look how fiercely she grabs his hand

@whore4batfam mentioned that Jason would have missed out on Disney movies, and I couldn’t let that pass, so, it is 12:16 AM and here we are.

Damian finally finds him sprawled on one of the many, many couches that decorate Wayne Manor. There’s a book he’s probably read a hundred times in one of his hands, the other occupied with spooning Dick’s stolen cereal into his mouth. 


The spoon stops halfway to his mouth and there’s a guilty smile on his face, betrayed by the mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t tell Dick.”

“Do me a favor and I will not.”

Jason seems to ponder that for a second before shrugging, “Shoot.”

Damian clears his throat, suddenly unsure of how to approach the topic before deciding to simply get straight to the point.

“Todd, certainly you’ve noticed that the rest of endless band of children Father seems to be adopting,” he receives a raised eyebrow and an amused smile for that, “are prone to making…references.”

Jason’s eyebrow arcs higher and Damian is left to question the limits of the human anatomy.

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, shorty.”

Damian thought back, “…Last week, when we were in the cave and Father had just finished outlining the mission. He said ‘Let’s get down to business,’ and Brown and Grayson simultaneously screeched, ‘To defeat the Huns.’ Father had the same look he had on his face when he caught you and Cain trying to see how many of his ties you could hide in odd places before he noticed.”

Jason laughs aloud at that, looking extremely proud of himself, “Yeah, that was a good one.”

Damian raises his eyebrow, though somehow he doubts it has the same effect his older brother’s seems to have.

“Anyways, they’re referencing Disney movies, I think. I asked Tim about it once and he more or less told me that Dick and Steph have a cult like obsession with colorful children’s movies featuring catchy songs, talking animals, and overdramatic villains.”

“You’ve never seen them?” Damian asks, confused. He would have thought Jason would have enjoyed something like that.

“Wasn’t around when they came out,” Jason says, flippantly enough that Damian almost misses it.

Wasn’t aroun-oh.


Suddenly, Damian feels like the largest idiot in the world. How could he not have had the foresight to maybe, ask one of the siblings that had used the references in the first place, why hadn’t he connected the dots-

“Stop thinking so hard, baby bat.”

When had Jason gotten up?

“I, um-”

He’s cut off when Jason tousles his hair, a casual smile on his lips. The young bird is too stunned to protest. Instead, he looks up at his brother and does what he’s always done best. He observes. There are bags under Jason’s eyes, a fading bruise on his shoulder, his hair is wet, and something about him is so, so tired.


“Yeah, Dami?”

“Get some sleep.”

Jason chuckles as he walks towards the stairs, Damian quietly putting his cereal bowl in the sink and picking up his(Jason’s) book to take his place on the couch. Now to wait for Tim.


Tim looks up, certainly not surprised at being accosted within seconds of walking through the front door. The look on Damian’s face is one of determination; he will not stop until his objective is reached. Tim sighs.

“At least let me take off my shoes.”

“So let me get this straight. You asked Jason about Disney movies, only to find out he was…gone when they came out, felt horrible, and now you want to watch them with him, but are hindered by the lack of your ability to Internet?”

Damian wishes Barbara was visiting.

But then Tim breaks into a smile and there’s something incredibly…tender about it. Damian thinks this won’t be too bad after all.


Jason looks up. It’s been a day or so since Damian had inquired about one of their siblings’ many strange habits. He supposes he should have been more subtle about the whole thing, but what else was he supposed to say? ‘Oh yeah, sorry Damian, I didn’t see Mulan because my corpse was being submerged in the Lazarus Pit?’

He had, however, taken his younger brother’s advice in getting some rest. In fact, he had just woken up from a particularly nice nap, and had been planning to go and hunt for Dick’s last cereal box. Thieving aside, he waits for Damian to speak, seeing the boy looking expectant.

All he receives for his patience is a ‘follow me.’

Sighing dramatically and ignoring Damian’s ‘Tt,’ Jason drags himself from the covers and straggles after his brother, curious as to what his intentions may be.

Upon arriving in the same room Damian had found him in the day prior, Jason is, to say the least, confused. Moreover, he finds, he won’t have to go on a cereal-thieving scavenger hunt, as it’s already sitting on the coffee table in one of Alfred’s less precious ceramic bowls.

“Damian? What’s going on?”

Said preteen defender of Gotham and his Honor(Jason may not have been around for Disney, but he and Dick had sure as hell marathoned Avatar at least eight times), was struggling with what looked to Jason like an HDMI cable. Succeeding in connecting it, Damian fiddled with Tim’s laptop for a few seconds before setting it down carefully and practically tackling Jason to the couch.

Surprised, Jason yelped as they tussled on the couch, turning his head to the screen just as a soothing jingle played, accompanied by a graphic of a blue castle and the word, ‘Disney’ written in a circular font.

“…Damian?” He looks over to the smaller body sprawled against him to see him looking away, ears turning red.

“..I wanted you to watch them. I wanted to watch them with you.”

Jason stares for a moment before a soft smile overtook his features. 

“Okay,” he says, and settles down against the armrest, grabbing a handful of cereal and leaning against his baby brother as ‘The Little Mermaid’ appeared on screen.

Dick drops by the Manor to find his cereal on the floor and two of his siblings locked in a fierce argument.

“Mulan was clearly the best, she literally defied all gender stereotypes and learned how to fight as well as Li Shang in like, three days. Also bonus points for talking dragon and grade A catchy songs.”

“Ridiculous, Todd, Aladdin was obviously superior. The poor street thief with a heart of gold and the rebellious, self-aware princess? Not to mention the flying carpet, genie, and quality displays of villainy.”

They’re interrupted by a devastated scream, the two boys at last becoming aware of Dick’s presence.



Dick gazes up at them with a look of incredulous horror, “How could you?!”

Jason blinks. Damian stares.

How could you do this to my cereal, you heathens?!

Two pairs of eyes land on the mess of sugary breakfast food scattered on the carpet.

Shit.” That’s Jason.

“Thank you, Jay, for reali-”

Did we break Alfie’s bowl?!

Damian pales, vaulting neatly over the coffee table to search for the ceramic piece that could spell their doom. Dick is forced to watch as his two brothers scramble about the room, ignoring the remains of their pilfered meal on the floor. 

“Found it!”

Jason triumphantly holds up the bowl, chipped slightly, but still in one piece.

Dick wants to know why it was behind the couch.

Unfortunately, the other two residents of the Living Room of Horrors seem content to set the bowl to the side and resume their places on the couch, resuming where they’d left off in ‘Snow White’, having broken into an argument when Damian voiced his preference of Aladdin.

“I hate you both,” Dick, about to storm out of the room, is interrupted by Cass’ entrance to it. She looks to the screen, currently displaying the seven dwarves, before picking a piece of cereal off the ground and popping it in her mouth. Dick’s horrified expression goes unnoticed as she goes to squish Jason’s cheeks.


He sticks his tongue out and she replies in kind, before moving to Damian’s other side and cuddling him, the youngest of them content to be sandwiched between his brother and sister. 

“Dick, why are you calling me, it’s 4 pm on a Saturday I would like to be not awake right now.”

“Steph, I can never watch ‘Snow White’ again.”

anonymous asked:

Can I Send a requests for a scenario with Yoongi Where He Never believes that would Fall in Love with someone at First sight but then He Meets you , a solo Idol who just made her debut and has a Beautiful and powerfull Voice ? 😍(+the way He would try to ask you out)

Member: Yoongi (Suga)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1k


I slowly woke up, refraining from rubbing my tired eyes as I had already gone through hair and makeup. “Hyung, wake up.” I felt the younger boy shake the sleep away from me and I groaned. My vision cleared up after a few blinks and I found myself looking up at Jungkook. “Aish, I was having a good dream too.” I mutter, getting up and straightening out my jacket.

The rest of the guys look like they’re already to go to the backstage area so I rush over to one of our stylists who happens to be beckoning me over. She sets me up with my mic and I focus in on the TV screen in the corner of the room.

On the screen there are Wendy and Chanyeol, introducing a new girl band to be the next performance. The screen then switches to a live feed of four girls who introduce themselves one at a time. One of them looks particularly nervous and when it gets to her turn, she stutters out, “I’m Y-Y/N. P-please c-ca-re take of me!”

I scoff. She can’t even say her own name. How is she supposed to perform. Our stylist eyes me and says, “Why are you staring at her like that?” “Like what?” I ask defensively.

“Like it was love at first sight?” She laughs, resuming her work of concealing my mic wires.

“Haha. Very funny. I was just entertained by her stuttering. Also for the record, love at first sight doesn’t exist. Especially not with whatever her name is.” “Y/N,” she corrects. Whatever.

Our stylist eventually lets me go and I walk over to join the rest of my members.

“I feel so bad,” Hoseok says to no one in particular as we walk down the narrow hallway to the side of the stage. “Why? ‘Cuz that newbie messed up?” I ask. Why does everybody care so much about her?

“You don’t feel bad?” Jimin says from me. “Nope.” I say popping my ‘p’.

“Why not?” Jungkook asks, slowing down to get in on the conversation. “If you’re going to be an idol you should at least act like one. It makes no sense, you’re too shy to introduce yourself but you aren’t too shy to sing live?” I shake my head, hoping they’ll understand my reasoning. “Honestly, she just shouldn’t be in this business.”

“You’re too cold, Hyung.” Hoseok says, shaking his head and wagging his finger at me disapprovingly. I just roll my eyes though.

We get to the side of the stage and in front of us are the rookie group about to get on stage and perform. I see Y/N getting scolded by one of her older members and I smirk. Surprise, surprise.

We move forward and take their place once they walk on stage and get into their positions. I turn my head and lean against the wall to watch the Feedback screen, awaiting to be entertained by Y/N’s miserable performance.

Instead, I have the air knocked out of my chest when I see something change in her eyes just at the light come on and the music plays. There’s a twinkle- lighting energy coming off of her. It wasn’t there before but now as I see her dance in-sync, swiftly and perfectly, it’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. I can’t take my eyes off of her. I follow her dyed pink flame that dances across the screen. There are three other members and a chanting crowd but it’s like all of a sudden I have a tunnel vision and all I see is Y/N, moving her body, shaking her hips and twirling across the stage. She’s mesmerizing.

And then it’s her turn to sing and my heart is shook. Her voice drips off her mic like honey and I don’t want her to stop. I’m not listening to the lyrics or trying to analyze the song like I usually do, I’m just listening to the sound of her voice. I’m not looking for flaws because there aren’t any. At least I don’t think there are because I’m feeling so entranced by her. I’m feeling- I’m feeling- Love?

And then it’s over, way too soon for my liking. I see Y/N coming and I start to panic. I want to say something, anything. Good job? No. You were amazing? Understatement. I’m in love with you. Overstatement? Maybe not.

“Hyung, are you okay.” Jungkook says shaking me as he did earlier. I had completely tuned out my members, not hearing their praise for Y/N’s performance.

I don’t reply to Jungkook. Instead I grab a towel from our stylist and make a beeline towards Y/N. As soon as I approach her I get a better look at her and I know I’m in love. She’s absolutely gorgeous. I honestly don’t care that’s she’s sweaty at all. I just want to know her.

“Hi.” I say handing her the towel. She looks up at me and I smile at how she’s returned to that shy girl, completely opposite from the fierce idol who just performed.

“Hi,” she replied, a smile taking over her lips.

“I-I just wanted t-to give you- this.” Now it’s my turn to stutter and it does suck.

She giggles a bit and takes the towel. “Thank you.” She says sweetly.

I’ve never felt this way before but I feel like I just want to keep talking so that I can keep hearing her voice.

“You were phenomenal just now. Absolutely amazing.” I say in the most genuine voice I can pull.

I can see her blush now. “Thank you.”

In the corner of my eye, I see Namjoon beckoning me over but I ignore them. Then I hear our Bangtan being called over the PA and I groan. I love performing but not right now.

“You should stay and watch Bangtan perform,” I say, slowly backing away from her.

“Oh I will. I’m a huge fan.” She says playfully and I raise my eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah? Who’s your favourite member.” We are almost yelling at each other now as we gain more distance.

“I don’t know his name. He’s really nice and caring from what I’ve seen. And he raps really well and is an amazing songwriter and composer. Not to mention very cute. I think his name was.. Salt?”

I throw my head back in laughter. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” I wait to see her nod before I join the rest of the members on stage. I ignore all of their teasing and think about what I could do especially for Y/N during this performance. I hope that she’ll be there after because even though I literally just met her, I miss her already. I guess there is such a thing as love at first sight.


Hey Anon! I hope this is something similar to what you imagined. Please let me know readers if you liked it. Thanks so much for reading!


alive and back from the dead

based on anon requests for a military bellarke au and second chances bellarke.

If he was honest with himself, Bellamy chose this bar on purpose.  This bar and this day, because he missed her.  He shouldn’t, but he did.

And of course she would already be there, her blonde hair bright in the otherwise dingy room.  It was barely half full, with a handful men and women from the base talking over the music or playing pool in the back corner.

But Clarke was just sitting on a stool with a whiskey in front of her, staring blankly into space.  Bellamy deliberately took a seat as far from her as he could— it was the least he could do, aside from leave, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that— but no sooner had he ordered a rum and coke than the three infantrymen between them paid their tab and left.

She glanced at him and paled.  His heart plunged and his stomach roiled, even though that reaction was no less than he deserved.  But god, he missed her.  He missed everything about her, from her smile to her lousy sense of humor and the fact that she took up way more than her fair share of a narrow bunk.

And that was why he came here today— to her neighborhood, a year to the day from the first time he kissed her.  Clarke probably didn’t remember that, he knew.  He was the sentimental one of the two of them, the one who bothered to remember dates and made sure he saved her extra candy from Octavia’s care package for her birthday.  Marking this sort of anniversary was his thing, not hers.

Not that she hadn’t cared about him.  She had, and he knew exactly how much the day a bomb went off and shrapnel grazed his arm.  Clarke was by his side within seconds and he had had to wave her off so she could go see to Murphy.   I couldn’t help it, she’d told him in his private quarters that night.   I fucked up, Bellamy.  I knew you were fine and every ounce of medic training inside of me told me I needed to triage and you were low-risk, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t go to anyone else until I knew you were okay .

They ended it a week later.  It was too much of a risk, and the unit came first for both of them.  They had known they were playing with fire the first time he kissed her, his body singing with adrenaline after a firefight.   It’s just once, they had reasoned that night.  And then, it’s just sex.  And then for six months they told themselves we can handle this, it won’t put anyone in danger.  But then it had, and they had to face the music.

And then three months later, Bellamy did the unforgivable.  

Clarke looked at him again and guilt gnawed on his ribs.  He finished his drink, tossed down a ten, and pushed the stool back with a loud scrape.  He walked out without looking back.

“Bellamy, wait,” she called when he was halfway through the parking lot, and his heart stopped.  It had been so long since he heard her voice, and even longer since he had heard it with such longing.

He turned around to find her standing in front of him, chin lifted in defiance.  “Did you come here to see me?”

Bellamy chewed on his lower lip and looked away.  He didn’t know how to answer her.   What answer would hurt less? he wanted to ask, but instead he just shrugged.  “I shouldn’t have come,” he settled on.

“Answer me,” she said.  “Tell me the truth.”

Her eyes locked onto his and he knew he couldn’t lie.  “I wanted to be close to you,” he admitted.

Clarke let out a choked sob and grabbed his shirt in both of her hands, rolling up onto her toes and kissing him so fiercely he was knocked off balance.  Instinct took over, like it always did with her, and he kissed her back, messy and needy.  He could taste the whiskey she had been drinking and smell her shampoo, and all of it combined felt like too much and not enough.  “Fuck me,” she begged.  “Please, just— just one more time.” The words roared through him like a freight train.  He cupped his hands around her face and nodded, searching out her lips again.

Never one to waste time, Clarke grabbed him by the arm and towed him along behind her, through the parking lot and past the dumpsters.  Her building was just beyond the next parking lot and she didn’t speak, just looked back occasionally as if to make sure he was still there.  

She slammed the door to her apartment and pinned him against it.  Everything about her was both familiar and foreign, and he knew this was his last chance.  His only opportunity to make up for what he had done.  So he made sure that everywhere he touched her, every single inch of skin and brush of his lips, was an apology and penance.  It was as much for him as for her, because he needed to show her how sorry he was.  To show her he loved her even if he’d destroyed everything.  Her lips were salty when he kissed her. He wasn’t sure if they were her tears or his, but he kissed her again and again until she was falling apart underneath him.

After he came he rolled away, unable to bear the look he knew he would find in her eyes. He put his feet down on the floor and steeled himself.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I’ll go,” he said.

“Bellamy,” Clarke rasped.  “Look at me.”

But he couldn’t.  He’d spent too long looking back, reliving every moment of that day over and over again.   Their convoys getting separated.  The explosions.  The firefight.  Radioing for Clarke and getting no response.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting as long as they could.  The crackle of static and Clarke’s voice saying they had to go on ahead, that she would wait for air support but they needed to get out of there.  Bellamy had gone over every detail thousands of times and he knew without a doubt going back for her would have involved more of their people dying.  She’d gotten out eventually, mostly unharmed, but he still regretted it with every breath he took.

Her hand brushed his back.  “Bellamy, please.”

“I left you,” he said quietly.  “I left you behind.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”  He stood and quickly stepped into his boxers and then his jeans.  The longer he stayed the more it hurt.  He had to get out before he destroyed them both.  Again.

Clarke pulled a grey shirt over her head and unfolded her legs, and he turned to go.  But before he reached the door she grabbed his forearm and wrenched him around.  “Stop it,” she snapped, and it was a relief to finally hear the anger he deserved leaking into her voice.  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and look at me.”  He obeyed, but no sooner had his eyes found hers then her gaze softened.  “I told you to go,” she reminded him.  “It was my choice too.”

“I could have—”

“Anything you could have done would have gotten people killed.  That’s why we ended it, remember?”

Against his better judgment Bellamy reached out and curved his hand along her jaw, skimming his thumb across her cheekbone.  “I hate myself for it,” he whispered.

Clarke nuzzled into his palm and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.  “For ending it or for leaving me behind?”

“All of it.”  He looked down and took in her shirt— grey with ARMY written across the chest, but it was too long and the neck was too big to have been issued to her.  He rubbed the material between his fingers and a tear slipped down his cheek.  “So that’s where this one went,” he said, still whispering.

“I couldn’t bring myself to give it back,” she admitted.

“Even after…? I thought you would have burned it.”

“I thought about it,” she said with a sly smile.  “But not because of why you think.  Because you shut me out.”

“I thought it would be easier for you,” he said.  “If you didn’t have to deal with me.”

Clarke brushed away his tear with the back of her knuckle.  “Yeah, well, you were wrong.”

It hurt to see so much love and forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, so he looked away again.  “How can you forgive me?” he asked brokenly.  “I can’t forgive myself.”

“Stay.  Stay and don’t shut me out any more,” she said, swallowing hard.  “Stay, because that forgiveness— it’s already done.”  Clarke enveloped him in a hug and he felt her tears soaking into his skin while his own continued to flow.  He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in and swore to himself, then and there, he’d never leave her again.

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Jemma and AIDA/Madame Hydra confrontation. "Please let him go".

Wow, you guys don’t send me the fluffy prompts, do you?? But here you go! Excuse the hand-waving over how everyone gets out of the framework; I don’t do plot, y’all. **there’s no Fitz/AIDA kiss in this guys!!**


For the first time since she’s arrived in this nightmare, hellscape of a world, Jemma truly feels out of options. Her only real hope is that Daisy has managed to get the others out and Yoyo and the rest of SHIELD’s available agents have gotten the message and are waiting on the other side.

But Jemma had refused to leave without Fitz, and now AIDA has ensured there would be no leaving for her at all.

“Please,” she hears herself beg. Her body isn’t technically real, just bits of programming, but she can feel the unbearable weight of her bones and the shattering of her heart all the same. After all she’s done to survive and reach this point, she is not above begging. “AIDA—”

AIDA’s head snaps towards her in a livid glare, and for the first time Jemma wonders if maybe this version of the LMD actually does have human emotions. How can something artificial look so angry and bitter? How can blood rush to fill her cheeks with color? How do her eyes glint with such steel?

“How dare you call me that? Do not ever call me that again,” she sneers and Jemma blinks rapidly in confusion.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she offers. She feels sluggish, her mind worn down to the point of breaking. “What should I call you?”

AIDA—for Jemma can’t help thinking of her as AIDA, even if she doesn’t say it again—arches an eyebrow, once again in control. “Madame Hydra, out of respect.” She pauses and smiles and Jemma flinches because she knows everything AIDA does is calculated. She would not smile unless she meant to wound. “My name is Ophelia, but only Leopold is allowed to call me that.”

Ophelia, Jemma thinks, and can’t stop herself from imagining how the name must sound with Fitz’s tongue curled carefully around it.

“Madame Hydra,” Jemma finally continues when she has shoved this minor heartbreak down with all the others, “please. Please let him go.”

AIDA walks closer until she’s right in front of Jemma and runs a finger along her bruised cheek. Jemma looks up at her without breathing and remembers when she’d first seen her, it, how fascinated she’d been. How upset at Fitz for keeping the secret. She wonders now if he knows how completely she’d forgiven him, how wholly she will forgive him anything.

“Certainly,” AIDA murmurs, turning sharply and pressing a button on her desk.

Fitz enters a moment later, still in his designer suit, still walking like a stranger and not like the man she’d allowed to entwine his soul with hers.

“Madame,” he says with a deferential nod. His eyes rake over Jemma on the way to AIDA, and she’s crazy, she knows she’s being crazy but there is something there. After their eyes met on Radcliffe’s island amidst a storm of bullets, she had never been allowed near him again. Daisy’s theory was that AIDA feared their connection.

But if that truly was AIDA’s greatest fear, why allow this meeting now? Perhaps she’s finally secure enough in her victory, and if that’s the case Jemma’s wishful thinking is about to get her killed.

“Leopold,” AIDA practically purrs, and he steps closer to both of them. God, he’s so near. She could touch him, she could throw herself into his arms. She could beg.

She does nothing.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:


50. going through a divorce au (just a warning, mention of miscarriage)

Betty had been having the day from absolute hell. She was cutting it fine with the deadline this week, and all she had managed to write down were notes. Nothing substantial had managed to come from her endless hours of typing. She also had her mother breathing down her neck, sending her prospective apartments for the inevitable move. Even if she got the house in the split, how could she live somewhere that held only the happiest memories? Memories that ran fissures along her heart every day. 

Her mind had been flooded with him ever since she had told him to leave. Every time she lay in their bed she reached for him, out of a 10 year habit. That one would be hard to break. When she stood in the kitchen she could feel his arms around her waist, humming in her ear while she cooked. There was even a night she couldn’t bring herself to get into that bed, so she wrapped herself up on the couch and watched all his pre-recorded shows on the DVR. Shows she hated. But she didn’t sleep that night. 

And so, to top the day off, there was a brown A4 sized envelope waiting for her on the doorstep as she got home. He hadn’t even gone in the house, yet he still had a key. Betty felt her heart sink in her chest as she picked the envelope up. It was heavy, thick with pages. Ones that she presumed would now be inscribed with his signature. 


“Betty, please don’t do this,” Jughead was begging, pleading with his wife not to pull back into herself again. “I’ve lost too, you can’t just push me away.” 

“I can’t give you what you want anymore, Juggie. My body is useless. I am useless,” she sobbed through her tears. Jughead grabbed her face between his hands, forcing him to look at her. 

“You are not useless, you are the furthest from that. Don’t ever say that.” Jughead was crying too, they had matching tear tracks down their cheeks. “We can work through this, babe, I swear it.” 

“No, this is my fault,” she shook her head fiercely. “There is nothing wrong with you, this is on me.”



So although Betty couldn’t control her own body, something that would never sit well with her, she could control her choices. She knew how badly Jughead wanted children, it had been something they always spoke about. When she told him she was pregnant, his eyes had never grown so wide.

Except maybe that fateful morning, the one where she woke in pain like she had never felt. The Doctor informed them both what had happened, but Betty was hardly listening. All she could think of was what she lost. Had it been a boy, with eyes like hers? Or a little girl with a shock of black hair? 

But then came news that caused her world to crash and burn around her. 


“We can try, or we can adopt. We will get through this, I promise.” 

“You heard the Doctor, Jug. I can’t have children. You shouldn’t have to ‘get through this’.” Betty knew she was being ridiculous, but in that moment she didn’t care. “It’s all you’ve ever wanted, I-”

“No,” he interrupted, his fingers were digging into her cheeks. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” He watched her face, felt her shudder with uncontrollable sobs against him. 

“I won’t do this to you, I won’t,” her voice wavered, so she cleared her throat and pulled away from his grasp. She wiped at the tears under eyes, looked Jughead dead in the eyes and told him, ‘I want you to leave.” 


They spent the next month after the news floating around each other, and every time Jughead tried to broach the subject Betty would shut him down. It was no way to act in a marriage, and she knew it. But she was so broken inside, no matter how many times he tried to comfort her she knew she was keeping him from a life he wanted. One he could have with someone else. So she took matter into her own hands. 


”Excuse me?” His head jerked back in surprise. 

“I said, I want you to leave,” her voice didn’t falter this time. Not even with the way his face broke under his words.

“No, no fucking way. This is my house too, you can’t just kick me out,” he shook his head, as if he was trying to gather his thoughts, “We’re not doing this. We are stronger than this, you are stronger than this, B-”

“Don’t you dare tell me how strong I am, don’t fucking dare,” she spat at him, anger coursing throughout her. “My body doesn’t work like it is supposed too, what is strong about that, huh?” Jughead had no words, so she continued, “Exactly! This can’t work anymore, it just can’t. You will look at me in another ten years and just resent me. I know it, and don’t try and tell me otherwise.”

“Betty, please, I could never resent you,” his voice broke over the words. “We can go and see someone, get some help, for us.” Betty laughed then, it was cold. Harsh. 

“Just get out, Jughead.”

“Betty, please, I love you, just let me,-” he was pleading, begging. 

“GET OUT!” Betty had never once raised her voice to him, not once throughout their 3 year marriage, their 10 years together. 


It had been 3 months since she told him to leave. 2 months since she sent him the divorce papers. The ones she held in her hand now. Jughead had fought against it, determined not to sign. He told her countless times that he was not going to give up on them so easy, that he understood she was broken but so was he. He was going to wait for her, no matter how long it took. 

But then she told him they should put the house on the market. She had even started packing up his things, there were boxes piled in the garage containing all the life they had made together so far. Simply inscribed on the side with either a ‘J’ or a ‘B’, each lining opposite sides of the garage. A true divide. 

Betty walked into the house and chucked the envelope on the coffee table. She sat on the couch and stared at it for a moment before ripping it open. There was a note on the top, Jugheads scribe across the page. Betty put it down before she read it, instead flicking through the stapled pages first. And there it was, his name signed in permanent ink. She couldn’t even bring herself to cry or feel anything, this was what she wanted after all. Wasn’t it?

She pushed the fact that she hadn’t even signed them to the back of her mind. Her eyes fell back to the note. And with a deep breath she picked it up and began to read. 

Betty Cooper. All those years ago my heart chose you, and not the idea of what you could give me at any point in the future. I could live happily every day for the rest of my life, as I have done to this day, just knowing you exist. Whether it be by my side, or not. You are the most spectacular person I will ever know, you are my heart and I have no say in the matter. I would work through anything the world throws at us, battle any storm,  just to be with you. Nothing and no one else, just you. That is more than enough for me. You are enough.

But I respect your wishes, all I ever wanted to do was keep you safe. Keep you happy. But just remember; 

I still choose you. I will spend my forever, choosing just you. I love you, and it’s endless. 


She went upstairs, leaving the papers on the coffee table but taking his note with her. She read it countless times, his words bringing an endless flow of tears. But they were different than the ones she had been crying the last 4 months, ever since that horrible morning in the doctors office. They were tears of hope, of love. She missed Jughead with her whole being, and she couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. It had taken those signed papers for Betty to realise that she could not lose him. 

 And yet here he was, willing to love her for eternity, no matter how reckless she had been with his heart. She didn’t deserve him. So, before she really realised what she was doing, there was a dialing tone in her ear. 

“Betty?” Hearing his voice, the way it broke around her name, caused a fresh wave of tears to flow down her cheeks. 

“Juggie, I know it’s not enough, b-but, I’m so sorry,” she cried, “Can you come home, please?” 

the snow is bleeding red (ShikaSaku)

Read it on AO3!

There is nothing easy about those missions. It’s the third one Shikamaru has been involved in, and only the second in which he is the honeytrap. He knows it’s usually ANBU territory, because those guys are trained to endure and overcome the kind of emotional toll it takes on you. Once in a while, though, when none of the black ops are available, or if they need a complimentary skillset to their human bait, they’ll call a standard jonin. That’s where he comes in.

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The One in Which You’re Sugar and He Is Buddy // l.h.

(mobile) masterlist

word count: 3.8k

summary: drunken, you’re left sitting propped against a fence on the sidewalk, until a stranger stumbles over your legs. 

It’s been hours since the party started, and all the drinks and games have left you a curled up mess against a fence. Your eyes are drooping and you’re so damn tired, but in the back of your mind you can hear a voice telling you to get the fuck up and find a way home. But your body doesn’t want to listen apparently, because it does not move one inch.

You sigh, then giggle.

Then you hear, above all the pumping music, footsteps approaching. Someone has left the party and is walking home. You can see their tall figure marching your way. The sidewalk is narrow as it is, but with you sprawled across it, it is no surprise the stranger stumbles over your stretched out bare legs. A few curses leave his mouth as he regains his balance and stands above you.

You look up.

The stranger looks down on you, a look of confusion etched on his face, which then turns into worrisome. Your view is beautiful, you think. The way the boy has his eyebrows scrunched up, his eyes, his lip ring, the sky above him, the stars scattered across it. You may be drunk, but your heart still knows what beauty means, and this—this is definitely a masterpiece—carefully and messily crafted.

The stranger crouches down in front of your body as you struggle to sit up, shifting yourself so you’re leaning against the fence. He smiles at you, and his smile—it is not one of any negative or judgemental undertone; it is careful, genuine. It is beautiful, just like himself. His hair is a blond mess, strands flying across his forehead, a beard adorning his jaw. His eyes hold the sky of happy days, you can see them, even in the dark.

“Are you alright?” he asks, weaving a hand through his hair. There is no laughter in his voice as he is not making fun of you. It is rather soft and laced with a smile. “Where are your friends?”

You choose to ignore the first question. “They left.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he somehow manages to hear you, despite the loud music and all.

His brows raise. “Well, do you have anyone to take you home?” His eyes roam over your body, taking the goosebumps on your arms in. Surprisingly, he doesn’t linger on your naked legs from the daring outfit your friends forced you into, which earns him even more points.

No, you think as a response but don’t voice it out loud. This is not you. You have never been drunk before, but tonight your friends made you drink with them, claiming it was finally time for you to loose your “al-ginity”. You are a good girl, one that chooses not to drink for specific reasons, a girl who doesn’t dance out of the line.

Tonight you feel betrayed, stamped on, dirty. It is one thing for your friends get you drunk, another for them to leave you all by yourself.

“Here,” he says and shrugs out of his flannel, before draping it over your shoulders. His hands run over your arms gently. “I can call you a cab, get you home safely.”

It may be the alcohol, but for whatever reason your eyes begin to water as he offers you this. You’re a total stranger to him and somehow he’s still got enough kindness in his heart, to help you out. “Hey hey hey,” he shushes you, “It’s gonna be all right. Don’t worry.”

You nod, because what else are you supposed to say? That he’s much nicer than your very own friends? Or that your emotions are over the top right now and he’s not helping at all? “I don’t have any money for a cab,” you slur.

His lips broaden into a smile again. “That’s all right,” he assures, sticking his hands into his bum pocket and fishing a worn out wallet out. “I’ve got…a total of five dollars. Damn it.”

His words make you cry harder because you think you will never get home. “I—I don’t want to d-die!” The stranger begins to chuckle then, teeth buried in his lower lip as he tries to hold it in. “Is not funny!” you snap at him, but it comes out in a slur. The hand you raise to slap at his chest wobbles in the air before he gently clasps it in his.

“I’m not laughing,” he says, laughing, “I swear.” He’s so laughing, though. “Okay. All right. I’ll just—uh, let me think for a second.” His chuckles die down, but he keeps holding onto your hand as he seats himself on the concrete before you. His teeth are still biting down on his lips, so you raise your free hand and slowly bring it to his mouth, poking at his chin and prying his lip out. His eyes flicker to yours, then to your fingers that are hovering before his mouth. “I think,” he says, “we need to sober you up first.” He grins at the finger you’re wriggling in front of his face. Grunting, he raises to this feet again. This time it is him who holds his hand out and wriggles his fingers. “Come on,” he says. “I’m sure there’s some coffee somewhere inside.”

You shake your head profoundly. “No.” You sound like a whining child, but you keep murmuring this small word. “I don’t wanna!”

“Babe, you gotta help me out here,” the boy says slowly. “I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow, so please just come back inside so we can detox your system. And I can’t really properly talk to you like this.”

Leaning back against the fence, you pout and sigh. “Is loud inside,” you tell him, staring at the floor and raising your brows in a duh manner.

The stranger stares at you for a second too long, before he puffs and crouches back down in front of you. “All right, all right. Let me think for a moment.”

When he doesn’t say anything in, what feels to you, a really long time, you say, “Buddy,” poking him in the chest. He only glares at you in a confused way, his eyebrows crunched up. “Buddy?” you say again.

He laughs, and to your drunken ass it sounds like the most holy sound you’ve ever heard. “What’s up with you?” Gently, he pushes your hand away, but you keep reaching for him. “Stop calling me that,” he says, grinning, “It sounds like I’m your kid or something.”

“You’re my kid.”

“Oh, I hope not.” His big warm hands wrap around yours as you still haven’t stopped bugging him.


“How about you call me Luke? ‘Cause that’s my name.”

“Luke.” You try his name—how it rolls off your tongue, how it tastes in your mouth. “Lukey—me likey.”

Luke laughs at your choice of words. “I’m glad,” he says. “Now how about your name?”

You snatch your hand back, resting your palm against your chest and leaning forward, before telling him your name like you’ve just done a great job.

Pretending to play along, Luke looks impressed and his eyes grow wide. “Wow! That’s amazing!”

You manage a nod in response that leaves you dizzy all over again. “But I like you calling me babe better,” you tell him, grinning.

The corners of his lips raise, though it is not a smirk he’s giving you but a sweet smile. “I can do that,” he says, softly. “Hey, you still got your address in your head? We can walk—it doesn’t matter.”

This time, you shake your head, causing you to almost topple over, if he hadn’t caught you by your waist and shoulder. “Slow down, babe,” Luke murmurs, gently moving your body so you’re leaning against the fence again.

You continue shaking your head as little sobs escape your throat. “I can’t go home,” you manage to spit out. Luke’s nodding his head like he understands, so you decide to enlighten him. “My si-sister’s home. She’s as stuck up as me—you know, in c-case you haven’t noticed how stuck u-up I am. She c-can’t know I got drunk.” Grabbing onto his shirt, you pull him closer until his nose is almost touching yours. There’s this fierce look etched on your face and just as you are about to open your mouth to make him promise he won’t let your sister find out, a short laugh bursts out of him. His eyes find yours as he continues to laugh at you. “Buddy—”

“Hey, if you keep calling me Buddy I think I’ll have to come up with a stupid nickname too,” he interrupts you. “Hmm,” he hums, his hands clasping around yours in order to release your grip on him. But he doesn’t let go. The warmth of his hold is so comforting, you think, as you sink back towards the fence and close your eyes.

“Sugar,” he calls, shaking your shoulders. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, Sugar.”

Immediately, your eyes snap right back open. “Oh, don’t you dare call me that.”

“Hey, if you can call me Buddy, then I think I can call you Sugar.” He throws you a quick smirk, before he raises to his feet, holding a hand out to you. “Now come on, Sugar. Get up. I’m taking you to my place.”

“Mama said never to follow a stranger,” you slur, shaking your head.

Luke rolls his eyes, laughing quietly at your pout. “Mama also said to never drink until you can’t even walk, eh?”

You nod in defiant.


Following a stranger into his car may easily be the dumbest thing you’ve done in your life, but you think falling asleep in said stranger’s car may top that. Yeah, it kind of does.

You wake up to a voice humming and a car door being slammed shut. “Buddy?” you ask with a dry throat.

“Right here,” a voice answers. You can feel the vibrations against your arm and shoulders and as you think about it, you also feel smooth skin against your cheek and forehead. In conclusion, Luke is carrying you out of the car into his apartment.

Forcing yourself to fight against the cloud of tiredness, you weakly try to push your hand against his chest. “What are you doing?” You look around, seeing nothing but darkness and an apartment building. “Where are you taking me?”

His hand squeezes your thigh. As if that were reassuring? “Hey, I’m just taking you to my apartment so you can sleep off the alcohol,” he tells you softly. “Look, if you can walk, I can put you down. I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m just trying to help.” His cheek grazes the top of your head.

You press a tiny kiss to his neck.

Oh, there is still so much alcohol controlling your actions.


Unfortunately, he can’t manage to open the door with you in his arms, so you have to stand on your own feet—more like lean against the wall (a thing you’ve done a lot these past hours)—and wait for him to unlock and let you in. You stumble your way inside the building, spotting the elevator and making a beeline for it only to be disappointed as you spot the piece of paper. OUT OF ORDER, it says in giant red letters. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” you groan, stomping your foot like a five-year-old. But honestly, at this point, you are so tired and drunk and you only want to lay down and take a nap. Or maybe two.

Luke laughs as he sees you, ready to throw a tantrum. “Come here,” he says, grinning and squatting down in front of you.

His gesture brings a smile to your own lips, before you hop onto his back, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You lean your head against his, tucking your chin into the dip where his neck meets his shoulders. “Thank you, Buddy,” you whisper and press yet another kiss to his soft skin, causing Luke’s heart to almost jump out of his rip cage.

Adjusting your body, he smiles and tips his head to the side so it touches yours.

Luke’s always wished to live high up in the sky, but this time he’s kind of glad he only has to trek two levels. And thanks to working out regularly, he isn’t out of breath and doesn’t embarrass himself. At his door, he has to let you down again, in order to unlock it.

Stepping inside, you’re overwhelmed with a smell which just screams LUKE and the messiest mess one can imagine. His shoes are scattered not in the rack but around it, jackets lying around—not hanging, and the actual living room is even worse. Tiptoeing around his trash (mostly take-away boxes), you let yourself fall onto the couch, a loud sigh escaping your lips. As you close your eyes for a well-deserved nap, Luke shuffles in front of you, a glass of water in his one hand and two pills in his other. “Come on,” he says, shaking the hand with the pills slightly. “You gotta take some or you’re going to die tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen instantly. “I don’t want to die!” you squeal in horror, quickly snatching the pills and swallowing them with a few gulps of water. Luke looks at you in a funny way, his head cocked to the side and one corner of his mouth slightly raised.

“Alright, Sugar,” he begins, clapping his hands once. “You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Uh-uh.” You shake your head and refuse as Luke tries to pull you from your well beloved couch. “I wanna stay here.” Your voice literally comes out like the whine of a five-year-old. “Me and couchey are great friends and we don’t wanna be separated.”

The look Luke throws you this time is confusion and disbelief. He cannot believe he’s picked this stupidly-kind-of-cute drunken girl off the street. “Okay,” he replies slowly. “First of all, it’s couchy and me and secondly, it’s up to you. I’m not gonna deny myself a perfectly comfortable bed. So, if you want to stay here, fine by me.” He stands up, grabs your empty glass and wanders off towards the hallway.

“Wait!” you shout after him. “Where are you going, Buddy?”

Luke turns back around, thinking you’ve changed your mind and do actually want the bed, but what he finds instead is your drunken ass raised onto your knees, leaning against the back of the couch, only your eyes peeking at him. He laughs. You raise your eyebrows. He laughs even harder. “Is not funny,” you pout.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He raises his hands in surrender, one still clutching the empty glass. “I was just going to get you a blanket.”

“Okay,” you reply slowly. Is that suspicion Luke is hearing in your voice?

He comes back two minutes later with blankets, pillows and clothes. “I figured sleeping in those isn’t gonna cut it so I brought you some sweatpants and a shirt.”

“Thanks,” you say and begin to pull down your skirt.

“Okay, slow down a second, babe!” Luke shouts in horror and swiftly turns around so his back is facing you. “You could’ve warned me…”

“Uh, sorry.” You blush. Forcing your body into a much more comfortable outfit, you can feel yourself relax again. “I’m done,” you tell Luke quietly.

“Okay,” he says, facing you again. “Lay down.” He nods towards the couch, throwing the pillow on one foot of it as he comes at you with the blanket.

You obey like the good little drunken girl you are and jump on the couch, bouncing a couple of times.

“I said lay down, Sugar,” Luke says, laughing and pushing his hands at you in order to keep your body still so he can drape the blanket over you. Tucking it in, he looks down at you. There’s warmth spreading in his chest. You look so innocent, lying beneath him on his couch, your cheeks still reddened from the alcohol. He can’t bear the thought of what would’ve happened to you, if he hadn’t stumbled over you tonight. You were in no state to find your way home, if you had somehow managed to convince yourself to even go there. Shaking his head, he pats your arm in an awkward Luke-way and retreats towards his own room, but is stopped by your hand on his wrist.

“Where you going?” you mumble sleepily at him.

“Well, you’re not the only one that’s tired.”

Half sitting up—and ruining the way he’s so perfectly tucked the blankets around your body—you pull at his wrist slightly. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper, tears in your eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Luke sighs, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “It’s alright, Sugar,” he says. “I’m just in my room. It’s not like my apartment is ginormous and you won’t find your way, if you need anything.”

“Please stay with me.”

He looks at you—really looks at you this time. Your hair is dishevelled, eyes and cheeks reddened, teary-eyed, a frown adorning your face. You look like you’re scared. And it’s kind of breaking his heart to see you this way.

When people are intoxicated, they kind of transform to their true selves. You may not be a five-year-old, but your drunken self shows the innocence that surrounds you. And Luke feels like he needs to protect you. That’s the way he’s always been like. Being the last-born he’s never really had anyone to protect, so his protector instincts have always just been there, and now that you’re here in his apartment, the urge is even stronger than before. It’s a pull towards your half-sleeping body, this pull to wrap you up and never let anything bad touch you again.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he says quietly, pulling your hand from around his wrist and wrapping his own around it. He gives it a good squeeze. “I’m just gonna go and get my blanket and pillow, alright?”

You nod, wiping at the tears.

He’s back a second later, laying one blanket on the floor beside you and a pillow on top of that so you’re head to head.

Face to face you two lay in the dark, waiting for sleep to come and whisk you away. And just as you’re on the edge to dreamland a soft voice whispers, “Sleep tight, babe.”


The thing that wakes you in the morning is not the obnoxiously loud snoring beside your head. It’s the slight headache and the blinding light your eyelids can’t seem to tune out. Oh, and the fact that there’s bile coming up your throat. Slapping a hand on your mouth, you scramble to get up, though you step on the sleeping figure by your feet in the process. Cursing, you step around him and frantically take a few turns until you spot the kitchen and—thank God—a sink. Never having thrown up due to alcohol, you’re surprised by how different it is to normal puking. It’s astonishingly not that gross tasting as you’d have thought.

“Babe? Sugar?” a tired—raspy—voice calls out. He steps into the kitchen just as you rinse out your mouth. It’s the snoring dude.

Redirecting your stare from his sleepy half-naked figure down at yourself, you notice you’re wearing different clothes than the ones you left with yesterday. The dude seems to sense what you’re thinking, because a blush creeps up his neck and he raises his hand to scratch at his head. “You, uh—You changed yourself. I didn’t touch you, I promise!” His hands come up in a defensive gesture.

You laugh. “Hey, it’s alright. Even if you had, I’d’ve been glad.” You cock your head. “At least I think so.”

He smiles at that. “Well, I didn’t, so there’s that.” He moves around you, opens the cupboard above your head and grabs two glasses. Filling them up, he hands you one, tipping the other one slightly in a cheers kind of way. “Do you even remember what happened last night?”

You gulp the water down like you haven’t had a single sip for weeks, before answering him. “Not really. Not a lot. I know you’re the dude that helped me out, though. I think. Because my instinct isn’t telling me to kick you in the groin. And because you’re good-looking as hell, I’m deciding to trust my instinct and pray you won’t go all psycho on me.”

His eyes widen a tad bit. “Oh-kay.” Clearing his throat, he places his glass in the sink. “Anyways, I’m Luke, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You smile sheepishly at him and tell him your name as well.

“I remember your name,” Luke says, grinning. “I wasn’t as drunk as you last night. Nowhere near as drunk.”

A blush creeps up your neck. “That was my first time being drunk. Actually, that was my first time even tasting alcohol.”

His eyes widen. “Really? What first timer drinks himself into oblivion?” He shakes his head, taking the glass out of your hands and places it in the sink as well.  “You hungry?” he asks.

“Very so,” you answer, taking a seat at the tiny table that’s shoved in one corner. “What’cha got, Buddy?”

Luke turns around, grinning. “So you remember that?”

You look at him, confused. “I have no idea where that came from.”

He laughs, facing his fridge again as he takes out a couple eggs. “Yeah, we kind of gave each other stupid nicknames. You started it, by the way, Sugar.” Turning to you, he holds up the eggs. “Omelette okay?”

“Sure,” you reply, saliva already filling your mouth. “Eh, as far as I can judge so far, we’ve built a very nice friendship. But I think I need a refresher.”

His shoulders shake with laughter. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Would you say yes?” you ask, chest pounding, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You’ve actually never asked someone on a date before, as you have, in fact, only been to one date in your entire life of 19 years. Alcohol somehow does change people, you find, taking notice of your changed confidence, though it only knocked up one notch.

Abandoning the bowl with beaten eggs, Luke turns around again, gazing at you in a funny way. His eyes shimmer in the sunlight. He strides up to where you’re sitting in his kitchen chair, caging your body with his one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the table. Your lungs cannot expand, as you force oxygen into them. His face is so breathtakingly close to yours, his eyes burning into yours with such intensity, you can’t look away. Slowly, he lowers himself, as if giving you time to back away, until his lips meet yours with soft pressure. It’s an incredibly sweet and slow kiss. You’re taking your time to explore his mouth, your tongue finding his in a gentle caress. Your hands reach up—one on his neck, the other on his cheek. And all too soon, it ends.

Luke pulls himself away from you. You’re thankful not to be the only one who’s finding it hard to breathe. His entire face smiles at you. “That answer your question?”

The crazy things she does.


Finally. FINALLY.

A little Gendrya fanfic. Enjoy this horrible English!


When Arya called Gendry in the middle of the night he barked if she had gone mad. But, of course, he didn’t mean it. Well, at least partly. She wanted to meet him at the central pier of North Westeros. “No. You know that I have to work tomorrow” he said.

“Yeah, and I have to go to school, politicians have to attend conferences and lions have to hunt gacelles. I know the circle of life, Gendry. Now get your ass over there” Arya replied. And before he could have said something she hung up.

He sighed. He couldn’t refuse her anyway. Neither he wanted nor he was allowed to. She would punch him the next day for it. So he slipped in some jeans, a college hoodie, hid jacket and his boots. *I must be insane*, he thought to himself.

She was already there when he arrived. Of course. Wearing worn out sneakers, ripped jeans and an ACDC-shirt she balanced on the wooden fence of the footbridge, her facial expression concentrated. Gendry grinned to himself. He had an idea.

“Hey there, don’t fall!!”, he shouted.

Immediatly Arya’s face took a surprised expression. She winced, lost the balance and felt on her butt. Gendry couldn’t help but to laugh. He laughed until almost tears came out. She looked so shocked and cute at the same time.

And then her rage arrived. She went back on her feet and after that, Gendry saw a flash and tiny hands punshing his chest.

He grabbed her wrists with his strong hands and held them thightly.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Didn’t know the infamous fierce Arya Stark could be scared in any way.”

“Stupid”, she snapped and freed herself of Hus grip. But her temper softened immediatly. Arya couldn’t be angry at that dumb boy for long. “C'mon”, she commanded, and Gendry better did what she said.


He didn’t know how long they stood there, leaning at the fence and staring at the still ocean. The sound of the soft waves created a certain atmosphere, but Gendry didn’t know which one.

“How lang are we supposed to stand here?”, he asked her, throwing a glance at her small shape.

The moon was full and brightened sone parts of the surroundings. Arya turned her head and looked at him. It was a gaze he wasn’t used to. Almost…with affection. Gendry felt a flush of goosebumps crawling across his skin.

“Let’s go for a swim”, she suggested, her face turning uninterpretably again.

“What? Are you -…”

“No I’m not. Is it that difficult to stop being stubborn this time? Besides, we we’re swimming a lot together. ”

“Well, not in the night, and -…”

“So?”, she interrupted him again. “But you know what? Go go hell while I’ll have fun.

Arya jumped over the fence. While she walked towards the black water she already began to undress herself. Only with a brah and some boxershorts she made her way through the ocean and began to swim.

For a while, Gendry just looked at her. Her graceful movements and her wet hair. And he thought about him and her. Thought about that they hadn’t been very fond of each other when they met. How their friendship developed. All this things rushed in his mind. And then, he joined her.

"Hey”, he said when he reached her.

“Hi there”, Arya replied. And then there was silence. He didn’t know how long and why. They just looked at the moon and said nothing.

Until Arya broke it. She turned to him, gulped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips on his.

They were hot and wet and surprisingly tender. For a moment he hestiated. But just a moment. *She is crazy…and so am I*, he thought before he stopped thinking.

Soon, his arms were gulped around her back, pressing her body against his, lips to lips with hot kisses. They weren’t wild, but passionate, though. And it felt really good.

It was her who broke the kiss. She looked at him, had this glance of affection again. Arya reached behind her back and released her brah, slowly and confidently.

I just want a fat!Alpha Derek who knows he is the biggest and baddest…and driving Stiles crazy :) 

  • Derek squeezing into jeans that are straining at the seams and a black henley that clings to his softer chest and rides up over the curve of his belly. (Stiles does not spend the entire pack meeting staring at the glimpses of Derek’s soft gut bulging over his waistband.)

  • Derek shoving Stiles against the wall and dear god Stiles can feel Derek’s belly brushing up against him. 

  • Stiles trying to be subtle and sliding slices of pizza on Derek’s plate or offering to get him more dessert - and Derek’s rumbling voice in his ear going to make me fat, Stiles. 

  • Stiles challenging Derek to see how much beer it takes to get a werewolf drunk (for research, okay?) and then rubbing Derek’s massively bloated stomach afterwards. He doesn’t get drunk, but the sensation of being so full and stretched with beer and food, and having Stiles hands exploring and squeezing every inch of his flesh is a far better feeling. 

  • The pack pretending not to see Stiles sneak off to Derek’s bedroom with the leftover chocolate cake - and they only mildly tease the pair about their scents being smothered with the constant smell of arousal. 

  • Derek remembering how Kate would run her hands down his arms, stroke his muscles and abs with her fingernails never lose your looks, Der. That’s all you’ll ever have. The weight gives him another reminder she will never touch him again - not like this. Instead he has Stiles - spastic, loving, fiercely loyal Stiles who grabs his prominent love handles and murmurs my big, strong Alpha to watch Derek’s eyes flash red as he comes. 
My Fair Ladybug: Chapter 6 (The Big Reveal)

Chapter Summary: Marinette discovers that Chat lied to her about seeing show posters for My Fair Ladybug all over Paris, and it leads her to a very interesting confrontation with Adrien. (aka my take on the reveal!)

Story Summary: When Marinette and Adrien are cast in the roles of Ladybug and Chat Noir in Alya’s new school play, real and imagined begin to complicate and influence their personalities in ways that make both their actual crime-fighting and civilian lives much more complicated than they ever could have imagined—especially when it comes to their feelings for each other.

Read Here: AO3 | Fanfiction

Since this is my take on the reveal, I’m gonna post the chapter here too- but you can find the rest of the fic on AO3 and Fanfiction. I hope you like it! :)

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anonymous asked:

nooo he called her master omg

“Ani,” Padmé says, her expression stricken, and Anakin flinches. She wants to throw her damn title on the fire. “Ani, no, I didn’t mean–I would never take your freedom from you. And even if I would, no one can do that here. This is the Republic.” 

“I don’t get it,” Anakin says uncertainly, his shoulders hunching. Padmé grits her teeth against the sight. She is wearing Queen Amidala’s face and should not let so much show on it, but she can’t help it when his face looks like that. 

“I swear to you, Anakin Skywalker, no one is going to own you while I breathe,” she tells him fiercely, dropping quickly to her knees in front of him to put them on a level with each other and only resisting the urge to grab his hands because she doubts he’d find any reassurance in the grip. Especially not how tight she’s sure she’d make it, whether she meant to or not. 

“But–you won’t own me either?” Anakin says, looking even more uncertain. “And Master Qui-Gon’s dead and his heir isn’t allowed to inherit me, so–so then I–”

“You’re free, Ani,” Padmé reminds him. She thought he knew what that meant. He does, doesn’t he? 

“But who owns me?” Anakin asks helplessly. 

The Proposal

A/N: Hello! Here’s some Jily for you guys. I needed to take a break from my multi-chapter Jily fic because it was getting a little depressing, and I thought I’d cheer myself up by writing a Jily proposal oneshot. Hope you enjoy! xoxo

Lily sat by the shore of the Black Lake, staring out over the choppy water, her mind going over several thoughts at once. James had been acting strange lately, and she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Ever since they had told Dumbledore that they would, indeed, join the Order when school was over in two short months, he hadn’t been himself. She hadn’t seen him act so strange in the entire time she had known him, especially not since they had been together.

Lily bit her lip, fighting against the burn of tears she felt in her eyes. What if he wanted to break up with her? Maybe he had decided she wasn’t worth all the effort he had put into winning her over for all those years. Or maybe he didn’t want to have her holding him back from the Order and his duties.

She heard footsteps coming up behind her and hastily wiped away the few tears that had leaked from her eyes despite her efforts to keep them from spilling.


Lily turned around to face James. She smiled shakily. Was he here to break up with her?

“Hi.” She whispered, hoping to mask the tremor in her voice.

“What are you doing out here all alone? I would’ve come with you, you know.”

“I was thinking about things.” She said, turning back to face the water as James took as seat on the soft sand beside her. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, hugging them to her chest. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

James shrugged. “The map.”

Lily nodded. “Right. I don’t know why I always forget about that.”

James scooted closer to her, his brow wrinkled in concern. He titled her chin up with his fingers, making her look up and into his eyes.

“Lily, what’s wrong? You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” She scoffed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting strange lately James! You’re always quiet and you’ve barely been speaking to anyone—the Marauders and me included!”

James pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair.

“I’ve had some things to think through.” He said quietly.

Lily bit her lip again. Here it was, he was going to break up with her. Why had she been so stupid? Maybe if she had just admitted that she loved him sooner this wouldn’t be happening? Why had she been so damn stubborn? This time there was no stopping the tears from spilling.

James looked startled and he sifted to his knees in front of Lily.

“What? What is it? Lily?”

“Just do it already.” She said, her voice surprisingly strong despite her tears. “Just break up with me, forget about whatever excuses you’ve been running over in your mind, and leave me alone, okay?”

James looked as though she had slapped him. “Lily! I’m not breaking up with you! What are you even talking about?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense!”

“No,” James said fiercely, grabbing her hands tightly with his own. “No, Lily. How could you think I’d break up with you? I love you! You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Then why have you been acting so strange? Ever since the meeting with Dumbledore you haven’t been yourself. I thought you didn’t want me to hold you back from Order duties or something.”

James shook his head, laughing. “Oi, for such a brilliant witch you sure can be dense, you know.”

Lily narrowed her eyes and James laughed again. He leaned forward and wiped her tears away gently, his fingers caressing the planes of her face.

“I wanted this to be perfect,” he said, staring into her eyes for a moment, “but I can’t wait any longer.”


“Lily,” James cut her off, holding up one finger while he dug around in his pants pocket with his other hand. “Lily Evans, love of my life, my better half, you bring light to this dark world. You make everything better. I’ve chased you for a good six and a half years, and now that I’ve got you I never want to let you go.”

Lily just sat there, staring at him, her lips parted in a soft ‘O’.

James went on. “I live for you, and I’d die for you without thought. I’ll love you for as long as I live, and I’ll continue to love you for eternity and long past when I’m gone. There will be no time in which I am not fully, completely, catastrophically in love with you.”

He finally got whatever he was fumbling for, and he brought his hand forward. Between his thumb and index finger, a ring was clutched. James smiled up at Lily, who was crying once again, but for completely different reasons. James had tears in his eyes as well, though he tried to blink them away.

“Will you marry me, Lily?” he finished.

A moment of silence stretched out between them—Lily sitting there, frozen, staring at James, and James was staring right back.

Without warning, Lily launched herself at James.

“Yes, yes, of course yes you bloody git!” she shouted, her arms wrapping around his neck, her lips crushed against his. The force of her body slamming into his knocked him onto his back and she followed, both of them laughed through their kisses.

They pulled back long enough for James to slip the ring onto her finger. James grinned up at Lily, who was admiring the ring on her finger.

“It’s my mother’s. Been in the family for centuries.”

“It’s beautiful, James.” Lily breathed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting strange this week. I was just trying to sort out when to ask you. I’ve had the ring for months, but after the whole Order business I just felt like I needed to make you my wife before I did anything else.” James explained. “I didn’t want to shock you with the proposal bit.”

Lily blushed. “I’m sorry I acted like such a git.”

“You were a bit gittish.” James laughed.

“I love you.” Lily smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

“And I love you.” James replied, kissing her for all they were worth.

“Oi! You two!” There were interrupted by a loud shout from Sirius, who, flanked by Remus and Peter, were walking towards them across the sand.

James groaned and Lily laughed, rolling off of James’s lap and sitting on the sand beside him.

“Hey, Evans, you mind if we borrow your boyfriend for a bit? Marauder stuff, you know.” Sirius said, plopping down onto the sand in front of the couple. Remus and Peter joined them, albeit more gracefully.

“Fiancée, actually.” Lily replied with a grin. “But no, I don’t mind.”

“Thanks—wait what?!” Sirius exclaimed, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

James grinned, his smile lighting up his entire face as Lily held up her hand and wiggled the fourth finger. The diamond sparkled in the sunlight.

All three of the Marauders reacted at once, exploding into whoops and cheers, shouts of “Finally!” and “I better be the best man!” from Sirius. The group stood and exchanged hugs, reveling in the happiness of the engagement. Whatever Marauder business that had needed James’s attention was long forgotten as the beginnings of a party were being planned to celebrate the newly engaged couple. After all, this wasn’t just a silly prank that needed to be planned, this was the beginning of a new life—one they would all spend together, happily and until they were old and gray. Nothing could have been more perfect.


I really miss Lizzie, especially Red and Lizzie together. So I am going to post some reminders for us to look forward to when Lizzie comes back…..

So I went back and looked at how their relationship progressed over time. Let’s start by looking just at the hug scenes:

Above - their very first hug in the Music Box scene in Episode 01 x 17

Hug in the ship were Lizzie held Tom captive. She was feeling bad about not being able to kill Tom (us too Lizzie) but she finally relaxes and closes her eyes. Episode 02 x 08

This one is not really a true hug  but it is essentially the same thing - showing feelings - grabbing his chest instead of his hand. From Episode 02 x 19

This is my favorite hug. Lizzie was so fierce when she dives into Red’s arms. On the video you can hear her breath catch when she hugs him. I love this quote from Entertainment Weekly on this hug: “I mean, seriously with that hug — did not see that coming!”

And of course the hug after the Exoneration (Episode 03 x 10) that made the list of the best hugs ever on TV per Yahoo. I had to break it out into 4 gifs below:

Look how intensely Lizzie is looking at Red. She is like a wound up spring ready for release

And wham - she leaps into his arms. On the actual video you can hear their arms slap around their bodies it was so energetic. What pent up emotions!

Lizzie looking so content in his arms. She could stay there forever. And she is holding him so tight!

And of course Red - with the woman he loves most in his arms. This was such an awesome, emotional scene

So we can see just by looking at the hugs alone the direction we are going with Red and Lizzie. Yes they do break apart still  but each time they come back together stronger and more intense. The build up is incredible. The slow burn continues but the direction is clear to me. Could happen as soon as Lizzie re-appears, hopefully at the end of Season 3. Have faith my #Lizzington friends!


Source: iloveredmorethanever

anonymous asked:

can u do a Magnus pov in the weeding and the kiss !! ^_^

Magnus walked back and forth in a straight line for a few moments, gathering the courage he needed to walk inside the chapel. He had to do this, he had to make a statement, he had to give Alec the opportunity to do something for himself rather than someone else. 

He had to hand it to Isabelle though, she had done her part in calling him, desperate for her bother to achieve a happy ending. Magnus was here to make sure that he did.

So Magnus put some armour around his heart, just in case and walked inside the chapel, in the middle of the wedding. Alec looked over at him, his breath catching, and Magnus stared at him, ready for whatever it was that was about to happen. 

Maryse Lightwood, who was forever a ball of fire, came stomping towards him, hissing, “Magnus, leave this wedding now.”

Magnus, who was doing his very best to appear more confident than he actually was, put up two of his fingers, forcing his voice to come out strong. Now was not the time to appear vulnerable. “Maryse, this is between me and your son. I’ll leave if he asks me to.” and he walked forward a little bit more, waiting. 

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kooriicolada  asked:

L. A stolen kiss. Shakarian.

(this can be read as a continuation of this drabble)

It seemed that Mordin wasn’t the only salarian capable of talking at the speed of light. Unlike Mordin, however, the salarian scientist standing in front of Garrus hadn’t quite learned the trick of knowing when to stop

This is why I don’t go to these things, he thought, as the salarian inhaled mid-word and kept talking, gesturing with a drink glass she hadn’t touched once. Every damn war benefit, I get ambushed. He should be down at the docks, with the refugees, doing actual work, instead of smiling and nodding and hoping the evening wouldn’t be a total waste of time and effort. 

Everything except killing Reapers felt like a waste, now. 

“– really quite simple!” finished the salarian, beaming at Garrus and finally taking a sip of her drink. “Don’t you agree, Advisor Vakarian?” 

For a dizzying, lingering moment, Garrus couldn’t remember her name, and nodded to cover himself, lifting his own drink in what he hoped looked like agreement. He’d only understood every third word, between the technical details and the speed at which they were delivered, but the scientist actually cared, and that was worth a damn sight more than half the people in the room. 

“As far as I understood it, I agree,” he said, as honestly as he could. “Bit above my pay grade.”

“I only keep him around for his good looks, after all,” said a cool voice at side. A moment later, Shepard appeared, composed and elegantly deadly in black velvet, and slid her arm through his. “Dr. Tannos, isn’t it? Admiral Hackett speaks highly of your work on the Crucible.” 

Garrus gave Shepard a wry glance as Dr. Tannos beamed with pleasure. 

“Would you excuse us, please?” Shepard asked. She held out her hand without waiting for a reply, and after a firm shake, she pulled Garrus away, headed for the back of the room. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the rescue, Commander,” he drawled, as they ducked behind a waterfall, “but I was doing fine on my own.” 

“I’ve seen you look less out of your depth with a Brute on top of you,” Shepard said, smirking up at him. “Dr. Tannos is a genius, and we’re lucky to have her, but she can be a bit much to take, for the uninitiated. You know, the dalatrass tried to keep Dr. Tannos from joining the Crucible project? Asshole.” 

“But the good doctor came anyways?” Garrus curved his hand over Shepard’s shoulder, and rubbed his thumb against her collarbone. His neck warmed as her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into the touch. 

“She did,” Shepard said, sighing. “God, that feels good. No one will come looking for us for a few minutes, so if you stop, I’ll break your hand.” 

“That an order?” he asked. 

Shepard opened one pale eye. “Does it need to be?” 

“If it makes you happy,” said Garrus. Shepard laughed in his face, then grabbed him by the cowl and tugged him down. 

“Thanks,” she said, and kissed him, hard and fierce, sighing as they broke apart. “I couldn’t do this without you.” 

The war, the party – he knew she meant all of it. But he had no reply worthy of how he felt, so he kissed her again, holding her tight and memorizing her fingers on his hide. 

Okay, but just imagine Leo invites the seven, Nico, and Reyna to a Dia De Los Muertos party at his aunt’s house, I have theory that Leo changes a lot after his death and resurrection bc dude dying hurts and he has a lot more to live for now, so when they show up Leo introduces his family to his family, but then Leo’s grandmother hobbles over.

She’s looking straight at Hazel while pushing past everyone and when she finally gets to her she says:

“I knew how much he loved you. Even on his death bed he never stopped talking about you”.

And Hazel grabs her hand like she did to Leo and she sees how sad and lonely Sammy was after she left. How some nights he would drink his life away. How he would visit the stables and remember how beautiful Hazel was mounted on her horse, her curly hair bouncing, her eyes fierce with excitement and joy, her lips and how they parted into a smile just for him.

She sees how lonely he was, until one night in his early thirties, he was sitting at a bar, drinking like usual, and he hears a familiar voice “excuse me where’s the bathroom?” He turns thinking he would see Hazel, but instead its someone else.

She’s medium in height, long curly brown hair, tan skin, thick in body, dark brown eyes, and a familiar smile. She was so beautiful, she had this warmth to her that could brush out the cold. She was like a Latin version of Hazel, but he knew she wasn’t.

They spent years together. They got married, started a family, had beautiful kids, beautiful grandkids. They were happy. They started a tradition: every year Dia De los Muertos they made one gold cupcake with one gold candle for Hazel.

On his death bed, Sammy was hysterical. He had Alzheimer’s, but nothing had changed. He spoke about Hazel every minute of everyday. How they meet, how she left, and how he had never recovered. Sometimes when his wife came to visit he would call her Hazel, and drop down to the floor trying to run to her. On his last day, Sammy was holding his wife’s hand and said “I loved her, but that never meant I didn’t love you”.

Hazel returned, still holding Leo’s grandmother’s hand, and saw tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry”, said Hazel

Leos grandmother hobbled over to the nearest table, grabbed something, and hobbled back. She was holding a gold cupcake with a gold candle.

“Feliz Dia De Los Muertos” she said.

“Feliz Dia De Los Muertos”.

I Love You

girlwiththerubycast, here is your feel better story!  It’s a follow up to the humanity-less Caroline stories I wrote, which can be found here and here, although you don’t have to read them to be able to enjoy this.  Just know that Klaus and Caroline have sexed it up, she knows he loves her, and she cares about him, but she feels like she needs to do some travelling before settling down.

She woke up to the sensation of lips on skin.

               Her travels had taken her to Italy, and just when she had been thinking about moving onto the next country, he had shown up on her doorstep.

               “I promised you Rome.  You can’t come here and not see Rome.”

               Caroline had blinked at him in surprised, because she hadn’t expected to see Klaus, not yet.  She had been  planning on going to New Orleans in a month for Mardi Gras, had figured she would surprise him, and yet there he stood.

               “I – Klaus.”

               “Hello, Love.”

               She had been quite determined, not to think about him. She had thrown herself into travel and making new friends among Europe’s supernatural underworld.  She had, very determinedly, not thought about him. She had spent a year with him, though she had been without her humanity.  And then they had spent one amazing week together once she turned the switch back on, before she’d taken off to find herself.

               And she had been determined not to think about him.

               But then he was standing there, in all his smirking, Hybrid glory, and months of not thinking about him didn’t matter anymore. Because she had missed him.

               A thousand years of experience, and he had still been surprised when she had jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist and grabbing his face with her hands, pressing a fierce, hungry kiss to his lips.

               “Hi,” she whispered, pulling back so she could smile at him.

               “I came to take you to Rome, love.”

               “Rome can wait.”

               And that’s how she woke up, kisses being pressed down the length of her spine.  She moaned and rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head.  She felt the sheet slide away from her, revealing her body from the waist down.

               “Now that is a lovely sight for the morning,” Klaus commented, and Caroline opened her eyes to look at him with a satisfied grin.  His gaze was darting between  her face and her breasts, and Caroline felt a little smug.  Just over a year ago, it would have made her blush, to have him see her like that.  But the year she’d spent without her humanity had also been spent trying to seduce him. He’d seen her naked, touched her naked, and now it would be foolish to be embarrassed by his eyes on her.  

               Besides, she could just return the favor, and happily did.  Part of missing him had been missing his body and the wonderful things he could use it to do to her.

               “Minx,” he growled when he saw her smile, and he pulled her into him.  Caroline went with the movement, resting her hands on his chest and enjoying the feel of his smooth skin as she pressed her lips to his.  He growled again, this time with arousal, and turned so she was on her back beneath his hard body.  She ran her hands up his arms and into his hair, and simply let herself enjoy kissing him for a while.

               There had been a time or two in the months since she’d left him, when she had thought she had missed sex.  There had even been a time or two she had been tempted by a pretty face and prettier words.  But each time, she had walked the other way.  She’d told herself it was because she knew herself too well.   Caroline didn’t do emotionless sex very well, and she was determined to see the world, not to form attachments that were tie her to any one place.

               But now, being in his arms again, she was afraid that it wasn’t that simple.  It hadn’t been sex she had been missing or looking for.  It had been… him.

               And fuck, she thought darkly.  Running from forming ties of emotion, and here she had already formed one back in New Orleans.

               “Stop thinking, Caroline,” he murmured, breaking away, and speaking against her skin as he kissed her pulse point.  “It’s entirely too loud.”

               I think I might be in love with you.

               But hadn’t she told him when she left that she wasn’t in love with him?  Saying differently now seemed so… flighty. And Caroline hadn’t been flighty since she’d been turned.  Hell, she’d practically beaten the horse that was her relationship with Tyler to death before she had finally given up on the dream of the supernatural white picket fence in Mystic Falls.  And how did falling in love when she was thousands of miles away even work.

               He sighed and pulled back, leaning on an arm and looking down at her.

               “Penny for your thoughts?”

               “You could sound a little more sincere, you know,” she told him with a mock scowl and hitting his chest.  “You’re going to make me think that you just want me for my body.”

               “I’m quite positive no one would think that, Love,” Klaus replied rather dryly, reaching out to run a finger down the center of her chest, between her breasts.  “Although I’ll admit that you won’t hear me complain about your body…”

               “Charmer,” she muttered, pulling him in for a kiss again.

               He didn’t reply, and instead grabbed her leg and hefted it up to his waist, placing himself conveniently between her legs. She moaned into the kiss when his erection rubbed against her core, and felt herself growing wet once more.

               “So sensitive,” he murmured into her lips.  “God, I love that.”

               I love you hung between them , heavy and unsaid, and they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before he slid into her.

               And then she wasn’t capable of thinking about anything but that.

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