look at the bag under my eye at the top right

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

Letterman

Originally posted by dailycwriverdale

A/N: I fought through some wicked writer’s block for this (apologies in advance for if it’s not great) so I hope I can get properly back on track now I’ve forced myself out of my rut 

Request: Archie x River vixen!reader where they make out in Freds truck and he catches them.

Word Count: 1,682

Warnings:There’s some heavy duty smooching involved.

Keep reading

Writing is Hard, part 6: SEX

Summary: Dean and the reader have sex. Finally. FINALLY.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 4250ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. And the quotes are from my own Faking It series, in case anyone was curious. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO


“You knew he didn’t quite understand why you found it so hot, but Dean had never seen himself leaning over the engine in a tight, sweaty t-shirt, hands and forearms covered in grease as he worked.”

Dean’s outside working on the Impala, and you’re reading fics about just that. Apparently, Dean working on the Impala is the hottest thing to ever grace the fandom (aside from his lips…and his green eyes…and his cocky swagger that is really just hiding adorable and unnecessary insecurity…and Jesus, these people are thorough), and you’re curious. In your actual experience with Dean, working on the Impala is just a nuisance. You have to wait longer to get on the road, Dean takes forever to scrub himself clean afterward, and for the next few hours, everything smells like metal and oil covered up by motel soap. Why do people find that so hot?

Keep reading

Cleanse

Bucky x reader

Notes: WARNING! physical abuse, threats, protective Bucky, fluff. 

A/N: I found this little thing hanging around on my phone. It’s a little dark, but fluffy too. 

Originally posted by wintersthighs

1 new text message from Y/N, 10:23 PM:

‘Bucky, can you please come over?’

Bucky checked his phone when he heard the familiar sound of an incoming message. His brow furrowed at the sight.

“Gotta go” he mumbled hurriedly, and jumped up, grabbing his coat as he ran out the door to the elevator.

“Hey! Where are you goin’? Thought we were going out!” Sam yelled after him; but the elevator doors already closed.

“Don’t take it personally, Sam. It’s probably Y/N” Steve quipped with a smirk.

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badboy!jungkook + the reality of us

“I told you I hate that flavor.” He glared, swiping at your lips with his thumb until you were slapping his hands away because he was wiping it all off.

“Well when you start paying for my lip gloss I’ll take it into consideration.” You spat, licking at your lips anyway because they taste less like grape and more like Jungkook.

Jungkook glared down at the little black bag sitting in the cab of his truck, a muscle in his jaw ticking until he reneged, ripping open the glove compartment to shove it in ‘til it was out of eye sight. After a final curse he unlocked his phone.

Jungkook [6:01:45]: when I say 5:30 it doesn’t mean make me wait in your drive way for 30 goddamn minutes

Jungkook [6:05:34]: what the fuck are you doing up there

Jungkook [6:07:23]: one more minute and I’m leaving your ass here

Jungkook [6:10:12]: fuck right off

He had only just sent the text when your front door was flying open, your very flustered self sprinting down your driveway until you could yank open the door of his truck with a grin. He wanted to glare, do anything but return your stupid goo goo eyes but he couldn’t help himself.

Not when it’s been an entire month since he’s seen you last, save for through the small rectangular screen of his phone. Especially not when you had returned home from camp looking gorgeous and brown from the summer sun, nearly blinding with your own radiance. He hadn’t understood, even all this time the point of going to a stupid fucking cheer camp the summer before college started and you would end whatever little thing you and Jungkook had had for the past year for good. But you had patiently if but a little patronizingly explained to him that you wanted to keep in shape for the fall tryouts at your school.

You sure had kept your fucking word about that. Somehow your body looked even more delectable than when you had left, the smooth expanse of your back revealed in a tank top cut so low there was no way you could possibly be wearing a bra under that. The ripped and frayed state of your jeans and scuffed white converse proved to be much less scandalous than your shirt choice. However—

“You cut your hair.” Jungkook said lamely, stating the obvious.

Your only response was to turn back to him with a grin, before attempting to throw yourself on him over he middle console. He still caught you though, his firm grip around your waist betraying the sneer he was sporting—it only made you grin wider when you brought your lips together.

Jungkook’s eyes widen the slightest when an eager tongue swipes over his lips and your physically climbing over the middle console to get to him, his hands catch you around the waist and he’s suddenly just as invested in the kiss. His mouth is scalding on your own, lips sealed over yours in an almost feverish haze as though he’s trying to communicate just how much the distance affected him in a single kiss. Your touch is just as desperate though, reaching up his shirt to press against the smooth muscle there. It had been so long, you just needed to touch him, feel him, feel the familiar press of his erection—one that never failed to make an appearance in your presence.

And then he’s pulling away from you, hands clutching your face a safe distance from your own, “Your parents.”

He asks the logical questions because it appears you weren’t going to be the level headed one this time around. Still, you try and dive back in for another kiss, but his grip only tightens with a frown.

“Out of town.” You whimper, making another attempt to get closer to him. This time you succeed and Jungkook waits all of five seconds with his mouth against your own to pull away again.

“Then why the fuck,” he says between kisses and swipes of tongue, “are we hooking up in my truck?”

“We’re not.” You groan, pressing your core deeper against the zipper of his jeans, “We’re not fucking. I’m just… I just—”

“Will you stop grinding long enough to finish your goddamn sentence. Jesus Christ,” he curses when your head dips back, and a hiss slips through his teeth on a particular roll of your hips, “You act like.. l-like we’ve been apart a year instead of a month. Fuck baby, quit that.”

“Okay, okay I’m s-sorry.” You say on a shudder when his teeth nip roughly at your lower lip. You still can’t help but dip your head into the crook of his shoulder and inhale his scent, “I don’t do good with distance s-sorry. I missed you.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He replied dryly, sending you a cocky grin when you glare at him.

Your glare is gone just as quickly as it came though and your eyes flutter shut in defeat, or a pout, Jungkook could never be sure with you.

“I’m so wet.” You whined before exhaling with a shake of your head, “We are not fucking today.”

Jungkook snorts, “Are trying to convince me or yourself?”

“You,” you answer firmly before cocking your head to the side with a frown, “No me. Wait… both of us?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but catches you by the scruff of the neck, gaze laser focused on your full lower lip before he’s dipping in for another kiss—it’s slower this time and reverberating a softness you weren’t aware Jeon Jungkook was capable of.

“You irritated the hell out of me for a month.” He glared, but he was hugging your waist, you cocked an eyebrow at his contradictory behavior. As though a switch had been flipped, his gaze narrowed to slits and he was cocking his head at you.

“What?” You sigh.

“How was camp?” He implored, but his words were laced with suspicion.

“It was good.” You shrug, “Actually I kind of miss it. I made a lot of friends there.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook asks stiffly, “Then why’d you bother coming back at all?”

“Don’t start.” You groan, hands going to cup his face and though his pouting was adorable it ruffled your feathers.

“And what about that nerd…. Taekyung? You two keeping in touch over break?” He sneers.

You let out a deep exhale at the mention of your companion—you and Jungkook had been getting along well, fucking great in fact, as though the distance had triggered something in the both of you and lit a fire under Jungkook’s ass. He would call almost everyday, text you when he was busy, it was almost… domestic of him. You had gotten too comfortable with the Jungkook that was caring in his own roundabout way that you forgot to be wary of the green eyed beast that lurked just beneath the surface of his cool exterior. He had asked for a selfie and you had tugged one of the girls in your squad, and a very discombobulated Taehyung into a picture after one of the more intense days at camp.

Safe to say, Jungkook didn’t appreciate it—your lack of clothing or Taehyung’s close proximity.

No. I haven’t been keeping in touch with him.” You snapped, “But how are you and Jennie, I saw you tagged in more than one of her pictures on Instagram. Is she doing well? Still sucking dick under the bleachers?”

“If she is its not fucking mine.” He bites out crudely, “Considering I’ve only had my dick in one uptight bitch for the past year and half. I haven’t even seen her since we fought on the phone for a fucking hour because of that stupid ass picture.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Yep.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose before matching Jungkook’s glare with intense scrutiny, “We’ve been together all of five minutes why are we fighting already?”

“It’s not a fight.” He spits.

“Then what the hell is it?” You scoff.

“A discussion, a very loud fuckin’ discussion.”

“Are we seriously fighting over whether or not we’re having a fight?” You exasperate, running a hand through your hair. You pin him with a look, “I came here to hang out with you. I… I haven’t even bothered to call anyone else because you were the first person I wanted to see. So could you stop being a dick long enough so we can go on a da….”

Jungkook raised a brow at you. The two of you had long since been toeing the line of domesticity and while you were both aware of it neither of you was willing to swallow their pride long enough to show all your cards.

Movie. Let’s go to that movie and then when we get back we can do something that you like.” You say with a teasing smile, going to straighten his the ties on his hoodie.

Jungkook sighs but lets you pull him in by his sweatshirt for another kiss, this one longer but less heated than the first. 


“God that blew.” Jungkook stretches and you roll your eyes at him.

“How would you know, you slept through the entire thing.” You snorted.

“Not the entire thing.” He smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Right I forgot you woke up in the middle to finger me.” You scoff.

“As if you didn’t enjoy it.” He chides.

“I never said that.” You hum before shoving the popcorn at him, “Hold this, I have to pee.”

Jungkook grumbles something that sounds dangerously like an expletive and you don’t wait for him to agree, rushing to the restroom to relieve yourself.

It isn’t until your washing your hands that you remember the crumpled brown bag in your purse. Your hands flutter uselessly as you try to take it out, hoping to God that it’s not wrinkled. You grin to yourself when you find it in perfect condition.

“Would he feel put out if I got him something?” You grumble before worrying your lip between your teeth, “You’re overthinking it, ___. Its just a stupid t shirt.”

Right it was just a shirt. No big deal. Just something you saw in passing that you thought would look good on him, no big deal.

“No big deal.” You repeat to yourself before taking a last minute glance at yourself in the mirror. You looked nice… or you thought you looked nice but Jungkook hadn’t mentioned anything about your haircut other than the initial shock he sported when you were coming down the stairs.

You push back through the bathroom door, taking extra care not to touch anything after having already washed your hands, your eyes scan the room for Jungkook, letting out an annoyed huff because you told him to wait outside. You falter when you come across a broad back, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a familiar fashion.

“Jungkook I told you to—oh.” You hesitate at the halting laughter, whatever inside joke they were giggling about brought to an abrupt close when you draw near, “Hey.”

“Hey unnie.” she greets, hand coming up in a stiff wave, “… are you two here together…?”

Jungkook hesitates for the briefest of moments, eyes searching yours for an appropriate response. You don’t know why it annoys you so much or why you’re suddenly schooling your features into a tight grin.

“No. I, uh… we ran into each other and he was holding my stuff for me while I peed.” You lied, taking in the way the younger girls shoulders slump in relief.

“Cool.” Jennie grins, “Jungkook’s really helpful like that.”

Isn’t he?” You agree curtly, your gaze hesitates at the familiar black fabric wrapped around the girls shoulders, “Cute jacket.”

“O-oh this?” She asks before sending a shy grin Jungkook’s way, and you swear his eyes close in defeat, “He lent it to me a while ago I never did get to give it back so I was excited to see him and maybe return it but we got a little side tracked.”

You send a questioning look Jungkook’s way but he’s as silent as he had been the entire five minutes you spent having the fucking conversation.

“I’m sorry, don’t let me interrupt.” You feign apologetic, “I’ll just leave you two to it.”

Jungkook lets out an exasperated sigh but if the younger girl notices she doesn’t say anything, only smiles politely at you.

“Wait, er… what about that ride you asked me for earlier?”

He’s grasping at strings.

“It’s fine, I’ll find my own way home. Don’t worry about me.” You send a fake smile their way.

“Quit being ridiculous.” He seethes before turning back to Jennie, “Uh… it was cool seeing you or whatever but I’ve got stuff I got to handle and—shit. ____ will you wait up?”

“Jungkook!” Jennie calls.

You don’t even bother turning around, your feet are eating up concrete before you have half a mind to realize that the heavy footsteps are getting closer. No, you don’t realize that until a hand is yanking you back by the wrist.

“Will you wait a damn second?” Jungkook grits out.

You bite back the immature words that are clawing their way up your throat and feign innocence.

“Oh. Sorry. Were you calling me?” You hum, but the angry flush in your cheeks give you away and Jungkook’s narrowing his eyes at you.

“What the hell was that about?” He implores.

“What was what about?” You frown.

“I’m not in the mood for your fucking games tonight alright, would you—would you just,” he ends on a growl, “tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing.” You chime, “Absolutely nothing is bothering me. If you were talking about in there when I came out and saw you talking to some random girl who you said you had nothing to do with and yet she’s wearing your hoodie then you’re wrong.”

Jungkook blinks at your for a moment.

“We’re not fucking… we’re not anything!” He groans, running a hand through his hair and trying to figure out how the hell you two ended up here.

Why you always end up here.

“Are you talking about me and you or me and Jennie?” You spit back, “Because you’re right about at least one of those things.”

You try to storm away again but he drags you back by a belt loop, bring you toe to toe with.

“We’re not anything—is that what you’re saying?” He queries and he doesn’t know why it irritates the hell out of him.

“We’re not.”

“Then why are you so fucking pissed, why are you so jealous about some random girl if we’re not anything, huh? Does any of that make sense to you?”

“I’m not jealous.” You hiss, “But if I were mad about this entire thing, which I’m not I’d tell that you I’m not fucking mad about you talking to some random girl I’m mad that you lied to me.”

“Stop fucking talking in hypotheticals!” He yells suddenly and you’re only partly aware of the fact that he’s already dragged you to the car and you’re slamming the door angrily. “When the hell did I lie to you?”

“You said you didn’t talk to her anymore but why is she wearing your jacket, are you two fucking?” You shout back and your tone has Jungkook reaching for you, hands clenching around nothing like he wanted to choke you before he was dropping his head back against the headrest.

“No I’m not fucking her!” He huffs, “I’m not fucking anyone but you and okay I admit I did lie I saw her last weekend, we’re in summer school together and the classroom was cold so I gave her my fucking sweater. I only lied for your benefit.”

“Do I look like I’m benefitting from your dumb fucking lie?” You spit, “And are you her goddamn boyfriend, let her freeze to death for all I care.”

“Well am I your boyfriend?” He demands and the car falls into utter silence around his question.

You inhale through your teeth before turning to face him, a frown marring your expression, “You’re right. You’re not my boyfriend because a stupid fucking boyfriend would at least say something about my haircut that I dumbly got for him but no you’re not my boyfriend you’re not my fucking anything.”

“What the hell are you talking about, when did I ever say anything about your hair? You look fine either way, who the fuck cares—”

I care!” You shout, “I care because I care about you and you’re stupid fucking opinion and I want to be your dumb girlfriend, okay? I don’t want to look fine either way, I want to look beautiful to you. I want you to call me for a change. I want… I want to be able to give you this stupid fucking gift without having to overthink the consequences—if I’m going to be moving us forward or back two steps and I… I like you, I like you so much that I remember things you say when you’re not paying attention like how much you liked some dumb actresses hair and so I do… I do stupid fucking things because of you.”

Your panting by the end of your confession because it was a lot, it was all the things you wanted to say, all the insecurities weighing heavy on your mind while you were away from him. And in a perfect world, Jeon Jungkook would have looked back at you and wiped your tear streaked cheeks and coo back all your rushed declarations.

But this wasn’t a perfect world and this was very much the reality of you and Jeon Jungkook.

“I… you… we said that we wouldn’t complicate things.” He says quietly, hands gripping the steering wheel, unable to meet your gaze.

All you can do is let out a bitter laugh.

“Right.”

“I think that it’s better this way,” he says lowly, “you’re going off to college and I’m probably not fucking going anywhere. It’s better if we end this now before either of us gets too invested.”

“Either of us… gets invested,” you repeat slowly before unbuckling your seat belt, “Why sugarcoat it? I’m the only one that’s invested, clearly. It was fun while it lasted right?”

Jungkook lets out an exasperated sigh when you open the truck door, “Let me at least drop you home.”

“Fuck you and enjoy your stupid fucking present. And in the very unlikely future you feel inclined to try and talk to me—don’t.” You throw the brown paper bag at him before slamming his truck door.

“____!” He calls, but you’re already jogging back to the theater. Jungkook yanks open the glove compartment and grabs his idiotic present before throwing it out the window, watching as small tubes of ridiculously priced lip gloss go flying.

The Guest House

Originally posted by beui


Description: Yoongi the hostel owner slowly develops a rapport with a girl and her friends that keep visiting.  Maybe a bit of a flirtatious one.  Maybe even a little crush.  One night he gets protective on a date gone bad and it leads to smut.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut (M)

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: So, basically, this is based off an experience I had last week. Not the smut part (ughhhhh), but the whole hostel owner coming to save the day when this dude just wouldn’t get the hint and leave. I relayed the experience to @ellieljade , because I needed her to die with me, and we both decided it should be used for smut fuel. Like grown adults. 

Keep reading

Operation Cobra-Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead x reader
Description: reader is in love with Jughead. Jughead is with Betty.
Warnings: SAD SAD SAD ANGST I’m on my way to the hospital to take my mom and I was feeling this after seeing a spoiler from 1x06 sigh
THIS HAS 4,274 WORDS AND IT TOOK ME FOUR DAYS CAN YOU BELIEVE
—————————

I watched it happen from the very beginning. I noticed the very first time Jughead looked at her differently, the very first time he blushed when she complimented him, the very first time Jughead showed signs of jealousy when Trevor had asked her out. I watched it all unfold from the very beginning.
When Jughead told me he and Betty kissed, I did my best to be the extremely supportive best friend, convincing him to show the pretty blonde he was interested in her. When he did, I helped him plan the entire date out, from where to when, to picking his outfit out for him since he was absolutely helpless when it came to dating. I smoothed out the shoulders of his shirt, fixed his beanie, and sent him on his way.

That night, when he came back to my house to replay all the highlights of his date, he had a smile on his face almost the entire time. It was something I had only seen a handful of times, so even though my heart was breaking, I was still happy that something made him smile this big, even if it wasn’t with me.
When Jughead and Betty started dating, I began to slowly lose my best friend. He and Betty were always going together on the “super sleuth” cases, and I was hardly ever invited despite being the graphic designer and editor for The Blue and Gold. It didn’t bother me though, because I figured I would just see Jughead at Pop’s. I was wrong.

Jughead and Betty liked their alone time. They hardly ever invited us to hang out with them, and when we did, the rest of us felt like we were intruding. If I did have any alone time with Jug, his nose was in his phone, texting Betty the whole time. As supportive as I tried to be for the both of them, I was tired of pretending. All I ever did was pretend.

I walked in to the blue and gold after school, the room vacant. Jughead had probably waited for Betty outside of her history class so they could walk together to the newsroom; he used to do that with me all the time.
I sighed, sitting down at one of the seats in the room and pulling out my laptop. I set it on the desk and began designing the cover for this week’s newspaper.

Eventually, Jughead and Betty showed up, not even noticing I had been in the room. They were chatting about something, both blushing and bumping each other playfully. I mentally rolled my eyes and kept my nose in my laptop, not wanting to watch them be all lovey-dovey or whatever. A minute passed, which turned in to five, and then ten, and then fifteen, and by this time I was beyond upset. Neither had said a word to me at all.

I finished the designs for the paper and quietly closed my laptop, zipping open my bag and stuffing it in before lifting it over my shoulder. I stood up, my chair emitting a sharp noise as the heel of the object scraped against the old tile floor. Jughead and Betty’s heads turned at the sound, watching me push my chair back in.

“Oh my gosh, y/n! When did you come in?” Betty asked. I know she didn’t mean it in a rude way whatsoever, she was one of my best friends, but it angered me. Deciding to keep my anger bottled in, I acted like I didn’t hear her, making my way towards the door of the classroom. I walked out, making my way down the hall.

“Y/n! Wait!” Jughead called my name, and a hand grabbed my shoulder, turning me around.

“What’s wrong?” Jughead inquired, his hand sliding down my arm to go to my wrist. I yanked my body back lightly, looking at him in surprise and disgust.

What’s wrong?” I repeated, my tone of voice obviously showing signs of outrage at this point. “Jughead, if you don’t know what’s wrong right now, then I guess we aren’t as close as I thought we were.” I turned away from him, walking down the hallway again.

Jughead grabbed my shoulder again, turning me and grabbing my hand.
“Don’t say that.” Jughead spoke softly, his jaw clenching.

Really? Jughead, you did not notice I was in the room for fifteen minutes! You did not become aware of my presence in the slightest! And that isn’t even the first time!” I screamed, shoving him away from me harshly. Jughead stumbled back, frozen in shock by what I had just done.

“You don’t even care about me anymore! I don’t even exist to you!” My fingers dug in to my palms as I yelled at him.

“So yeah, we aren’t as close as I thought we were. In fact, I’ve never been farther apart from you.” I turned, walking away again.

“y/n!“ Jughead called my name and I stopped.

"Don’t, Jughead.” I cut him off, turning to face him one more time. “For somebody who claims to be an amazing observer, you sure are pretty damn oblivious.” I walked down the hallway of the empty school, turning a corner and making my way home.

——————————————————-

It was 5:39 when my phone rang, interrupting me from my moping over Jughead and Betty. I had stayed home from school the past few days, blaming it on how “sick” I had been feeling, which was bullshit, but only I knew it was bullshit. Or so I thought.

“Hey Ronnie.” I answered the phone.” Now’s not a good time- “

“Too fucking bad, princess. Get your ass up, I’m here.” I heard a knock at my door downstairs and Veronica hung up. I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around me, rubbing at my nose a bit to make it look red and grabbed a box of tissues. I wadded a couple up and threw them in the trash so my fake sick story would still be believable.

I padded downstairs slowly, hearing the incessant knocking and ringing of my doorbell. I took a deep breath before answering the door. There stood one of my best friends, hands on her hips and an irritated look on her face.

“Alright, time to stop moping and start moving on.” The black-haired girl stepped in to my house, closing the door and pointing upstairs.

“Who said I was moping?” I fired back, dragging myself up the stairs.

“Oh, come on y/n! You may be able to fool Archie, Betty, Jughead, and the rest of the entire world, but you can’t fool me. I know you aren’t sick, I know you and Jughead fought, I know you like Jughead. Its written all over you!” Veronica flung open the door to my room and marched to my closet, digging through it like a wild dog.” It’s kinda sick, actually. You look at him with literal heart eyes.Honestly, I would have gone for somebody a little more chiseled, but hey, we all got our own kinks- “

“Ronnie.” I cut off her incessant rambling, “Why are you knee-deep in my clothes?”

“Because, sweetheart.” Ronnie stuck her head out of my closet.” There’s a party tonight, and Jughead and my future wife are going, and we are going to show those two idiots who they really belong with.” Ronnie went back in to my closet, holding up numerous amounts of dresses, skirts, and eye-catching tops.

“Jughead is going to a party?” I queried, unconvinced.

“Yeah, it’s a thing with the cheerleaders at Cheryl’s, an Jughead is going to be the ‘supportive boyfriend’ or whatever.” Veronica scoffed at her own words, adding mocking quotations with her fingers before going back to digging in my closet.

“They’re probably going for more clues about Jason.” I mumbled, my mind drifting away a bit.

“For someone who only wears like, 4 outfits, you sure do have a lot of clothes.” Ronnie commented, pulling out a dress and examining it before hanging it back up.

“My mom tries.” I sighed, flopping back down on the bed.

“Oh, no you don’t. Get your happy ass up and get in the shower. You look terrible, which is weird for me, because you usually look incredibly fuckable.”

“Wow, thanks Ronnie.” I spat back, sarcasm laced in my tone. I got up and grabbed a towel from my drawer, walking in to my bathroom and taking a quick shower. I shaved my legs, as demanded instructed by my friend, and Ronnie did my makeup and hair, curling it and putting it up in a pretty half-do. I admired Ronnie’s work, hardly even being able to connect this me with the person that sat in my bed this morning, dark circles under her eyes and her hair in a knotty bun. She had also found a long sleeved black dress that came down to my knees, tucked away in my closet somewhere

Ronnie had brought over a dress for herself to change in to, and slipped on her shoes. She looked up and our eyes met in the mirror, a distressed look on my face.

“Listen, tonight is for us, okay?” Ronnie rested her hand on my shoulders, turning my chair so I faced her.” I’ve been sitting around and moping too, trust me, but we shouldn’t mope. We deserve so much better, alright? So, let’s just go out and have fun. We deserve that much, alright?” Ronnie held out her hand and I took it, pulling myself up and letting my arms go around her neck to embrace her. We both grabbed our purses and linked arms before walking down the stairs of my house and out my door.
——————————————————–
“Ronnie, I don’t think I can do this.” I stood at the front door of the house, my heart racing.” I really can’t do this.” I turned away from the building, wringing my hands out in front of me.” I’ve been doing it for so long, and I don’t think I can pretend any more, and- “

“Y/n!” Ronnie grabbed my hands, holing them in between hers.” You can do this, ok? You’re y/n freaking l/n!! You are one of the strongest women I know, and you are fierce! You can’t let Jughead, or Betty, or anyone get to you! Don’t let them ruin your moment, ok? Because you are looking hot as hell- “Ronnie lifted one of my hands, twirling me in front of her, and I giggled- “And I’ll be damned if I let you let them mess with that.” I hugged Ronnie tightly before she linked my arm with hers and we walked in to the Blossom mansion.

The music wasn’t too loud, which was a kind gesture for my sensitive ears. Cheryl had already roped together some kids for a game of spin the bottle, and I had spotted Archie, Betty, and Jughead near a corner of the room. Ronnie had already gotten me away from the sight, pulling me to the kitchen. I only grabbed a bottle of sweet tea, ignoring the alcohol that lined the counter. Veronica did as well, unsurprisingly. Veronica was a very old-school classy person. If she did drink, it was usually only one glass, and something very light, as I had found out one night that I had slept over at her house.

“There’s my girls!” Kevin wrapped each arm around Veronica and I’s shoulders. “Operation ‘avoid Jughead and Betty because they’re little whores who have been ignoring us to suck each other’s faces’ has commenced!” I laughed at Kevin, giving him a weird look for the name he had chosen.

“Lets just call it Operation Cobra, you know, for short.” Veronica suggested.The three of us made our way to the middle of the dance floor ignoring our other friends. It was obvious Veronica was laughing and talking at a bit of a higher volume, as well as being extra touchy and flirty to get the attention of our friends. I didn’t so much as glance at Jughead, because I knew that once I did, it was game over, and I would be running home and hiding under my covers.
After a little while, I went to find a quiet place in the house, wanting to be alone. Parties weren’t really my thing, so I didn’t understand why I even agreed to go, but to be fair I was having a nice time

I sat on Cheryl’s back porch, my legs swinging off the edge as I looked out at her backyard. The graveyard with all her relatives didn’t really help boost my happiness, but at least I had gotten away from the incessant bass drops the music was giving off.

“Thought you were sick.” I turned my head to see Jughead leaning against the wall, legs and arms both crossed. My heart started beating wildly and I felt a lump in my throat.

“Thought you didn’t like parties.” I retorted, turning my head back around to face away from him.

“Touché.” I felt Jughead’s presence as he sat down next to me, our thighs brushing together. For a couple minutes, I didn’t say anything, scared that if I did I would burst in to tears.

“You look really, uh, nice tonight.” Jughead looked me up and down and I raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, not that you don’t look nice all the time, because you do.” Jughead scratched the back of his neck.” Because you know, you’re really beautiful, but you already know that I think that, because you know, you’re my best friend, and uh… yeah.” Jughead looked away

“You know, I’m not a mind reader.” Jughead chuckled lightly. I could see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye. I did my best to ignore him, crossing my arms and keeping my gaze away from his.

“Look- “Jughead gulped audibly, hesitating before lifting his hand and resting it on my shoulder.” I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, or what you’re dealing with, but I’m here for you- “

Really? Are you really “here for me?” I shrugged his hand off my shoulder, moving to stand up. I was furious at this point.” Jughead, I have talked to you maybe a handful of times since you and Betty started dating! You have cancelled every single one of our plans since then! Every time we’re together working on the blue and gold, you and Betty hardly even notice I’m in the room! – “

My hands went to my temples as I slowly paced back and forth on the deck of the porch. Jughead now stood in front of me, one hand shoved in the pocket of his jeans and the other running his hand down his face in a frustrated motion.

“And maybe I wouldn’t have been so angry about it, if you would have at least showed any sort of remorse, but you don’t! You don’t apologize, you don’t even text me in advance to let me know, you keep me sitting at Pop’s for hours, and you never even show up! I don’t even know why I still do it? What’s the point?” I began to walk past him but jughead held his arm out, stopping me from leaving. His hand grabbed my hip, turning me to face him.

“I’m sorry, y/n, I really am- “

“No you aren’t, Jughead! You aren’t sorry!” I pushed him away from me.” You aren’t sorry! If you were really ‘sorry’, you would have been there for me! You wouldn’t have skipped out on our plans! You wouldn’t have left me waiting all the time! Or you would have at least texted me to tell me you wouldn’t make it! Or even apologize!” I shoved my index finger against his chest, pushing him away from me once more.” But you don’t! You don’t apologize, or even feel any remorse about it, because all you care about is yourself! You don’t care about the consequences of the choices you make, because it doesn’t hurt you!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face as I ended my rant. Jughead had a shocked face on his look, as if he was surprised that I had just stood up for myself. I couldn’t blame him. All I ever did was let people use me as their personal door mat. I didn’t want to be that person anymore.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, I do care about you, it’s just, I- “

“Save it, Jughead!” I shoved past him, running back in to the house and out the front door. I heard calls from my best friend and turned around to see Veronica and Kevin.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Veronica stood in front of me, blocking me from walking down the path towards the gate to leave Cheryl’s home. Her hands wrapped around my arms, stopping me from moving.” What’s wrong, what happened?”

“What do you think happened, Ronnie?” I spoke loudly, my hands moving wildly in front of me.” Jughead is an idiot! That’s what happened!” Kevin now stood beside Ronnie, and her hands went to my face, wiping away the tears. “I’m in love with a fucking idiot! That’s what happened!”

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Veronica hugged me tightly.

“He doesn’t care, Ronnie. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he hurt me, or anything. It doesn’t matter.” I moved to look at her again.” Why do I have to be in love with him? It could have been anybody else! Why him?”

“I don’t know, honey, he’s a jerk, I don’t know why he- “Ronnie cut herself off, staring off behind me. I turned around to see Jughead standing ten feet away, arms at his sides and his lips parted slightly.

“Did you say you’re in love with me?” Jughead looked at me with wide eyes, waiting for an answer. I shook my head, diving between Ronnie and Kevin and running towards the gate. Jughead began to follow me, but Kevin and Ronnie held him back, letting me slip away.
————————————————–
I was halfway down the trek to my house when I passed by the Riverdale park. I sighed, steering off the sidewalk and towards the big dome-shaped jungle gym. I was just going to mope at home anyways, so I wasn’t in a hurry to get there.

I dropped my heels to the ground next to me, swinging my purse over my shoulder and climbing up to the top. I sat down in the middle, the solid platform cold against my skin. I didn’t care though. I pulled out my phone, ignoring any notifications I had. I checked Instagram, scrolling through Jughead’s account. I switched over to Betty’s, seeing multiple photos of her and Jughead. I didn’t exactly know why I was forcing myself to look at these, but I was.

I shut my phone off, wrapping my arms around my body. I hadn’t brought a jacket, another thing to beat myself up over. I looked around the park, my eyes eventually catching someone else’s. Jughead.

“What are you doing up there?” Jughead looked up at me, his hands in his pockets.

“I like it up here.” I defended.

“Can you come down?” Jughead asked me.

“No.” I protested.

“Then I’m coming up.” Jughead sighed, beginning to climb the structure. I scrambled to grab my purse, trying to get off as fast as I could, but it was too late. Jughead had climbed up, grabbing the bars on each side of my body and hovering so my lower body was trapped under his. He looked up at me, his chest heaving from climbing up as fast as he could, mixed with the sting of the cold weather. Our breaths could be seen in the winter air, mixing with each other and disappearing. I stared at Jughead, waiting for him to say something.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh yeah, hold on. Let me ruin my closest friendship real quick by telling him I have super hardcore feelings for him when he’s dating someone else!” I spat sarcastically.

“Ok, that’s fair.”

“Whatever, Jughead, just let me out.” I started to shuffle under his body, planning to duck under his arm, but he blocked me, climbing farther up. We were now eye level, his face only inches from mine. Jughead stared at me, not saying anything.

“Are you gonna say something?” I asked him, my eyes flickering between his.

“I don’t know what to say.” Jughead admitted. I rolled my eyes, pushing him so I could get out from under him. Apparently, I had pushed too hard, because next thing I knew, the boy lost his balance, stumbling off the bars and falling in to the grass on his back. I gasped, shouting his name before climbing down quickly and jumping off the last few bars.

“Jughead! Are you ok!” Jughead groaned in response, sitting up and rubbing his head. I dropped on to my knees beside him, my shoulders on his hands.

“Peachy.” He answered sarcastically. I rolled my eyes, standing up and brushing the dirt off my dress.

“Whatever, I’m going home- “

“Did you know Veronica liked Betty?” I spun around, looking at Jughead.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Jughead sighed, standing up. “And Veronica told her. Turns out, a big part of the reason Betty was dating me was to try and get over her, and convince herself she wasn’t gay. When Ronnie told her, she broke it off with me.” Jughead chuckled half-heartedly.

“Jug, I’m sorry.” Sympathy was laced in my voice. I stepped back toward him, patting his shoulder with my hand.

“It’s ok, really. I was dating her for kind of the same reason as well.” Jughead looked up at me, his eyes locking with mine.” You see, there’s this girl that I really like, and she’s been my best friend for quite a while.” My breath hitched in my throat, my hand leaving Jughead’s shoulder.” I’ve been kind of a shit friend to her, and I haven’t really been hanging out with her, more like avoiding her. It’s a really shitty thing to do, and I feel, like, really, really shitty about it.”

“Jughead, I, I can’t…” I turned back towards the dome jungle gym, walking towards my shoes. I felt Jughead’s hand on my shoulder and then my back was against the monkey bars, my body trapped by Jughead’s.

“I didn’t want to lose you.” Jughead admitted.” You’re everything to me, and I don’t know what I would do without you in my life. When I started dating Betty, I thought it would help me get over you, and then I could stop feeling the way I felt.” Jughead looked me in the eyes, his face no more than a few inches away from mine once again.” I watched what happened to my parents, and yours. They were just like us. They were best friends, and…” Jughead hung his head, cutting off his own words.

“Jughead.” I reached my hands up to cup his face, lifting his head to look at me.” We aren’t our parents, ok?” My thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen down his face. Jughead smiled, his eyes flickering down to my lips, and mine doing the same.

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too.” I laughed lightly, my arms wrapping around his neck. Jughead’s arms went to my waist, pulling me flush in to his body before he pressed his lips to mine. I sighed in to the kiss, feeling relief that Jughead felt the same way about me as I did him.

Jughead bit gently at my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he broke the kiss. I giggled, burying my face in to the crook of Jughead’s neck.
—————————————————–
“I see my work did some justice.” I heard Ronnie call out. Jughead and I turned around on the sidewalk we had been on to see our friends.

“We have been looking everywhere for you guys! Where were you!” Archie called out, jogging towards us.

“Oh, you know, climbing jungle gyms, pushing Jughead off them, the usual.” I joked, looking up at Jughead. He smiled, rolling his eyes.
Ronnie and Betty walked up to us, hands held together.

“Hey, nothings gonna be… awkward, right?” Betty asked, looking at Jughead and I.

“No, Betts, everything’s good.” Jughead looked down at me, squeezing my hand.

“Ok, good.” Betty rested her hand on Jughead’s shoulder giving it a friendly squeeze before dropping it.

“Wait, so, you two?” Archie asked, looking at Ronnie and Betty, who nodded.

“And you two?” Archie looked at Jughead and I. Jughead nodded and I blushed, hiding in his side. Jughead wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised.” Kevin shrugged, walking towards us.

“Hey, we’re all heading to Pop’s, you coming?” Archie asked Jug and I.

“Archibald Andrews, do you ever think I would turn down a burger and fries from our ever so famous chock-lit shoppe?” I put a hand over my chest in mock offense.

“Of course you and Jughead are together, why was I even surprised.” Archie rolled his eyes, walking away from us.

“That obvious, huh?” Jughead spoke aloud, looking down at me.

“Yep.”

love letters ❥ peter parker

summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.

word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)

   Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was. 

   Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been. 

    While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.

    He wrote. 

    He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did. 

   Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her. 

   “Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?” 

    Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully. 

   “Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.” 

   Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.” 

    May smiled wistfully. “I do.” 

    “And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks. 


    That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger. 

   “Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up. 

   “Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.” 

    “Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.” 

    Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.  

    Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-” 

    “No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew. 

   Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow. 

    “Do I?” He was practically sweating. 

     “I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.” 

   She called me cute

   “Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?” 

   Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint

   You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly. 

    “Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.

   “You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”   

    “Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?” 

    “You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.” 

    “Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”

    “I’m not much of a writer.”


    So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny. 

   Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much. 

   “It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?” 

   “Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”  

   You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy. 

   “Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left. 

   Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room. 

   “I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him. 

   He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him. 

    “Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him. 

     He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting. 

    “That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right. 

    “Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting. 

   Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life. 

   You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes. 

   “I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected. 

   He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”

   He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s. 

    He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.” 

    Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.

A Lesson in Love (Confessions)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,178

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED. Also, this is not the end of story.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - The messages you sent me after editing this part let me know that I had successfully tugged on all of the right heartstrings, so thank you for that.

Originally posted by ditchthevillian

Whenever an uncomplicated task arises, people say it’s as easy to accomplish as breathing. The adage always made perfect sense to you whenever you heard it. Breathing is second nature. It can be done without having to think twice and, sometimes, it feels like certain tasks are the same way.

Today, that’s not the case. Standing here across from Bucky for the first time in weeks, you find that breathing is anything but easy. The air was knocked out of your lungs as soon as you stumbled upon the note he wrote on the canvas and you haven’t yet recovered. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe, just breathe. But it’s hard. How are you supposed to remember to inhale and exhale in a moment like this?

“Are you going to say something?” You press, once the silence of the room becomes too unbearable. Your fingers curl tightly around the canvas as you wait for Bucky to speak. “Anything?”

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Ignore This Text

Summary: Sam somehow gets a favor out of Bucky, resulting in a very awkward confrontation with a local barista.
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Characters: Female Reader, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers
Word Count: 1,980

| Feedback is very much appreciated | Masterlist |

Every Sunday morning, at precisely 8:45, Bucky finds himself at a quaint, little cafe just a block away from the Brooklyn apartment himself, Steve, and Sam, who he finds utterly unbearable, live together. Like clockwork, he’ll wake up, argue with Sam about him eating the rest of whatever food Bucky was attempting to have for breakfast, Steve offering to go grocery shopping the umpteenth time that week, and with Bucky frustratingly storming out of the apartment subconsciously heading towards the cafe with the best muffins and no with Sam Wilson in sight.

Just like all the weeks before, Bucky’s feet hurriedly carry himself down the empty morning sidewalk as he groans in annoyance. This Sunday Sam had decided to finish off the carton of egg whites, that clearly had a bright blue sticky-note with Bucky’s name on it, and to use up all the hot water in the apartment. It seemed as if this man’s purpose on Earth was to make Bucky Barnes’ life more difficult than it had to be.

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Study and Going Steady - Jeff Atkins Smut

Jeff Atkins x reader

Request: I was wondering if you could do a smut on Jeff Atkins about y/n coming to his house while his parents are away and we want to “Study” but things go another certain way

WARNINGS: Fluff, smut, cursing

Originally posted by knightlley

“I’m heading out now mom!” I scream as I head for the door.

“Okay hun, text me when you get to his house, love you!”

I say a quick love you too as I lock the door and jog to my car. I’m happy cause I’m staying the night at my boyfriend Jeff’s house. His first game can be next Friday if he passes his upcoming test so I promised him I will help him study before we binge watch cringy romance movies. As I pulled into his car, I noticed his parents car isn’t there. I forgot they went away on a business trip for the weekend. I knock on the door and as soon as it opens I’m welcomed by his lips.

“Hey beautiful” he smiles.

“Hello hunnybun” I joke as I walk into his living room.

“Oh gosh, let me stick to the cute names” he laughs as he jumps on the couch.

“Whatever you say boo bear” I smile as I sit down and put my legs on his lap. 

“Did you bring everything for the night?”

“Yep textbooks, pencils, pajamas, charger, hair ties, underw-”

“You don’t have to tell me everything babe” he laughs

“Yeah yeah when do you want to start studying?”

“Uh how about you go upstairs change into your pjs while I get us some food then we can start.”

 I nod my head and take my bag to his room. He has such a modest, but boyish room. I change into my clothes, purposely bringing the tight shorts and tank top Jeff loves so much. I throw my hair in a messy ponytail and get our books out.

“So I brought some classic chips and popco-”

He stopped and made no effort to hide the fact that he was staring right at my ass. That made me blush as I tried to pull down the already revealing shorts.

“And y-you expect us to study with you wearing that?”

“Wearing what?” I ask innocently as I turn away from him to put the rest of the books on the bed. I then felt his breath behind me as he grabbed my waist and pulled my back towards him. 

“This” He said and started kissing my neck and went from my waist to my breast, knowing I don’t wear a bra to bed. A light moan escaped my mouth as I put my hands over his. I felt him smirk on my neck and I almost forgot what we were suppose to do.

“Babe babe babe” I squirm from his grip as I turn to face him and peck his lip. 

“I love you, but we really need to study so I can cheer you on at Friday’s game”

he sighed, but he knew I was right. “Fine fine, but your missing out” he jokes as he slaps my butt. 

_____________________________________________________________

“Jeff pay attention!”

“I am babe I swear”

“Which president wrote the Declaration of Independence then?”

“Um.. Abraham Jefferson?”

“Yeah, no this studying is over, I hope your going to enjoy watching the game on the bleachers with me.” I start closing our books and Jeff grabbed my hands.

“I’m sorry babe, I just can’t stop looking at you that’s all, it’s easy for Jensen to tutor me because he isn’t my hot girlfriend.”

“Shall I dress up like Clay then?”

“No no no” he laughs.

“Then what do you want to do?”

he bits his lip and looks at me up and down as he climbs on top of me. he leans down to my ear and kisses it, “you” he whispers.

I can’t help but moan at how sexy that sounded and push him down onto the bed. I attack his mouth, not that he had a problem. He grab my thighs and squeeze them. I wrap my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. his hands travel to my butt as his slides his hands inside my shorts. I rub against his pants and start to feel his bulge coming on. He starts groaning and I smile against his lips. He stops kissing only to remove our shirts and turn me over. He starts to slowly kiss my neck, knowing I hate it.

“Jeff stop teasing” I wine.

“Sorry baby” he smirks.

He started to harshly suck on my sweet spot and I moan into his neck. He then goes to one of my breast and starts sucking on my nipple while massaging the other and then switching. I squirm under him, grabbing his brown hair just wanting to feel him already.

“Babe, I want you already” I wine

“In just a second” he smiles as his kisses travel to my thighs. he pulls my shorts down painfully slow, making me a groaning mess. he laughs at my reaction and comes back up to kiss me. I feel vulnerable being completely naked under him so I tug on his sweats so he gets the idea which he does. He pulls them down and went back to sweetly kissing me. I then feel his hands go in between my legs and I suck in my breathe. He circles his fingers around my clit and I try hard not to moan.

“Oh my go- Jeff!”

he bits his lip as he watches me come undone under him. I buckle my hips into his fingers and just need to feel him. 

“Jeff please..” I whimper with my eyes a shut. 

He doesn’t make me ask again as he grabs one of his condoms from inside his nightstand and slide it on. I can’t help but stare at his huge member and grab it in my hand, knowing he likes me to put it towards my entrance. He groans from my touch and kisses me passionately. He positions himself and stops kissing to look at me.

“Are you ready babe?”

I smile at him for always asking before he did anything. I nod my head and he slowly pushes himself into me. I moan and grab his arm as he stretches me. When he’s all the way in, he stops so I can adjust to him. He starts to slowly thrust into me and I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Fu-Jeff- my god” I moan. He takes my moans as his que to go faster. He takes my legs and wraps them around his waist as he starts quickly thrusting to me. I start to lose air from his speed. I dig my nails to his back and come close to almost screaming.

“Jeeeeeff! Fuck! my gosh!!” He puts one off my legs on his shoulder to deepen himself and goes faster. I moan with every pound he gives me. He’s a groaning mess as he whispers curse words with sweat coming down his forehead. His grip on my waist tightens as his thrust become more sloppy. 

“Babe I-I’m about to-”

I moan over his words as his thrust still didn’t slow down, but only got faster. I felt my stomach tighten as now both of my legs are over Jeff’s shoulders, feeling all of him. 

“Je- I c-can’t” before I can finish I came undone under him.

“Fuck y/n” his thrusts got sloppier as he rode out his high, putting my legs down and kissing my forehead. he slid out of me and collapsed onto the bed next to me. Both of us breathing hard, he turned over so that he was facing towards me and wrapped his arms around my bare torso. He started tracing small circles on my side and pecked my lips.

“If this is whats gonna happen every time we study, I don’t mind sitting on the bleachers” he lazily smiles.

“Well I’m not, your playing next game so text Clay”

“Fine, later” he sighs. 

He looks in my eyes and smiles “I love you babe”

“I love you too munchkin” I smile

“What did I say with the names!”

accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

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Does anyone ever think about the fact that after everything with Kate, maybe Derek goes to New York with the decision to never to be hurt that way by anyone again. Not the losing his family part, because how could he ever lose so much again, right? (Right? I’m not crying at all!) So he gets a part-time job as a grocery bagger or something, because he is young and most places won’t hire him halfway through the year. And he works after school to bring in a few bucks so that Laura’s eyes won’t be quite so pinched now that she has gotten her GED and began working to make ends meet for them in a very expensive city. After work, she then spends sometimes hours on the phone and emailing lawyers who are still trying to get all of the paperwork straight. So yeah, Derek  works to help Laura.

But then some lady at the store gives him that look. Like Kate. Her eyes are interested, and her grin is predatory, and he just knows she wants him. So he thinks to himself if he initiates it, maybe it won’t leave him feeling so wrong. So he does. And it becomes a thing. He flirts with anyone who shows him interest as he bags their groceries and “helps them to their car” even though they never need help.

From there maybe it just becomes a way of survival. As he gets older, it seems like more women want to sleep with him. He’s filling out, thanks to all of the runs he’s going on after work and thanks to the workouts he’s pushing his body through every morning. Because he has to be strong enough. He has to be bigger. He doesn’t want anyone to think they can hold him down or force him.

He learns how to play the game. One day he mentions something about that to a coworker (now working at a bar mixing drinks because someone had once told him he would make great money in tips) but his coworker didn’t think of sex as a game. Derek knew better. Maybe it wasn’t for some people, but he would never be able to trust someone in that way again, so he had to strike first before an opponent could.

One day a man at the bar looks at him just right, and Derek just thinks Oh. He’s never focused on men before, but he’s noticed them in passing. So he goes to the guy’s apartment after his shift and they sleep together. Derek pretends he’s done this before, even though he’s mostly relying on his sense of smell and hearing to tell if the guy is into different things he tries. And after that, Derek flirts with anyone he feels he has to.

So fast forward to Stiles. Stiles who is home from college after his second year has finished to make room for summer break. Stiles who means so much and is so good even when he’s an asshole. Stiles who leans in one day after a pack dinner, when he and Derek have finished cleaning up after everyone else has gone home. Stiles kisses him gently, at first, almost hesitantly. But when Derek doesn’t push him away, he presses in more firmly and suddenly Derek realizes where this is going to go. And it kind of makes him sad.

He lets Stiles slip his shirt off and push him back onto his bed. Stiles crawls on top of him and Derek begins pulling their hips together in a slow and sinuous way. But Stiles doesn’t react like any man Derek’s been with before–which really shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is. Yes, Stiles lets out a little moan, but it doesn’t break Stiles away from Derek’s mouth, where his tongue is doing things to Derek that he can’t explain. And his hands after trapping Derek’s face, but not like he’s trying to contain Derek, more like he’s holding something precious. His thumbs keep swiping across Derek’s eyebrows, like he’s memorizing their shape.

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anonymous asked:

Wishing I was spending my afternoon cuddling with Peter and watching Disney movies in a pillow fort. Cute nicknames and maybe a make out session would be lovely, sorry if that's too much but thank you for taking the time to either do this or read it. 💙

a/n: you are soo sweet! im sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting but I can’t even contact you bc anon but if you read this i really hope you like it

Originally posted by hamilll

Masterlist

You sighed deeply, he was late again. Your fingers ceased their tapping on the table, getting up before leaving to go to your room. You and Peter were supposed to go out for ice cream and a movie. Usually, you wouldn’t get upset or frustrated with him because you knew he had a lot going on in his life but this was the third time he has done this. You checked your phone, reading the last text message he sent you.

Be there in a few x

That was over two hours ago. You closed the door to your room, dropping your head against the door frame.

“Peter..” You mumbled in disappointment.

“Yes?” You jumped up, grabbing the nearest object before turning around and aiming at the person who scared you. Spider-man himself was standing in your room, both of his hands up in surrender. You watched as a muscled arm reached behind his head to pull the mask off. You watched as your boyfriend’s hair bounced slightly from his actions. You lowered your arms, waiting for him to say something.

“Were you really going to defend yourself with a lamp?” He attempted at a joke. You frowned further, setting the lamp back in it’s rightful place.

“Are you really going to start sassing me after having me wait two hours for you?” You crossed your arms, hip jutting out slightly. An eyebrow raised and a frown etched into your features you watched Peter fumble for words. You felt your shoulders slump a little.

“I’m sorry I was late. I was driving over here to come and pick you up for our date when I heard the sirens in a distance and gunshots and I know both you and Stark tell me to stay out of it and I really did want to, trust me Y/N I really wanted to but I just couldn’t bring myself to ignore people’s cries. i went to go text you but my phone died.” You watched as he reached for his phone in a pocket of his backpack. His fingers held down the power button before showing it to you. A picture of an empty battery popped on the screen for a few seconds before becoming pitch black again. You sighed, shaking your head.

“I don’t blame you for doing that Peter, and I know I shouldn’t be mad but-”

“You have every right to be mad at me. But I did stop at a few stores to make it up to you.” Peter motioned for you to sit at the foot of your bed. You contemplated your options. You didn’t want to be mad at him for helping other people but if he really wanted to be with you, he was going to have to make some sort of sacrifice. There are cops for a reason and you are pretty sure that they would have done their job. You don’t know if it was the exhaustion or the fact that he had a bruise by his cheek that you love to kiss so much but you decided to see what he had planned. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, whispering ‘thank you’. Whether he was thanking you for sitting down and giving him a chance or for not kicking him out would be left a mystery to you. He turned his attention to his backpack, ruffling the clothes and loose papers in there.

“Don’t you think that if someone sees Spider-man with the same backpack as you it wouldn’t raise some questions?” You asked, trying to see over his shoulder as he reached almost elbow deep into the backpack.

“No, a lot of people these days have black backpacks, if anything people can narrow it down to a high school student and even then it’s too broad.”

“Not every teen has a “Stark Industries” patch on theirs though…or a captain america patch either. I think it’s a little obvious.” You retorted. Peter finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out three things from the bag. Your eyes focused on the objects held in his hand. “The Tonight Dough” (your favorite Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor), with another flavor balanced on top, and in the other hand he had small stack of Disney movies. You smiled when you saw the ice cream, immediately going for a pint. You went to open the lid until you realised that there were no spoons. You were about to ask if he had brought any by any chance until your eyes landed on him. He had two spoons held in his mouth.

“Surprise.” He mumbled through them. You laughed a little, admiring how cute he was and how he never failed to make you smile. You grabbed the spoons from his mouth before rising to your knees, leaning over, and planting a kiss on his lips. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, scooting up the bed further. You heard a small thump on the floor before feeling his cold, glove-covered hand on your hips, indicating that he had probably dropped the other ice cream. His hand guided you over his lap, lips not daring to detach from yours. You moved your left hand to remove the movies from his hands before moving his hand to your hips. Peter leaned back until you were both lying on the bed. You swiped your tongue on the bottom of his lip, wanting to explore his mouth. His stomach rumbled, causing him to chuckle before pushing your head back with his lips and dropping his head back on the bed. You pouted a little, eyes glazing over his red and plump lips. He didn’t move either of you, using his web shooters to grab the other ice cream from the floor. You grabbed your mini tub and the spoons, handing Peter one.

“What movie do you want to watch?” He asked, grabbing a few of the movies. He shuffled through the movies, naming each one until you picked one.

“Didn’t we watch that last weekend?”

“Well we can watch it again. The Little Mermaid never gets too old, Parker. Besides you don’t know half the songs so you can’t say anything.” You got up from the bed, putting on the movie in while Peter plugged his phone in. Peter half-sat half-jumped on the bed before outstretching his arm. You grabbed your spoon and ice cream before snuggling up to his side.

Throughout the movie you and Peter continued to silently eat your ice cream, occasionally sharing with each other. You both had eventually finished the ice creams and opted to cuddle instead. You were slightly dozing off, missing some chunks of the movie at a time.

“You still up, babe?” You heard Peter mumble, the sleep evident in his voice.

“Mhm…” You replied, turning towards him. He had taken his suit off at some point during the night, finding some sweats and a t-shirt of his (which shouldn’t of been hard because you keep some of his spare clothes in your room in case anything happens where Spider-man is needed) before coming back to bed with you. You snuggled closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso. You looked up at him, studying his features. Your eyes traveled to the same bruise you saw on his cheek earlier in the evening. You raised your hand up to his face, your fingers gingerly tracing the edges of it, scared that even the slightest pressure might cause him pain.

“Flash.” He breathed. Your eyes focused on his. He had dark circles under his eyes, his lips set into a frown and you weren’t sure if it was from his tiredness or from the memory of Flash.

“Peter you shouldn’t let him do that to you. You can defend yourself.” His gaze dropped from yours, only nodding in response. You stretched your neck slightly, pressing a gentle kiss on the bruise that had formed. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your lips once more. He pulled you closer, before turning his head and reaching for the nightstand, turning the light off. You closed your eyes, resting your head on his chest. You listened to his heartbeat, finding it somewhat like a lullaby. His breathing was gentle, the light rocking of the rise and fall of his chest added a nice rhythm. You yawned, planting a kiss on his chest.

“Goodnight, I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you too.”

the blue notebooks

time travel au

pairing: jimin | reader
genre: fluff, angst
word count: 8.575
warnings: none
author’s note: this story will have a sequel since there is much, much more I want to tell, but I wanted to keep it under 10k and I figured this part worked well as a standalone. please enjoy :)


You meet Park Jimin after a particularly rough landing.

You wish time traveling was as easy as the books like to describe, or as beautifully romantic as the movies depict. It is a concept that’s been overly embroidered with advantages that do not exist — and even if normal humans see it as a fortuitous skill, one they long to have, they rarely realize that having a normal life is out of the question for your kind. Even so, there is no point in wishing for something that won’t happen in this lifetime, not with the time traveling genes burning strong within your veins.

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Sweater Weather

Jughead x Reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Request: Can you do an imagine where Jughead breaks up with the reader and she doesn’t go  to school for a couple of days and when she returns she’s a mess wearing joggers and something of Jugheads.

Warnings: none/fluff/possible swearing

Summary: Based on the Neighbourhood Sweater Weather, Jughead breaks the readers heart, she’s a mess and when he sees what he’s done he realises it was a mistake.

Originally posted by juptern

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“How ‘bout, Muffin?”

A/N: howdy! this one was requested ((ty you so much for this request honestly!! pls send in more if you have any!!) and I hope I brought your idea to life. I added a bit of a backstory to add some fluff but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out so idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

request: “Can you do a Bucky imagine where the reader has superpowers and she accidentally breaks Bucky’s metal arm by her powers or they have super strength and accidentally slammed his arm in a door or something like that. And reader feels super bad and sits with Bucky has Tony fixes his arm and the reader won’t stop apologizing and it ends in fluff”

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight angst idk – more like banter?? Two implied swear words. One swear word. Bit of second hand embarrassment and rejection

word count: 5.8k (wowza, idk is it better to do longer imagines or short and snappy ones??  lemme know pls)

masterlist

Originally posted by minmiin1d

Sluggishly, you dragged your slipper clad feet across the floor, slapping a hand over your mouth as you yawned loudly. You felt the comforter from your bed trailing behind you as you held it around your body, resembling a makeshift cape. You were sure you looked like a mess; you could feel your hair falling messily out of the bun you had strategically placed it in last night, your pyjama top slipping off your shoulders and you were certain that there were prominent bags lining your eyes. Smiling lazily, you mumbled a small “good morning” to Steve and Natasha who were fumbling in the kitchen preparing their breakfast. They returned your greeting, both however, seemingly much more awake than you were. Not bothering to suppress your sigh, you nudged Steve with your shoulder as you walked past. 

“Remind me again: why the hell do we need to wake up at an ungodly hour to practice punching each other?” You groggily mumble, your voice laced with sleep, narrowing your eyes when Steve laughed at you. 

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