and I see red. Partly the dried blood, partly rage. That little freak carved the word “Fag” into Eddie’s little side. It takes everything in me not to take him to the hospital, but Eddie insists he cleaned and dressed it as much as it needed, and it wasn’t deep, no stitches needed. I prayed with everything in me that it wouldn’t scar. When I asked him why they would choose that word, he becomes silent again. He seems to be trying to find the right words to say, and eventually he does. He tells me, stuttering more than the elder Denbrough boy, that it’s because they saw him kissing Richard Tozier. I had nothing to say, and he goes to his room before I could find the right words. I did eventually, over dinner. I tried to make a lighthearted joke, and said he could do better than little Richie Tozier, and that I loved him. He did laugh, but he also cried. This time it was the good way. 


–One time he came home excited, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran upstairs. I called out to him to get the door, but he was down just as fast heading out again. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, and I can’t help but to think that just a few months ago this same boy was crying in shame over what had happened. He was a lot happier in general, due in part I suppose to coming out, but mostly Richard. Richie, Richie this, and Richie that. I almost wanted to tell him I was tired of hearing it, but his happiness wasn’t something I could get tired of. Despite being a trouble maker and a bad mouth, he did take care of Eddie. I did tell him to stop coming home with love marks- unsanitary and shameless little things. I tried not to think about the fact that he still probably got them where I couldn’t see them. He may be an adult next month but he’s still my little angel.

He tells me he’s finally going out on a real date, just the two of them. That they’re going to see a movie, and he tells me not to wait up. I know I’ll try to, but he always manages to come home after I fall asleep. Sneaky little boy. He tells me he’s already left the name, address, and number of the movie theatre on the counter, and that he’ll be with Richie who can be reached as well. I have his number in my Rolodex, as I do his parents, and the rest of his friends- you never know when you might need them. He kisses my cheek and practically skips out to the beat up truck Richard drives. It has a bench seat and the driver seatbelt doesn’t work most of the time, and I cringe thinking about Richie just sitting on it so he doesn’t get a ticket for not actually wearing it. Eddie promised me he’d never drive it, so at least there’s that. 


–He came home today, silent. It’s almost worse when he does that instead of crying. Eddie was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I asked if he was okay, and he just stares at me. It feels like an eternity when he opens and says “The school won’t let Richie and I go to prom together… They said if we showed up they’d kick us out.” His voice sounds so fragile and small, like he doesn’t feel like a real person. I’m furious. I tell him I’ll call the school, but he begs me not to. He says it’s okay, he knew it would happen, that this is just the way things are. I, however, will not stand this. As soon as he goes to his room, I call his principle. I can’t remember exactly what I said, though I am equal parts embarrassed and proud to have used foul language in place of his name. “Mr. Shitstain” and I came to an agreement that they may attend as long as they are within a larger group. He will not allow them to have couple’s pictures, but he did reluctantly allow that they dance together. I tell Eddie in the morning and he cries and hugs me. He goes to Richie to give him good news. 


–He comes home after prom with a photo- the whole group is in it, all holding a sign that says “Loser’s Club”. I cringed at the name, but they chose it for themselves years ago. Eddie and Richie are next to each other, and I suppress an eye roll that Richard had ripped open his shirt to reveal an exclamation point painted on his pale abdomen at the last moment. The picture is slightly blurred, and Eddie confirms my theory when he laughs and says the camera guy was startled and tried to lunge at Richard to put all of his clothes back on. Despite this, I see the stars in his eyes. He is happy, so I am happy. 


–Lately he’s been coming home with heaps of papers, college letters, essays, SATs, tests. I try not to think about him leaving. I turn up the volume on the TV or the radio when he uses the phone to talk to his friends about it. It hurts and he knows it hurts. I’ve never been good at not worrying. This goes on for weeks. I fail to keep my tears in when he’s at school or out with friends, but at the same time, I’m immensely proud. He’s such a good boy. 


–This time he comes home, and he doesn’t say a word, and I can’t see him from the kitchen but I know something is wrong. His feet are dragging and his breathing sounds funny. I drop the spoon into the soup when I hear a crash. He’s laying on the floor and crying. Despite him being curled up in a ball I can see he’s covered in bruises and cuts, and bleeding badly. I try not to scream but when I rush to him I can’t hold it, he’s been cut up badly again, more words carved into his soft belly and his thighs. I can see the word “Queer” seeping through his khaki pantleg as he sobs. This time, he does need stitches. In many places. The only thing he says to me from the hospital bed is that he is oh so tired of this town. Richard never leaves his side, growling at anyone who causes him pain or wakes him up, like a wild animal. I’ve decided that I am incredibly grateful that he is who he is. 

He’s in the hospital for three days. Night one was cleaning and stitching and recounting what happened. The police had been called to file a report. He hesitantly confesses that Henry, Patrick, and the other cretins did this to him. Chief Bowers is red with rage. I hear him in the hallway calling my son a “flamer” but that his boy was “going to get it”. This is the first and only time I’ve yelled at a cop. Richie laughs and holds up his hand for a high five, something I wouldn’t usually reciprocate, but tonight is a night of firsts. Night two was observation and tests to see how bad the internal injuries might be. He has a concussion, but they found no internal damage aside from bruises and a cracked rib. They send him home wrapped in Ace bandages and taped up like Richard’s glasses. That night he tells me he needs to leave, that he can’t take this anymore. I’m angry, and admittedly irrational. We do not speak to each other for a week. 


–When we speak again, he walks in the door with Richie, William, and Michael. Out of his friends, Michael is my favorite despite where he lives being so messy. He brings me flowers and fresh fruits and vegetables. He washes them himself, but only once he gets here so I can see it. He’s a very well mannered and intelligent man. William is wonderful too, but I feel guilt in having trouble understanding him, and he has a habit of talking with his mouth full. He’s not as messy as Richard, so at least there is that. Eddie has healed nicely so far, most of the stitches are out already, and the scars he has, though sadly legible, are hidden under clothes. His lip and eyebrow have small scars, but they are hard to notice. The boys have folded boxes in their hands. I knew this was coming, but I still couldn’t bear it. I stubbornly told him I wouldn’t help him, and that I wouldn’t watch him either. He only nods his head, looking down. 

They pack up his belongings, and I step out into the yard, smoking my first cigarette in years. I swiped one from the Marsh girl months ago, when Eddie was starting to talk about college. I thought that was the worst, but this hurts more. He’s leaving too soon, and I can’t stop him. He promised me he’d finish high school, and go to college, but that he would not live here, in Derry. Because we weren’t completely speaking, I have no idea where he’s moving, and now I’m too embarrassed to ask. When I go back inside, William hands me a piece of paper, his handwriting surprisingly neat, with Eddie’s address, and number. He was moving just outside of the city, into the matchbox apartments. With Richard. I can’t help it. When he walks out of the front door with his things, he kisses my cheek. I can’t help it. When the car drives away, their silhouettes in the windshield. I can’t help it. I sit down on the porch, and I begin to cry. I can’t help it. 


–He doesn’t come in the door anymore. Not the way he used to. No angry slams, no excited pops as the door hits the wall. No silent entries when he’s tired. No little footsteps. He doesn’t come home. He visits, sometimes with Richard, and with his friends. He calls frequently, too. He’s a good boy. Time passes, and he came to visit after graduation. He got accepted to a college in Maine. I try to hide how happy that makes me. I promise I won’t go to the dorms too much. He and Richie talk about their lease ending and moving on campus. His little group of friends are trying their best to stick together. They all got accepted to the same school, and will try to attend until their majors take them elsewhere. It’s nice knowing that he’ll have so many friends. 

He doesn’t come home, but he visits. Holidays he even stays in his old room. Sometimes. Other times he stays with William in his new house, just down the street from mine. Sometimes they visit Richie’s parents, or Michael’s farm. It’s a lot like it used to be, but it isn’t the same. I know it never will be, and while I’m sad, I’m happy too. He doesn’t come home, but he gets married in the same church I was married in. They make the paper as the first same sex couple to get married in Derry. Someone booed them as they walked to their car, but before anyone said anything, Richard flipped them off. I don’t tell Eddie, but I caught it on camera. It’s framed in my room, shameful but endearing. He doesn’t come home, but he visits often, asking for advice. We’ll have lunch together and talk about stain removal, and he’s picked up cross stitching for Richard’s anniversary gift. He’s going to make a sign that says “Tozier-Kaspbrak” for their sitting room. 


He doesn’t come home, but he visits often. Many times with Richard, and even more happily with their new daughter. I’ve always wanted a daughter, so I spoil her rotten. I try not to be so overbearing as I was with Eddie. I know it had the wrong impression on him, and I don’t want her to feel the same. I give her sweets when they aren’t looking, and I teach her all about keeping a good home, and let her watch football with me when they need a babysitter. Eddie doesn’t know, but sports are a guilty pleasure of mine. I want her well rounded, too- to know that girls can like whatever they please. Her name is Amelia Isabelle, and she grows so fast. He doesn’t come home anymore, not like he used to. And I’m so, so grateful. He’s leading a good and proud life, and I’ve never been more proud to be the mother of Edward Tozier-Kaspbrak. He doesn’t come anymore, but when he visits, it’s like he never left at all. I’ve lived a good little life, I feel.



“Sonia Kaspbrak, 65, passed in her sleep in her home of Derry, Maine. Natural causes. She leaves her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Funeral to be held this Saturday, July 17th at the First Church of Derry. She will be fondly remembered by all who knew her. Everyone is welcome to attend the open service ceremony being held to celebrate her life. 
Thank you, 
Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak”

husband highs — tom h.

Originally posted by tsseract

author’s note: GUYS IM SCREAMING because i hit 1k and wow i just wanted to thank you guys by posting something. i love YOU THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF and since i never leave a link to my masterlist i thought i should this time so here it is.  → masterlist


  • tom would be the most extra fiance ever like he wouldn’t ever not talk about how he’s engaged to the most beautiful girl ever
  • LOL WHO AM I KIDDING HE’D SAY YOU GUYS ARE MARRIED
  • especially in interviews like he’d be on press tour to promote his movie and the interviewer would slip in a congratulatory and tom would be like
    • “thank you, thank you so much, really. i’m happy, my wife is amazing”
  • and the interviewer would be like tf i thought this kid was engaged
    • “it says here you announced your engagement yester-”
    • “WE’RE MARRIED”
  • and you’d always tell tom that he couldn’t go around telling people you two were married when you two JUST GOT ENGAGED
  • it was sending mixed signals everywhere
  • especially since tom liked to wear a ring on his wedding finger
  • he’d just wanted everyone to know that he was taken because if you had a ring showing the entire world that you were his, why couldn’t he have one to show off he was yours???
  • it was the cutest thing ever and it never failed to make you smile whenever you saw his hand 
  • anyways since he had to finish filming a movie and do a press tour you guys decided that your wedding would be after he finished both
  • that’s probably one of the reasons he couldn’t shut up about you to everyone because he was SO EXCITED
  • while he was away he’d always facetime you
  • sometimes he’d be so hyper
    • “HI MY BEAUTIFUL GIRL GUESS WHAT TODAY IS??
    • “it’s the second-”
    • “THAT’S RIGHT WE GET MARRIED IN 184 DAYS”

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Delivery Boy

Jeon Jungkook of BTS x reader (Y/N) smut. Plain and simple.

Originally posted by jimiyoong



Halloween, your favourite time of the year. You had always loved dressing up, even as a little girl.
Your family had always hosted a Halloween party and just because you were now an adult and off at school, it didn’t mean you were going to stop the party. Hell no. If anything, you knew it’d be crazier than any party your parents could throw, after all, it’d be full of young adults getting drunk in fancy dress and no doubt fucking in any corner they could.
You made a mental note to lock your bedroom door before people started to turn up.

Most of your housemates had gone off to different parties around the city and only one remained, Taehyung.
He had been almost as excited for the party as you and insisted on helping you plan and set it all up. He also insisted you went in matching outfits, dressed as an old-fashioned couple he saw in a painting in the loft that thoroughly creeped him out. That painting was now the pride of place above the drinks table for the duration of Halloween month, as you called it.
Taehyung hadn’t entered the living room since you put it up and it always amused you seeing him avoid it at all costs.

“Get the door Y/N!” Taehyung yelled from his room where he was well, you didn’t know what but you didn’t want to even question it after the last time you did and he went into explicit detail about the fantasy he was having while masturbating.

You groaned but dragged yourself to answer the front door, having barely heard it over the music you had playing.

On the other side of the door stood a male with dark hair and brown, doe eyes. He was wearing a pizza delivery uniform, a piece of paper in his hands.

“You’re early.” You mumbled, taking in his outfit. “Pizza delivery guy, huh? Honestly never seen that one before.” You mused, flashing the attractive stranger a grin. He blinked a few times then showed you the paper. “Wait, you’re actually a delivery guy?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Am I at the wrong place?”

“No, I just wasn’t aware we ordered anything. One sec.” You backed up into the hallway to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Yah! Did you order pizza?!” You yelled. Taehyung grunted back a yes in response, sounded breathless. “Ew.” You shuddered and returned tot he door. “Guess you definitely are.” She looked at the paper, reading the order. “How fucking much did he order?”

“Having a party, I assume?” He chuckled, looking at your outfit up and down.

“Nah, I just like dressing like a sexually frustrated Victorian woman in my spare time.” He let out a breath of understanding.

“We all have our kinks.” He teased and you gasped, reaching out to nudge him in faux offence. He giggled and you couldn’t help but smile, laughing to yourself.

Were you really flirting with the delivery guy?
You looked him over again, slower to really take in every inch of his being.
Yes. You were definitely flirting with the delivery guy.

“So, should I start bringing it up?” He asked, pointing over his shoulder to the car parked on the road.

“Oh right, yeah, I’ll help.”

“Okay.” He grinned, glad for the help and together, you ferried the takeout from the car and into the kitchen.

He looked down curiously as you set up the boxes on the counters, around already existing food displays.

“Wow, you guys really like Halloween, huh?” He spoke, looking at all the decorations in awe. A lot of which you had made by hand the months before ass it was cheaper than buying some that probably wouldn’t even fit your ideas anyway.

“We hate it.”

“You’re really sarcastic, huh?”

“Never.” You looked at him then to see him grinning at you in amusement. “You know, you kind of look familiar.” You tilted your head at him, knitting your brows together.

“So do you. Maybe we’ve crossed paths before?” He suggested, looking as lost as you felt trying to recall why you felt like you’d seen him before.

“Yeah maybe. Do you go to school here?”

“On campus?” He pointed to the floor, signifying the campus your house resided on.

“Nah, I meant the playschool down the road. You’re a child, right?” He squared his eyes, giving you a playful warning glance. “Aw, isn’t it cute when little boys think they can scare grown-ups?” A gasp of surprise left your lips when he suddenly closed the gap between you, your chests almost touching, his head tilted down to look at you menacingly, a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

“Want to call me a little boy again, huh?” He challenged, licking his lips. “See where it gets you.”

“Oh, honey.” You scoffed, snapping back to yourself. You bravely took the last step between you, your toes touching, your chest gently pushed against his, not missing how he inhaled sharply and flicked his tongue out to wet his lips again. “You can’t be suggesting you can make me take back my words.” He nodded confidently. “Oh little boy, you can’t make me do shit.”

“Watch me.” He growled cockily before pushing you against the wall, his lips crashing to yours.

He had only knocked your door ten minutes previous and here you were making out with the delivery guy in a room chock full of sexual tension you two quickly created.
He let out a breathy moan when you bit his bottom lip gently. It was the single hottest thing you had ever heard and you knew you were wet.

“Fuck, is this seriously a thing that is actually happening?” You panted out, looking up into his eyes that were suddenly a lot darker, turning you on further.

“I really hope so.” He confessed.

“Fuck, me too.” You nodded and pulled him back down to lock your lips together, wasting no time and flicking your tongue out. He parted his lips and your tongues met, rubbing together earning moans from the both of you.

“When does your party start?” He asked when your lips parted only for yours to trace that intense, sharp jawline of his.

“Seven.” He checked his watch.

“It’s half six.”

“Plenty of time.” Without warning, he picked you up and sat you on his hips, pushing his body to yours. You gasped feeling his growing erection through all the layers of clothing between you.

“Okay I know this outfit probably took a lot of time but you need to take it off before I fucking rip it off.” He warned, practically growling as he glared at the layers of fabric that made up your skirt. You giggled and reached around to pull on the ribbon holding the back closed. He watched in impatient fascination ad you quickly removed the bottom half of your dress, leaving you in the tight blouse and underwear.
“I shouldn’t find this as hot as I do but fuck, I really do.” You giggled and circled your hips, rubbing against the large bulge in his trousers making him moan lowly.

“I can tell.” You teased.

“You’re saying I’m the only one turned on right now? Because I can feel how wet you are through my pants, sweetheart.” Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
Surely he was lying, it wasn’t possible to feel such a thing, right?
A shakey moan left your lips when he slid a hand between your bodies to touch his long fingers to your clothes heat.
“Oh, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked.” He cooed, smirking at you when your cheeks darkened. “Don’t be embarrassed."He pressed teasing kisses across your jaw as his voice dropped, whispering to you in a tone that was so low it shot straight to your core. "It’s so fucking hot.” He growled before his lips attached to your neck, sucking on the skin. You gasped and gripped his shoulders, fingers digging in when his fingers started to rub at you through your damp underwear.

“Wh-what’s your name?” You stuttered, his fingers hooking under your underwear to touch you directly. Your eyes closed and your head tipped back, absentmindedly grinding your hips down onto his digits as they teased you.

“Hm? My name? Why do you want-”

“I want to know what I should moan out.”

“Jungkook.” He rushed out without hesitation making you chuckle. “What’s your’s?”

“Y/N.” He hummed against your neck before saying your name in a breathy tone that made you moan his name back at him.

“My name sounds perfect coming from your lips.” Your legs tightened around him when he slid a finger into you. “God, you’re so fucking wet, my finger just slides right in. I bet you can take another huh Y/N? Think you can take more princess?” You nodded and a second finger followed his first. You moaned and held him tighter as they curled inside of you.

“J-Jungkook.” You almost pleaded breathlessly.

“Hm?”

“I-I don’t want your fingers.” He stopped his movements, ceasing abusing your walls with the pads of his fingers in search for your g-spot.

“What?” He looked rejected and leant back slightly, pulling his fingers out of you. “Should I leave?”

“No.” You laughed and brushed your lips over his. “I want your cock, baby.” His eyes sparked with lust again and he nodded. He put you down to unbuckle his belt, hands fumbling in anticipation. You giggled seeing he was growing frustrated with the button on his jeans that just wouldn’t open. You put your hands over his and opened the fly easily. He dropped his hands to his side, licking his dry lips, eyes not leaving your figure as you lowered onto your knees in front of him, pulling down his jeans as you went until they were around his knees.
Your eyes lifted to meet his gaze as you pulled down his boxers too. He bit his lip and threaded his fingers into your hair to tug you closer suggestively.
It was clear what he wanted you to do, where he wanted you but he didn’t want to make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

A smirk lifted your lips and you stuck your tongue out, flattening it against the underside of his erection before licking from the base upwards, swirling your tongue around the tip. Jungkook moaned, his fingers gripping your hair tighter. His eyes wanted to close and focus on the pleasure but you looked so damn sinful on your knees in front of him like that he couldn’t pass up the chance to drink in the sight.

It didn’t take long for your teasing motions on his erection to really wind him up. He was breathing heavily, body tensed, watching to thrust into your mouth but not following his body’s wishes, by the time she gripped your shoulders and pulled you up to your feet.

He spun you and pushed you against the wall. Your hands flew out to slap against the brickwork making you hiss in pain. But the hurt left almost instantly. Jungkook all but ripped your panties in his rush to get them off.

One large hand gripped your bare hip to hold you still, pull your arse towards him more.

Jungkook grabbed his dick with his free hand and allowed himself a few pumps, spreading his precum up and down his length, as he took in the sight of you bent over, braced against the wall with legs spread, waiting for him to fuck you.
As soon as his tip lined with your entrance, he started to push forward, entering you slowly.
Satisfied moans left both your lips at the feeling. It felt as if you had been waiting for that moment for a long time, months not way under an hour.

Jungkook’s hips met yours as he bottomed out and he allowed you both a few moments to get used to it, soak in the feeling of him filling you so deliciously before he started to rock his hips.
His thrusts were slow and pretty shallow at first, testing the waters before he picked up his rhythm, fucking you harder and deeper than anyone had in a long time.

Your fingers scraped against the wall, moans shamelessly leaving your parted lips as he hit deep within you.

Jungkook had his jaw clenched tight, trying to make as little noise as possible. As much as he was enjoying himself, he was almost enjoying hearing your noises of pleasure just as much.

You realised you could only hear the occasional grunt of effort from him and closed your mouth, sulking.

“W-what’re you doing?” He panted, slowing down slightly to talk without his voice breaking too much.

“I want to hear you.” You spoke.

“What?” He chuckled and fell still. You pushed up slightly and looked over your shoulder at him. He licked his lips at your dark expression, his hips shallowly thrusting into you again without him even really registering so.

“I want to hear how good you feel Jungkook. Moan for me baby.” You encouraged.

“You want that?”

“So fucking much.” He pulled your back to his chest making you whimper as he reached a new, better spot inside you, to kiss you heavily.
You moaned into his mouth when he returned to snapping his hips into you.
You had to pull out of the kiss, unable to focus on it when he was hitting the perfect spot inside you that made you see spots.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He moaned, wrapping one arm around your waist and pressing his palm against your chest to keep you against him int hat position. His other hand reached over to rest against the wall once he had moved you both forward before his hips went fucking wild.

You were practically screaming in pleasure, your nails dragging down his forearm, leaving red marks. Jungkook was certain you had even broken the skin but it only spurred him on.

“Fu-fuck, Jungkook.” You whined, your legs starting to shake.

“Are you going to cum?” He panted into your ear, his hot breath making you shiver as it fanned over your neck. You nodded. “Good, cum on my cock like a good girl, Y/N.”
A loud moan left your lips as the pleasure in your stomach exploding sending your hips jutting as your orgasm hit you.

Jungkook gritted his teeth, determined to last a little longer despite your walls clenching and spasming around him. But the second you moaned his name, he lost it and his hips slammed against you roughly a few times as he came, squeezing his eyes tight and burying his face in your neck.

Your walls clenched a little tighter at the sound of your name falling from his lips like a fucked out mantra.

Slowly, you both came down from your highs and caught your breath back.
Jungkook’s face scrunched into a wince against your neck as he pulled out of you before letting you go, a little reluctantly it felt, to pull his clothing back up and tuck himself away.

“Well, that’s the best tip I’ve ever gotten.” He sniggered and you rolled your eyes before laughing too, collecting your clothing. You turned to look at him sternly upon finding a hole in your underwear, at the waistband.

“Jungkook!” You exclaimed. He looked at the garment before grinning sheepishly at you. “These are my favourite ones!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll replace them.” He offered, taking them from your hand quickly to look them over. You ignored him to put your skirt back on, glad it was floor length and there was no chance anyone would know you were without underwear.

“Right, okay.” You held your hand out. He held the item closer. “You’re seriously going to steal my ripped underwear?”

“I need them so I know what I’m replacing.” He argued. You gave him a disbelieving look. “Like you want them back now they’re ripped anyway.” He scoffed and tucked the item into his pocket. You simply rolled your eyes again. “I should get back to work. I still have another delivery to do. My boss is going to kill me for being late. They’re going to get free pizzas now.” He sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry for letting you fuck me.” You retorted and he chuckled at your sarcasm.

“Never apologise for that. I’ll give away all the pizzas free if I can fuck you again.” You bit your lip, pretending to think as you walked him tot he front door. “So, can I see you again?” He asked turning back to walk tot he door after walking down the porch steps.

“You do owe me underwear.” You grinned. He grinned back and nodded. He checked his watch before looking between his car and you, debating something. He rushed over and held your face to press a heavy, lingering kiss to your lips.
“What’s that? So I don’t forget what you taste like?” You joked.

“Always leave them wanting more.” He winked then practically ran to his car to speed off for his next delivery.
You rolled your eyes and returned to the house, stopping at the hallway mirror to check your reflection and make yourself presentable.

“Did you just fuck the delivery guy?” You jumped hearing Taehyung’s teasing voice at the stairs. You looked over at him with a smirk and he started to cackle. “That’s my girl!” He high fived you before helping you get back into costume properly.

***

It was two hours later when you stopped in shock, seeing a familiar face stood at the bottom of the stairs with Taehyung, the pair goofing around with some of Taehyung’s other friends.
You had just come up from the haunted house in the basement.

“There she is!” Taehyung cooed spotting you. The boys all turned to look at you, the friends of Taehyung’s you had met pulling you to them in drunken affection.

“Alright, boys.” You laughed pulling away to stand between Taehyung and the familiar face.

“Oh, you haven’t met before, have you?” Taehyung drawled, shuffling drunkenly to lean against the stair railing. “This is Kookie.” He spoke pointing to your right, at Jungkook. You looked at him to see he was already smirking at you.

“Ah, the infamous Kookie.” You spoke nodding slowly. “Tae tells me you have like no balls when it comes to girls.” Their friends laughed as you insulted Jungkook. You smirked and he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Guess you know that’s a load of shit.” He replied, voice low.

The conversation was quickly pulled away from you two as Hoseok screamed as a fake spider landed on his head. Everyone erupted in laughter as he ran off to chase the culprit, promising their head on a spear.
The remaining group returned to the conversation, not even noticing as Jungkook moved closer to you and slyly put a hand on your arse.

“Still not wearing any panties huh? Naughty girl.” He teased, groping your flesh roughly.

“I’m not and it makes it that much harder to stop your cum running down my leg.” Jungkook sucked in a breath at that and you looked up at him bravely, not caring that your friends could catch you two flirting so openly, sexual tension already building between your close bodies. “I bet you’d like to see that, hm? Your cum spilling out of me.”

“So fucking much.”

You smirked and excused yourself, walking up to your room.
You knew Jungkook would follow shortly and you had a feeling every orgasm he gave you was going to be better than the last and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take every chance to fuck your delivery boy.


For my girl @btsmuttin, hope you like it baby

Originally posted by nojamsdirtywater


~Chee

“You’re pregnant and he cheats on you” Pt. 4.1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

(a/n): I’m really happy everyone enjoyed this series so here is the fourth part, next will mark the end and I could really use more requests!

Masterlist | Ask


It wasn’t until 5 years later when you made your return to Seoul. After packing you left to go back to your hometown to stay with family for the meantime. Being a single mother of a now, 5 year old boy, wasn’t the hardest task in the book, but it also wasn’t the easiest, even with the aide of you parents at hand. You wanted to move back to Seoul for, one, new job opportunities and two, so you could re-connect with old friends. Hoseok is the first person you called to inform of your return and he spared no time showing up to your newly bought apartment to help you unpack.

Jihae was more than excited to meet Hobi. He was technically the uncle he never had so when there was a knock at the door he was quick to beat you to it, with his little hands trying so hard to turn the knob, which, failed miserably. You helped him and opened the door, being greeted with a Hobi’s signature smile.

“Hobi…!”

Your three year old was quick to wrap his small form around Hoseok’s leg making you laugh. You moved over and picked up Jihae, stepping to the side for Hoseok to enter the apartment.

You walked over to the living room area then took the moment to greet Hoseok, setting the 5 year old down..”It’s been five years since we last saw each other in person hasn’t it?”

He chuckled and nodded looking around the apartment. “It has, and it’s been a hell of a lot different after you left.”

“We can catch up about that later, All I know is I am glad to be back.” You smiled then pulled your hair back in a tight pony-tail and picking up a box. “Anyways, Who’s ready to get to work around here~?”

Jihae was quick to reply, throwing his arms into the air.

“Me..!”


The remainder of the day was mostly spent painting and un-boxing much of the stuff, but with a lot of hard-work on most of the rooms, and by most, the living room and both yours and Jihae’s room, was set, leaving the kitchen, bathroom, and spare room left to finish.

Hoseok stepped out of one of the rooms being worked on and sat down with a sigh. “It takes that long for a couple rooms? Its been 7 hours…!” He stifled a laugh, before leaning forward. “I would ask if you want to go out with the boys just for a little together but I feel as if it is to late for that.”

You shook your head. “Actually that would be great…!” You smiled getting up from your chair.

“Are you sure..?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “It is only 6, We don’t go to bed till 9.” You smiled. “Just give me time to get washed up..”

He nodded and texted the boys as you took Jihae in your arms to get him dressed. “Momma… Were going to meet Uncle Tae and Jin…?” You smiled and nodded. “And Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon..”

“What about daddy?”

It’s as if the color drained from your face. There’s the question you always wanted to avoid but you knew that it would pop up soon. Trying to find the right words you set your son down and smiled a bit sadly. “When the time comes I will tell you but now wouldn’t be good…”

“But I wanna know…!” You started to put his shoes on him. “Trust me… I will tell you but to much things are happening right now..”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did something happen between Mommy and Daddy…?” You sighed and nodded. “At your age, you wouldn’t be able to fully understand.” Your son pouted making you smile. It was scary how similar Jihae looked to his father. The dark brown, close to being black, hair, the chocolate brown eyes, Hell even the pout he did. You thought about why you used Yoongi’s surname for Jihae, not being able to think why. Your thoughts were interrupted when Hoseok knocked, leaning against the door frame.

“You ready?”

You nodded, Helping Jihae down before following Hobi. “Where are we going?”

“A little corner cafe where we can all kick back and relax.. Is that fine?”

You nodded. “Perfect~


Once arriving you found all the guys there, Sitting around in the couch area chatting away. You chuckled noticing how they changed a lot after a few years.You pushed the doors open to the cafe and made your way over, Taehyung immediately noticed your arrival and jumped up to tackle you in a hug. “Oh my god you’re back?!”

You laughed and nodded, The other quickly following along and hugging you as well. “Did Hoseok not tell you I was coming?”

Jungkook smiled, shaking his head. “He only told us he had something important to talk to us about..!” You shook my head and looked over to Hobi, he only shrugged while snickering.

A screech was heard from Tae as he noticed Jihae’s presence behind you. “Is that him..?!” He crouched down, smiling while Jihae slowly came from behind you and smiled shyly. “Awe cmon, You were so excited to meet them till now.. Why become shy?” You chuckled as he stood in front of Taehyung.

“I’m Jihae….”

“He looks just like…”  He looked over to me, shutting himself up before holding his hand out to Jihae. “Im Taehyung.”

The other 5 watched, smiling before introducing themselves as well.

The time went with all of you catching up and joking around until it came for the moment you had to leave because both you and Jihae were sleepy. So you said goodbye to all of them and took your leave, As soon as you stepped out you realized the ground was wet, taking note that it had rained so you picked Jihae up and wrapped him in your jacket so he would stay warm.

It wasn’t until you heard a gasp close by that you let the curiosity get to you and turned towards it, only to find out the gasp was because of you.

“Oh my god it actually is you…”

Part of you felt weak noticing the presence of someone who fucked up the entirety of your life, the one who messed it all up and called you disgusting names. You found yourself in front of her not knowing what to do at the moment.

Jennie…?

You knew you should have been pissed at her but you had an agreement with yourself, even then all those feelings that you had towards her were faded and gone. You noticed she was at the point of tears and couldn’t look you in the eye. Had she felt bad..? She was mumbling a lot of nonsense you couldn’t make out. You just stared.

Her eyes trailed down to where Jihae, who was fast asleep on your shoulder. You shifted feet uncomfortably and watched her cautiously.

“I’m so sorry…” She bit down on her lip and you stood in silence for a bit letting it sink in that she had actually felt guilty. You had no clue what to say so you sighed and let whatever came to your mind first.

“You took everything away from me. My boyfriend, My happiness, an much more.” She flinched, choking back a cry. “You gained absolutely jack-shit for doing this.” She staggered a bit from you words only small apologies slipping out.

You stepped towards and looked her in the eye for once. “But that was 5 years ago. I forgave you when I made the choice to let any grudge go and that’s when I sat in a hospital bed with a baby cradled in my arms.”

She seemed to relax a bit at your words.

“It was fucked up, yes, but people learn from their mistakes and even if it’s really bad, some are meant to be forgiven.

She seemed shocked and you smiled a bit.

“Don’t get hung up on the past because of mistakes. I can see you have changed. Look to the future and forget what happened then and look at what is happening now..”

That’s when a man made his way out and over next to Jennie’s side, wrapping his arm around her waist with a confused look upon his face. She hugged him and cried into his chest so you took the chance to turn and walk off, your question about Yoongi being answered.

“Goodbye Jennie.”


The encounter with Jennie left you thinking about it longer then you should have. It had been four days since you were distracted by the sudden encounter that you hadn’t been paying attention and ran right into a stranger, dropping the four bags of groceries across the pavement. The stranger was quick to help you pick the items up, and when you looked up to thank the stranger, your eyes widened, and as if realizing too he staggered back.

(Y/N)

You were, to say in the least, wanting to cry. Sudden Encounter #2 was the one encounter you definitely were not ready for. It made you want to run, and run away far but you managed to keep an act up. You had to stay strong for the sake of yourself and your kid. So you stood up and nodded your head slighly at him.

Yoongi.

And then luck wasn’t so much on your side when you heard the yell of your son, Hoseok close behind him.

Mommy returned uncle Hobi…!

 You looked up to Yoongi watching his reaction as he went pale and looked like he had just seen death. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

You really wanted this to be a dream


THE NEXT PART WILL BE THE END DSKJBHFSJK im sorry if it sucks ;;

~College!au Pen Pal Jungkook~PART THIRTEEN

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12] [part 14:END]

Originally posted by jkguks

Jungkook quickly jogged in the direction of your dorm room. How could he be so stupid? Even if Y/F/N was his pen pal, he was willing to let go of you and your friendship? After everything? What a dick move, he thought to himself.

He didn’t know why you were the one apologizing when he was the dick who didn’t even look in your direction for the past two weeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t open the door.

“Y/N?” He lightly knocked on your room door. Were you even there?

“He’s here,” he heard a low voice through the door.

“Shut up, Tae!” He heard you shush through the door.

“Y/N, I know you’re there,” Jungkook sighed, leaning his arm against the door.

“I don’t need to hear it. I know I lied to you and I’m sorry, okay?” You murmured. 

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. It’s me, really.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I was an inconsiderate asshole who deserted you. Sure, I was hurt because I thought you were just averting me from meeting my pen pal whom you knew all along. But a part of me knew you wouldn’t do that. Yet, I didn’t listen to that part of me. So I stopped seeing you. At first, it felt like I was empty but then it hurt. Really hurt. I saw you around, alone at the cafe or on campus and damn, I was crushed. But I had my stupid pride and ignored your obvious sadness. You don’t know how much I wanted to walk up to you sometimes, but those times were when I was around Y/F/N.”

He heard you scoff at the mention of her name. He continued, “I honestly can’t believe that I was willing to give you up over something so stupid. You’re way too special to me, Y/N.”

“Meaning?” Taehyung shouted from the other side of the door, urging him to go on. Jungkook heard the sound of a smack and Taehyung winced, “Ow!”


From beside you, Taehyung sat criss-crossed, rubbing his arm which had a newly formed red mark on it. “What was that for?”

“Be quiet, would you?” You pleaded, nodding your head towards the door.

“Meaning I care about you…a lot. Maybe a little too much, for my own good,” Jungkook replied vaguely. What was that supposed to mean? You wanted to urge him to elaborate but it seems, once again, Taehyung beat you to the punch.

“Which means?” 

“Y/N, I love you.”

Before you could process what Jungkook had just said, an inhuman sound was heard from next to you. 

Turning your head to the side, you saw Taehyung laying on the ground, clutching his chest, and his eyes shut.

“Namjoon hyung owes me twenty dollars!” He hollered, jumping up. “Y/N, I’m helping you out here. Have fun!” Taehyung opened the door and made eye contact with Jungkook for a split second, before breaking out into a grin. 

“Good luck,” Taehyung patted Jungkook’s arm and slid past him and ran out of your dorm. Your eyes stayed glued to the carpet floor under you.

“You what?” You managed to speak. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, awkwardly, he sighed, “Yeah, I know; funny way of showing it, right? But I guess I was just so hurt by what you ‘did’, and my pride got in the way.”

As if breaking out of your daze, you shook your head, “But I lied to you first. Yeah, you made me feel like absolute shit, but it was my fault. If I didn’t lie in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.” You stood up in front of him. 

“You had a good reason,” He said, softly.

“Being insecure? Wow, what a great reason,” You rolled your eyes at yourself.

Jungkook took hold of your hands, “I made you feel insecure. I was rude enough to accuse you for not being my pen pal once I got here. I’d do the same if a girl showed up at my door and looked at me the way I looked at you. But believe me, I never looked at you like that again.”

When you said nothing, he took it as an opportunity to keep talking, “As we kept hanging out, I realized how freaking attracted I was to you. Not because of your appearance, not gonna lie though, you rock the whole I don’t give a fuck about my hair look, but because of your personality. Whenever you were looking away or telling a story, man, I only had eyes for you. Call me cheesy but I don’t care. Y/N, I definitely don’t deserve you but please take into consideration my apology,” Jungkook pled, not letting go of your hands.

 Looking down at his hands holding yours, you realized just how well they fit together. Feeling your cheeks heat up, as if you were just remembering that he was confessing, you looked away. 

“Kook, I know you hurt me, but I forgive you.”

“That easily? No way. Can’t you yell at me or scold me?”

“Kook, I’m not your mother. I forgive you. It’s Y/F/N who I don’t, nor will ever forgive.”

Biting his lip, he looked down at you. “No offense because I knew you two were friends at one point, but she’s annoying as hell.”

“Oh, I know,” you scoffed with laugh.

“Seriously! If she wasn’t exposed I probably would’ve found out sooner that she wasn’t my pen pal. She was so…clingy? Definitely not my Sarcastic Princess,” he finished with a smirk. 

Your Sarcastic Princess, huh?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I still can’t believe I didn’t realize. You’re the same person! I mean, at least I don’t feel bad anymore, though,” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Feel bad about what?”

“I was kind of torn…I had this small crush on her but then I had feelings for you and you have no idea how confused I was as to how I could like two people at the same time. Turns out, it wasn’t two people.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you said, “Well, hey, if it makes you feel any better, the feelings are mutual.”

“They are? Even after–”

“If my actions were so easily forgiven by you, why can’t be yours?” You shrugged. “Plus, who needs drama? I miss our lazy days when all we cared about was that essay we needed to write for the next day.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jungkook smiled, thoughtfully. If he didn’t love you as much before, he certainly did now. Relationships weren’t perfect, but for the two of you, your fizzle happened before it actually started, and that was okay.

“So? Past is in the past?”

“First I need to do one thing…Hm, make that two things,” Jungkook grinned. 

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Firstly,” He began, before cupping your cheeks and placed a soft peck to your lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make your heart race.

 After pulling away with a cheeky smile, Jungkook grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the room. 

“Secondly, how about we get some revenge?”


WOOP WOOP I LIED! ONE MORE PART OR SO AFTER THIS ONE!

Part 14?👀👀👀

Stuttering Hands

Summary: You go through college pretty much unnoticed, keeping to yourself and getting on with classes, until you bump into the object of your daydreams and your college experience is changed for the better
Words: 4.1k
Sam x Deaf!Reader (Stanford!Era)
Warnings: none

Your name: submit What is this?

You sighed as you watched him, a few seats away from you, take notes and listen intently to the lecturer.

He was in your Art History class, and Psychology, and American Literature.

It seemed that everywhere you went you were faced with this handsome stranger, as if the world was pushing you together.

Sam.

Keep reading

Imagine being Dean’s daughter and announcing to him that you are dating Jack.

“Him?” Dean’s rough voice broke the heavy silence that had set between the two of you “You are dating him?” he all-but-growled as he stared deeply in your eyes.

“Well, I- I wouldn’t say exactly dating yet, he’s not that familiar with the term and I’m-”

“Yet?!” Dean exclaimed, his voice coming slightly high-pitched “Yet? You mean this will keep going on?!”

“Well, yes dad of course it is!” you huffed, rolling your eyes “That’s why I am telling you, because this is actually important to me. And maybe Jack doesn’t quite understand the terms yet but I know that his feelings are real, that all of this between him and I is real as well.”

“Which again brings me back to my original question: Him?!” he looked at you with so much shock it made you groan and cross your arms over your chest.

“Will you try to be a little less surprised, please? I thought you’d be a little less shocked at your daughter-”

“Dating the son of Lucifer? Oh yeah!” he cut you off full of sarcasm and a hint of angst “Why the hell would I ever mind that (Y/n)?!”

Keep reading

Breaking the Rules - part 7

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Word Count:2,176

Warnings: the usual

A/N: I made this extra cheesy so it hurts more. You’re welcome ♥

Breaking the Rules - Masterpage

Originally posted by bisebchris

You plopped down in your seat, avoiding Steve and Peggy’s inquisitive gaze. Your heart was beating so fast and hard, it felt a woodpecker was trapped inside your rib cage.

When Bucky joined the table, he was visibly nervous, but had managed to collect himself a little. Upon seeing the dark hickey on his neck, Peggy jabbed her elbow into Steve’s side. He woofed out a breath and rubbed his ribs before he turned his head to look at her.

She nodded toward Bucky’s neck and Steve’s eyes widened. He reluctantly placed a ten-dollar bill in her awaiting hand.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky acted like nothing had happened. You noticed that he was trying to sneak peeks at you, but you stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

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