Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)
Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au
Word Count: 5,468
A/N: This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (masturbating, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use……(alot of smut comes in later) This is a mature read! You have been warned!
Your mother told you that there
was a purpose for what everyone does. That there is always a reason for
someone’s actions; whether it was bad or good. If it was a good action, the
individual has learned the most rewarding path to handle situations; regardless
if it was easy or not. If it was a bad action, the person could reflect on it,
and with guidance, they will learn the right way toward dealing with obstacles.
And to this day, that is how you viewed life. If you handled something well,
you would be rewarded in the future, if you handled it poorly, you would need
to reflect on why you did such a thing, till you find the right path. With
these beliefs, you always wanted to find the ‘purpose’ of an individual’s
actions, and help them find the right way. So that’s how you ended up working
at a rehab centre; helping mentally to find the root cause of someone’s poor
actions, and leading them to a better future.
months. That’s how long almost half of the new hire last when they
become social workers. Some will tell you it’s the pay, others will tell
you it’s the stress, still others will complain about poor training or
case overload or the broken system. But that’s all bullshit. The reason
they quit is always the same; the kids.
Warnings: angst!, a tiny bit of violence, swear words, alcohol
Summary: Being Bucky’s best friend (after Steve of course) gets a lot of perks - but being in love with him WHILE being his best friend means that your adoration must be kept a secret. That also means you have to silently endure every single encounter with women he has whether he tells you or you see it for yourself.
A/N: So this one shot is based on the Amy Shark song “Adore You” (she speaks to me on so many levels!) and I just really wanted a Bucky fic for it because he’d be absolutely clueless to someone adoring him like this…I also kind of skipped over the “oh look at him I’m in love with him” fluffy stuff and I just focused on the couple of days leading up to the point reader can’t take it anymore. I like the angst - it fuels me *evil laugh*
Y/F/I = Your First Initial
I’m just gonna stand with my bag hanging off my left arm
I’m just gonna walk home kicking stones at parked cars
But I had a great night ‘cause you kept rubbing against my arm
I’m just gonna stand with my bag hanging off my left arm
You hugged Wanda and Nat, giving small waves to the boys, before turning to Bucky.
“Hey B, I’m going to head back to the tower. The mission took a bigger toll on me than I thought.” You made a show of rubbing your neck, hoping the sadness in your eyes would be mistaken for exhaustion.
Bucky turned away from the young, curvy brunette tucked under his arm, his smile fading as his eyes scanned over you with concern. He didn’t move away from her, nor did you move any closer, instead you gripped the strap of your bag hard, until your knuckles were white, in an effort to ignore the pain radiating through your chest.
“Are you sure? Did you want me to come with you?”
You gave serious thought to saying yes, knowing he’d probably give the woman a kiss and get her phone number before following you out of the bar, talking your ear off about how she was this and that. All the while, you would be fighting the anger and nausea bubbling up your throat, fighting back the urge to scream at him to shut up about her and every other woman, just fighting to keep your face neutral as you listened to the love of your life pine after any and every other woman but you.
What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect–what if she took him in?
Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).
Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes–she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.
Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.
They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.
Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.
Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.
But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.
There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.
(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not 'Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.
Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think 'you have your mother’s eyes.’
A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).
Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.
Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.
His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.
I think this is reading a book together? Yes? Ok. let’s do this.
Keith’s old shack smells of wood varnish and old paper. Specks of dust shine and dance in the beams of afternoon sun, and Keith sits in the centre of his small living room surrounded by boxes. He flicks through a book and smiles fondly at the familiar faces that look up at him.
“Hey babe! Can we donate all these crop jackets?!” Lance’s voice calls from the bedroom.
“No!” Keith yells back.
“But they don’t even fit you anymore! And I don’t want these fashion disasters in our apartment!”
Our apartment. Keith’s heart thrums at those words. His grin blooms across his face.
“I think I can make them fit!” He laughs.
Soft foot falls announce Lance’s entrance into the living room. he lets out a suffering sigh.
“Babe. Babe. Look. Babe look at this.”
Keith looks up. On the other side of the room Lance stands wearing one of his crop jackets. It reaches just barely under his pecks. The sleeves reach just under his elbow, and the seams at the shoulder look like they’ll burt.
“There’s no way you can wear these anymore.” He deadpans.
“I’m smaller than you. Not my fault you got insanely ripped.”
“Keith! You’re not 16 anymore!” Lance implores. “And your biceps are way bigger than mine.” To prove it to him, Lance runs up behind Keith and grabs his shoulders. He gently sways them from side to side and runs his hands admiringly up and down his boyfriend’s arms.
“Bench press me, baby. I know you can.”
“Laaaaance,” Keith laughs. Lance chuckles and leans forward. His arms wrap around Keith’s neck and he rests his chin on top of his head. His long legs slot next to Keith’s easily.
“Is it weird being back here?” Lance asks quietly. Keith leans into Lance’s chest.
“Yeah….” He sighs. “But it’s nice… being here with you. Getting that sense of closure, you know?”
“Yeah. It’s nice to…” Lance looks down and spies the book in Keith’s lap. He freezes.
“Nooooo way.” He whispers. He moves to look over Keith’s shoulder, and his arms tuck under Keith’s. He reaches forward and takes the book from Keith’s hands, flicking it closed and staring at the cover.
Garrison 2063 Yearbook
“Holy shit…” Lance whispers. Keith chuckles and it rumbles against him.
“I know, right? I found it while packing.”
“We have to keep this.”
“Absolutely.” Keith smiles. “Here wanna see something crazy?” He excitedly flicks to a page. A small photo of Pidge looks up at them. Hair cut short. Glasses comically big on her small face.
“OOOOHHHHHH my god.” Lance squeals gleefully. “WHAT A TINY BABY.”
Keith giggles. “Remember how you thought she was a boy?”
“Look at this photo! You can’t blame me! Look at this tiny androgynous child.” They both laugh. Lance’s muscular forearms wrap and squeeze around his boyfriend’s stomach.
“There’s also this.” Keith holds up a new page. Hunk’s 17 year old face beams up at them. There’s the mature eyes that Keith and Lance are used to, but there are traces of baby fat around his jaw. His trademark orange headband is also much brighter than either of them remember it being. Years of sweat, sun and being blown into space have since turned his headband almost a pastel colour.
“Was Hunk ever small?”
“As someone who’s known him since we were 10…” Lance pauses. “No.” He laughs. “Dude could pick up most of our teachers from the time he was 12. I know this because I dared him to.”
Keith shakes his head.
“I don’t doubt it.”
They continue to flip through pages. Some faces they barely recognise, others have been completely lost to time. They reach the staff pages and Keith and Lance proceed to flip off Iverson and the other instructors that expelled Keith.
There’s a sharp intake of breath.
In the staff section, smiling up with a handsome face and beautiful dark hair is Shiro. Both of his arms are clearly visible, and there’s no scar marking his face. His eyes gleam with youthful optimism. Guilt churns in Keith’s stomach.
“God…” He deflates. “He looks so young.”
Lance squeezes him tightly.
“He certainly… has changed.” He presses a kiss to Keith’s temple and brushes his fingers along a scar that courses through his eyebrow. Keith looks down to see Lance’s prosthetic foot nudging his thigh.
“But so have we.” Lance smiles. “We’re all ok. Shirt’s ok now. And while things were hard…” He presses another quick kiss to Keith’s cheek. “I wouldn’t change anything.”
Keith turns his head towards his boyfriend. His mouth quirks into a grin and he presses a smiling kiss to Lance’s lips.
“Also…” Lance smirks. His hands hurriedly flick through the pages until he barks out a laugh.
“Can you PLEASE admit that you had a fucking mullet?” He cackles. Keith looks down at the photo and groans loudly.
“Oh my god, look at this child.” He sighs. “Why is he so moody?!” He yells at his 16 year old self.
“You stupid boy, you don’t even know you’re an alien yet! No one’s shooting at you! Your life is great!” Keith yells. Lance howls with laughter behind him.
“I think he’s mad…” Lance wheezes, “Because he’s super fucking gay for this handsome boy here…” Lance points at the photo of his teenager self, “But this boy thinks he’s an asshole.”
Keith coos at the photo of Lance. He brings the book closer to his face and smiles dopily.
“God you were cute.”
“Were?” Lance blusters.
Keith hums. He rotates and leans into Lance’s chest. A low chuckle escapes him.
“You’ve become the hottest and most handsome person in the universe.” He runs his hands across Lance’s broad chest.
“And I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
The yearbook lies forgotten on the floor as Lance leans down to languidly kiss Keith until the afternoon sun slips into the horizon.
Draco ran his finger along the rim of his empty glass absently. The edges of his vision swam as he looked up at the bartender who raised a single perfectly groomed eyebrow at him.
“Another?” she asked.
Draco closed his eyes briefly, squeezing them until they ached, “Bring me… whatever’s next on the menu.”
“Yeah, alright,” she smirked, taking his empty glass, “What did you think about the French 75 then?”
“Nice, lovely,” Draco said absently, not entirely sure he could remember precisely what the last drink had tasted like.
“One Dark n’ Stormy, comin’ up,” she said brightly.
Draco sighed he fished a few more muggle notes from his pocket and shoved it on the other side of the bar. She had been very friendly all night not that he was surprised. There weren’t many people in the bar on a tuesday evening, much less a sad drunk wizard who was likely overpaying a great deal because he honestly couldn’t be arsed to check the numbers on his flimsy paper money.
He ignored her attempts at conversation when she returned and took the tall glass of what tasted like rum and ginger beer. Draco was prepared to stumble through something approximating a conversation when someone sat beside him, ordering a rum and coke and sending her off.
Draco blinked, his brow furrowing, the voice beside him had sounded familiar. Draco turned slowly so his head wouldn’t fall off and found the other bloke watching him curiously. The other bloke that looked remarkably, disturbingly, identical to Harry Potter.
Potter tried on a hesitant smile, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Ah, I forgot to give you a prompt, didn't I? Can I have something where Sam, Steve and Bucky all get deaged together shortly post CACW and Team Iron Man has to deal with their prepubescent shenanigans and their feelings? Like 10-12 years old and they're all little shits. Especially Steve to Tony after Tony guesses that Steve is 8, which is a mortal insult when you are 11.
I am so sorry for the lateness of this! I meant to answer it last weekend but I was still in Sinus Haze at that point. :D I had a lot of fun with this one!
“They were supposed to be here for the signing of the revised accords,” Tony said.
“And Barnes was supposed to turn himself in to SHIELD,” Rhodey added.
T'Challa and Tony both looked at him, Tony’s eyebrows rising.
“What? He killed your parents, I don’t get to be mad about that?” Rhodey asked.
“Sure, but if you’re as mad as I was you also get to be in some pretty intense therapy for like a year,” Tony said, turning back to the glass window, which looked in on three children in the holding room at the Avengers compound.
“We came through an electrical storm in the jet on the way here,” T'Challa said. “When we came out of it…” he gestured at the children. Steve, an incredibly tiny, frail child, was wrapped in a blanket. They’d found clothing that would more or less fit Sam and Bucky, who looked to be on the verge of puberty, but Steve was stuck in an oversized shirt and a blanket he’d tied around his toast-rack chest like a sarong.
“You know how I know this is magic and not science?” Tony asked.
“Wanda wasn’t affected?” Rhodey ventured.
“Neither was I,” T'Challa pointed out. “We think because I was in the shielded cockpit.”
“No, I know this is magic because whoever did this to him gave him a teeny tiny arm,” Tony said, pointing at Bucky’s child-sized prosthetic, as menacing in its own way as the real adult thing.
“I think I can fix it,” Wanda said. Her eyes were glowing red, and the air was sort of dancing around her. Tony wondered how much she’d been practicing since she’d arrived in Wakanda. “But I’m worried about going in there alone.”
“For them or for you?” Tony asked, and she looked – startled, like she’d forgotten he could care about people. That was going to sting for a while.
“Both. There are three of them, one of whom has a metal arm,” she said. “And I need someone to take me down if I lose it, which…is usually Steve’s job.”
“I can go,” Tony said. “The repulsors bracelets are subtle, won’t freak the kids out. And I can distract them if you want to work on them one at a time.”
“Do you have any experience with children at all?” Rhodey asked.
“I’ll have you know I dealt very handily with the last twelve-year-old I knew,” Tony replied loftily.
Wanda was sitting on the floor, trying to lure Sam away from the smartphone he was playing with, when she heard Steve yell: “I’m not eight!”
“Hey, calm down, I was guessing,” Tony said, and Wanda looked over just in time to see Steve stand up, his terrifyingly thin little hands balled into fists. Tony, who was crouched down to talk to him and Bucky (probably mostly Steve; she couldn’t imagine Tony didn’t still have some…anger issues surrounding Bucky), held up his hands.
“I’m eleven! Just because I’m little doesn’t mean I’m a baby!” Steve insisted. Bucky was watching them both warily.
“Nobody’s saying you’re a baby,” Tony replied soothingly. “But – ”
“Don’t talk to me like I am one!” Steve said, and Wanda flinched as he swung his arm. He was going to break his hand on Tony’s face –
She watched, awestruck, as Tony reacted. He’d had all his weight on the balls of his feet, legs bent, body balanced over his knees; when Steve’s fist connected (barely) he threw himself backwards, sprawling and then somersaulting – gracelessly – and collapsing spreadeagled on the ground. Steve looked at his own fist, wonderingly.
“He’s down! Get ‘im!” Bucky yelled, the first words he’d said, and he sprang for Tony, landing hard on his chest. Tony let out a whuff, then curled on one side as Steve started ineffectually kicking him. Sam ran over to help Bucky pin Tony down, and Wanda got up to make sure they weren’t hurting him, but Tony was grinning as he hid his face and curled up his body against Steve’s snowflake-like blows.
Eventually Steve flopped down with the others, breathlessly giving up his assault, and Tony lay still underneath the three boys, grinning up at Wanda as she stood over them.
“Okay, you vicious little weasels,” he said, and Wanda waited for all three boys to take offense, but none of them bothered. “You are meant to be big grown adult males who could actually break my bones. Wanda needs to fix you up, put you back the way you were.”
He sat up, dislodging Sam, and then kicked his legs gently to shove Bucky off as well. Bucky clung on grimly with his metal hand around Tony’s ankle, but most of him slithered away.
“Do I really grow up big?” Steve asked, and Tony pulled him into the gentlest of headlocks, one huge palm resting on Steve’s strawlike hair.
“Bigger than everyone else,” he assured him.
“Bigger than BUCKY?”
Tony leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Even Sam grows up bigger than Bucky.”
“That’s a lie!” Bucky insisted, getting to his feet. “Make me grow up first!” he insisted to Wanda. “So I can prove it!”
“No, me first!” Steve yelled, which meant Sam insisted too, and suddenly instead of three sullen little shits refusing to obey her, she had three eager little boys all jostling to be first.
“You did this,” she said to Tony, who shrugged and rubbed at his ankle, which was starting to show a bruise where Bucky had clung to it.
“I don’t know a ton about kids but I know a lot about managing humans,” he replied.
Prompt: “She was a nomad at heart. Unlike him, she didn’t need to have a place to call home.” Told in Lin’s POV.
Pairing: Lin x reader
A/N: I’m glad I got this out in time for V-day! Though I’m not as satisfied as I should be, I decided to share it with you guys. Hope you guys enjoy it!
Lin was going to do it tonight.
He had the support from his family, friends, and even some random old lady on the subway he told last week.
He was partnered up with Y/N in an acting class during his Sophomore year of college. The second her eyes landed on him and she gave him her million-dollar smile, he should have known he was doomed.
He and Y/N became fast friends and spent every single waking moment together. They would text each other at night, have breakfast and coffee in the morning, head to class, and then do whatever the hell they pleased until it was time to go home.
Junior year they met each other’s parents. Y/N had her mother’s looks, but everything else about her was her father. Her personality, the way she carried herself, her love for travel and adventure… it all came from him. And of course, his parents loved her. They called her their daughter and fed her bottomless stomach with food whenever they would visit.
Senior year, even though they were both stressed and drowning in exams and projects, they managed to find time for each other. It helped that she was practically living with him. She cleared space in his tiny closet for her clothes, left her toiletries in his bathroom, and slept in his bed. Somehow, she managed to book small affordable getaways, either in nearby states where she would drag him around and explore the city or a “staycation” in New York where she would show him things even he, a native, haven’t even heard of before.
It was during a random night in the middle of the semester, where she was cramming for an exam that was in the morning, that he realized how much he really loved her. He sat in the kitchen across from her, papers sprawled on the table and his laptop in front of him, watching as she began to doze off. The pencil in her hand fell to the table with a thump and he chuckled when her head began to bob, drifting further into the calls of sleep.
“Time for bed,” Lin whispers, getting up and going over to her side.
As he pulled her up from her seat by her hand, she began to protest. “No,” she yawns, rubbing her eyes.
“You need sleep,” Lin urged, pulling her towards his bedroom.
“But I need to study,” she whined, but let him lead her to bed.
“I’ll wake you up early in the morning so you can study,” Lin smiles, opening up the duvet and helping her inside.
Just as he was about to turn and leave, she stops him by grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Stay with me, please?”
Her question tugged at his heartstrings.
She scooted over to make room for him and kept the duvet open to let him in. Lin’s smile gets bigger, and with a defeated sigh, slips in beside her. She immediately attaches to him, tucking herself under his chin and swung her leg over him. She was asleep within seconds.
Lin stared at the ceiling, heart hammering against his chest.
He wanted this every day for the rest of his life.
He wanted to come home to her, sleep next to her, be with her…
Lin wanted it all and more.
And today, after months and months of suppressing it, he was going to tell Y/N. Even if she didn’t feel the same, he had to do it. So what if the little hope he’s built after overanalyzing every conversation, every single touch, every unspoken word he’s had with her is crushed?
At least he gave it a shot.
“Lin! I have exciting news!” Y/N came rushing in the bar full of graduates, graduation cap still pinned to her head and heels clicking with every step.
Lin spreads his arms open and she runs forward, squeezing him tightly.
She draws back, eyes gleaming with excitement, and grabs his hands. She jumps up and down, not able to contain her excitement.
“I got the job!” she squeals.
Lin’s heart drops.
“The job?” he echoes.
“The job for The National Geographic, silly! How could you forget?”
He didn’t forget.
It was the freelance journalism job with The National Geographic.
She was going to be whisked away from New York, away from her home, her family, him…
“Oh my god, Lin! They left a voicemail earlier today and they said they want to fly me out to Australia tomorrow. Can you believe it? Australia!”
“Australia…” Lin whispers, throat feeling tight.
He felt as if the floor was going to slip from under him. She was finally going to travel the world and experience all the things she’s dreamed of, but he felt so devastated.
She lunges forward, hugging him again.
“I’m so happy!”
Lin lifted his trembling hands to embrace her.
The rest of the night passed by in a haze.
It didn’t go away even after he said goodbye to her at the airport the next day.
For the last five years, the only way he kept in touch with Y/N were through emails. She had a horrible habit of losing her cell phone and it was almost impossible to find signal in the middle of nowhere.
She’s been to every single continent, every nook and cranny of the world. From the Great Pyramid of Giza to Seychelles, she was there, her smile brighter and bigger than he’s ever seen it.
She was a nomad at heart. Unlike him, she didn’t need to have a place to call home. The whole world was her home. She didn’t want stability, she wanted excitement. She didn’t fear the unknown, she thrived in it and faced it head-on.
She was the polar opposite who he was, but damn, every time he would scroll through her pictures, he felt a deep sorrow in his gut of what could have been.
He knew that they would have been amazing together.
He could just picture it… Y/N, in the front row of the Richard Rogers Theater on the opening night of In The Heights and then Hamilton, screaming her head off in some gaudy dress. Her getting annoyed with Karen and her sass, adoring Chris and his big-brother tendencies, and silently rooting for Jasmine and Anthony…
But she wouldn’t have been truly happy.
She would’ve felt trapped and miserable if she stayed in New York. That’s why he let her go, why he chose to smile and ignore every cell in his body that begged to speak up the day she left. It would have been unfair and selfish of him to say anything to her. He didn’t want to hold her back from experiencing the world.
So instead, Lin sent her scanned Broadway pamphlets and newspaper clippings his mother saved, cast recordings of the musical, and pictures of people she would never meet.
They emailed each other every day and he hung on to each and every word she sent. From three sentences to a full page of words, he saved it. It was pathetic that even after all these years, Y/N was all he could think about. Every girl he’s dated was nothing compared to her.
Maybe it was time to stop pining for a girl that was always seemed to be out of his grasp.
“Lin, are you ready?”
His father’s voice pulled him out of his musings. He glanced around his surroundings, remembering that he was supposed to do a press conference for the record-breaking Tony nominations Hamilton set. He cleared his throat and nodded, leaving the dressing room and heading towards the stage.
After he was announced, he walked onstage, the bright lights of the cameras blinding him. One by one he was asked routine questions from reporters: his inspirations for the play, his reaction to the sudden popularity of the show, and how he felt about the nominees of each category.
The final question came from the back and Lin squinted his eyes, barely making out a form of a man.
“Andy from the New York Times,” he said, “back in your college years, I heard that you got banned from the girl’s dorms after being caught in bed with one of the students multiple times. Would you like to comment on that?”
Lin reared his head back and laughed when the crowd let out a murmur. “You must have done a lot of digging to find that story,” he hums, tucking his hair behind his ear, “but, you’re correct.”
There was another buzz from the crowd, but this time, it was accompanied with flashes from the cameras.
“But, it’s not as wicked as you think it is,” Lin continued, smirking, “I spent a lot of time with a very dear friend in her dorm, studying. We had a lot of classes together and it was easier to stay at her place than to go back to my own dorm. The RA just happened to catch me sneaking into her dorm at night and assumed the worst.”
The crowd seemed unconvinced, but Lin didn’t have a chance to elaborate because time was up. He was escorted off to the side to take pictures and he posed as best as he could as he walked through the row photographers.
The familiar voice caught his attention, and with a grin, Lin walked towards Andy. “That was a tough question,” Lin says, shaking his outstretched hand, “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that story during any of my interviews.”
Andy returns the grin and winks. “I have a great source.”
“Oh? I’d like to meet them,” Lin responds, genuinely intrigued.
Andy laughs. “You’ll have to wait for it.”
Lin was left to ponder his cryptic answer as he was ushered to the fans that awaited him.
Lin didn’t know why there were so many parties he had to attend.
He was currently getting ready for a banquet to celebrate the Tony nominees. In all honesty, the question from Andy completely threw him off-guard and caused him to feel a mix of emotions, longing the being the strongest. He wanted to stay home and reminisce the precious memories he had with Y/N, but it would have caused him to spiral into the depression he fought so hard to climb out of.
His phone buzzed, indicating that the escort was in front of his apartment, waiting. With a sigh, he pocketed his phone and wallet, mentally preparing himself for the event.
He swung his door open, stunned to see a woman whose hand was poised to knock on his door. A woman who strangely looked like…
“Y/N.” he whispers, eyes wide.
She drops her arms, letting them fall limply against her side.
“Hi,” she breathed, a sheepish smile on her face, “I… I got your address from your Father. He told me about your event tonight, but I couldn’t wait. I needed to see you.”
Lin felt his eyes water and his heart felt like it was going to burst. His eyes took in Y/N, her skin tan from all the days she spent out in the sun, baby-face long gone, and body slimmer from all her travels.
She’s still as beautiful as ever.
“You’re here.” Lin couldn’t recognize his voice.
“I’m here,” she repeats, “for good.”
Lin couldn’t comprehend what Y/N was saying. “For good?”
She swallows thickly, and wet her lips before she speaks. “My contract with National Geographic is over and I didn’t want to renew it. I’m done, Lin,” her voice wavers, “I got a job with New York Times a couple weeks ago –”
Lin lets out a sharp laugh. “You’re Andy’s source.”
She pauses. “Yes.”
Lin runs a hand down his face, trying to make sense of the situation. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were back, Y/N?”
She frowns, her eyes searching his face as she explains herself. “I was scared, okay? It’s been five long years… Things change, Lin! Would we really be able to pick up where we left off? I’ve missed so many important events in your life. I should’ve been there,” she stops, voice quivering.
Lin smiles sadly. “I wanted you to be there too.”
“But I’m here now, and if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
Lin stares at Y/N, her declaration causing the tears in his eyes to spill. His heart felt full and wordlessly, he opens up his arms for her.
She runs into his embrace and it felt like he was young again.
Hi guys! Here’s the story I was really excited to share! I am exploring a new way of writing that’s a little challenging for me, so please tell me what you think! Also, I am LIVING through this character holy moly. Happy Saturday!
Things to know: Time Period: 1940′s Bucky, tiny Steve, Info: Reader and Bucky have mutual friend in Steve, but Reader and Bucky don’t really know each other too well….UNTIL NOW BOOM BABY
“Oh-ho-hooooooh-my-god, oh my god, Bucky Barnes just asked me to dance.”
Your friend, Maria, had just walked over to the corner table of the bar and whispered her news to you and Steve. Well, she tried to walk, but her excitement had her practically galloping over to you. And her whispering sounding more like breathy shouting as she waved her hands in the air like she was shaking off water at a sink.
As she rambled on about how she hoped her hair and lipstick were still in place and she smoothed down her already perfect dress with her dainty hands, your eyes floated over to Bucky Barnes. He had absolutely heard Maria’s little freak out based on the way his head hung to hide his proud grin that was probably more of a smirk.
“Well, go! Don’t keep him waiting!” you shooed her away playfully.
“Alright,” Maria said, smoothing down her dress once again. The second she turned to walk away, she spun around to you again and asked, “But, do I look-”
“You look absolutely beautiful, right Steve?” you interrupted her worries.
Steve suppressed his eye roll and smiled. “Yes. Go get ‘em, Maria.”
Maria nodded nervously, her hands glued to the soft fabric on her slim figure. She pivoted and spun on the toes of her new black heels and sashayed over to her dance partner. His soft, lopsided smile was the last thing you saw before you looked down and distracted yourself with the straw in your watered down coke.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Steve loosen his tie that looked a little too long for his small torso. He slid his chair away from the table and stuck his hand out to you. “You wanna go dance?” he asked.
You smiled at him, but wrinkled your nose. “Nah, s’okay. I think I’m gonna go grab another soda. You want anything?” you said, pointing your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the bar.
“Oh, come on,” he said and leaned in to you so you would hear him over the loud music. “I know we were both dragged here, but we could try to have some fun.”
He watched your features soften and your smile grow bigger than it had been all night. “You’re right, let’s go.” You took his hand and quickly kicked off your heels and left them under the table.
The band was roaring, the trumpets blared in your ears and the drums shook your core. You and Steve pretended to swing dance and laughed at your attempts that included unbalanced sugar twists, kicks, and spins.
You pulled Steve closer to you so you could shout in his ear, “We look ridiculous, but this is the most fun I’ve had all month!”
A laugh escaped him that you could hardly hear over the music. “I look ridiculous, but you look pretty good!” You read his lips before he spun you around one last time as the last chord of the song was played.
The whole dance floor spun to the platform that held up the band and applauded. The next song was a slow one, the sound of a saxophone singing the high pitches made your heart sink. You started to return to your table when Steve grabbed your hand.
“Hey, (Y/N), one more,” he said, suggesting another dance.
You nodded and placed your hand on his shoulder while he gently held your free hand. His quick surge of confidence ran away from him as he awkwardly placed his hand high on your waist and began rocking you back and forth. Your smile wasn’t as bright anymore, but Steve knew it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t miss how your eyes flickered over to Bucky and Maria.
After a verse of quiet dancing, Steve’s voice caught your attention. “You’re a good friend, (Y/N).”
You patted his shoulder. “Aw, shucks, Steve-o. You’re makin’ me blush,” you joked.
“Shut up,” he chided as he spun you around, making you giggle, catching the attention of some of the other dancers. You didn’t care though.
When you landed back facing him, he continued. “I mean it, (Y/N), there aren’t many people like you out there. Hell, you’re dancin’ around the dirty bar floor in your bare feet just so I won’t feel so short.”
You snorted and felt heat rise to your cheeks.
“Didn’t think I would notice?” Steve asked with raised eyebrows.
You shook your head, making him scoff. He rocked you back and forth as the music swelled, and when it lulled he said, “And you’re a good friend to Maria.”
“So are you, Steve,” you said, wondering where he was going with all this.
He sighed, like he was having trouble saying what he wanted to. Finally, he practically whispered to you, “I know you have feelings for Bucky, (Y/N), you don’t have to hide it from me.”
Your eyes narrowed and you shook your head. “Bucky Barnes? Steve, I hardly know the guy, I don’t like him-”
“You do. But you won’t even admit it to yourself because you know Maria has a crush on him now.” When you didn’t shoo him away, he continued. “But maybe Maria’s not the girl for him.”
“That doesn’t matter-”
“(Y/N), you know Maria, she’ll get over him and move on to somebody else in a week-”
“Don’t say that about her,” you hissed over the music.
“You know it’s true!” He didn’t try to hide how irritated he was.
The song had ended and the dancers were clapping as you yelled over them. “Just leave it alone, Steve!” you shouted and turned walked back to your table.
You slipped your shoes back on and wrung your napkin in your hands, trying to calm yourself down. Guilt began to pool in your stomach as you thought about how that wretched conversation started. You just screamed at Steve after he told you what a good friend you were.
Something thumped on the table in front of you and you looked up to see that Steve had replaced your warm coke with a fresh one.
“I’m sorry. I’m just watchin’ out for you and I poked my nose too far in your business,” he said with a sip through his straw.
“S’okay,” you said with a mock pout that quickly turned into a grin.
“Just don’t count yourself out so soon, okay?”
You sipped your soda and shook your head, making Steve roll his eyes. “Stubborn,” he mumbled, and you laughed.
By the time you and Steve finished your sodas the band was halfway through their last song of the night. You gathered your things just in time to applaud the band after the loud swing tune. Maria met you and Steve by the door and as you walked out, she gave you all the details of her night.
“He’s such a great dancer, (Y/N)!”
“I saw you guys! It looked like you were having a great time.” You smiled, genuinely happy that your friend had a nice night.
“It was such a great time. And, hey, I saw you got Steve up on the dance floor, nice goin’!” She added.
“Actually, it was Steve-o here who dragged me up there,” you giggled and cocked your brow. You linked your arm in Steve’s after he growled and patted his arm.
“Wow, Steve look at you being-”
“Oh shoot!” you interrupted her. “I left my shawl on my chair in the bar. My sister’s gonna kill me if I don’t give it back to her in the morning.”
“We can go back,” Steve shrugged.
“Nah, I’ll just go. I’ll meet you guys in a minute,” you waved and started back in the direction you came from, the bright light of the bars and convenience stores lighting your way.
When you walked through the doors of the club, only the janitor remained with the band members who were packing up their instruments. You quickly walked over to the table where you and Steve had been sitting for most of the night, but when you arrived, your sweater wasn’t there. You frantically leaned down to look under the table, hoping you had simply dropped it and not lost it.
There was nothing under the table but crumbs and a napkin, which you picked up and tossed next to the coke you had been drinking. Just as dread plagued your stomach, you heard someone say your name.
“Hey (Y/N), this is yours, isn’t it?”
You looked up to the door of the bar to see Bucky Barnes holding out your shawl. His cheeks were flushed and his chest rising and falling faster than normal. “I saw it sitting here and ran to find Steve, but he said you had already come back for it.”
You swallowed thickly and walked over to him, nodding your head. “Yeah, it’s mine. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. Before you could take the sweater from him, he was hanging it on your shoulders and ushering you out the door. “Let’s get you home, huh? It’s late.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Steve and Maria are waiting for me about a block down,” you excused, propping your hair behind your ears and glancing at the sidewalk.
“I told them to go ahead, that I’d walk you home,” he cleared his throat. “Is that okay?”
You nodded quickly, which probably looked more like a neck spasm because of your nerves.
After a few silent steps, Bucky shifted his gaze from the ground to you and asked if you had a good time.
“Yeah, I did. What about you?” You returned.
“Yeah, I had a nice time. S’a good band, ya know?”
He swung his arms as he walked, but you felt yourself moseying along as stiff as a board.
“Ya know what’s funny?”
“What?” you asked, looking up at him for the first time since you left the bar.
“You and I are both such good friends with Steve, but we never see each other. We don’t spend any time together.”
You hummed in agreement.
“In fact, I think this is the first time you and I have said more than three words to each other,” he said.
You laughed and felt your shoulders relax a bit. “Yeah, I think it is.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and easy.
“I saw you two dancing out there tonight, looked like fun,” Bucky said.
“Yeah, he dragged me out there, but I had a great time,” you said fondly.
“Really?” he asked. “I thought it would have been the other way around.”
“Maria said that too,” you laughed, pointing a finger at the coincidence.
He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of Steve asking a pretty girl to dance.”
You tried to ignore the compliment, but your efforts were useless. You looked at the marquees hanging on the buildings beside you to hide your red cheeks. “We’re good friends, that’s all.”
“I know,” he nodded his head, suddenly serious. “I’ve never seen him open up to someone the way he does with you. It’s nice to see.”
When you glanced his way, you saw his bright blue eyes already on you. You hummed in agreement. “He’s a wonderful friend to me. He babies me too much, but hey-” your own laugh cut you off as you shrugged.
Bucky chuckled with you. “Well, he cares a lot about you.” You didn’t miss him lick his lips. “I feel like I know you inside and out from the way he talks about you all the time.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” you teased.
“Oh, boy.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Hopefully, you only hear the nice stories,” he said, which made you giggle.
“Don’t worry,” you reassured him. “Steve shines the brightest light on you.” You caught his lopsided grin before he turned his head away from you. Was he blushing?
As you came up to your apartment, you said to Bucky, “I’m glad Steve has you. He needs a guy friend,” you said with a crinkled nose. “Someone to keep him up to date on the Dodgers.”
That made him laugh.
He followed you up the stairs to the front door. When you reached the landing and turned to face him he said, “And I’m glad Steve has you. Someone to dance with.” He winked when you chuckled.
His eyes flickered from you to the ground and his tongue shot out to graze over his pink lips again. “Maybe I can steal you from him sometime.”
His suggestion made you stand a little straighter and a smirk played on your lips. “You’ll have to take that up with Steve.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed down until you thought the seams would rip right then. “I will,” he said with a nod.
His eyes stared into yours until you felt your cheeks turn pink at the contact. You pushed your hair behind your ear and thanked him for walking you home.
You turned around and opened the door, but before you could step inside, the urgency in his voice stopped you, like he forgot something. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”
“Goodnight, Bucky.” You smiled at him one last time, stepped inside and closed the door behind you. In the dark, you leaned against the door and took a shaky breath, afraid your legs would give out.
Steve was right. You shouldn’t have counted yourself out so early in the game.
Claire stopped, and faced her intruder. “And you are?” she asked, hands on hips.
James paused. He gave a ghost of a smile. “Sorry. I’m Detective Sergeant James Fraser,” he stepped forward to shake her hand. “And a body was removed from a crime scene before I got there. So, I’m a wee bit fashed. Didna mean to be so rude.”
Claire was impressed. She didn’t know too many officers who admitted to being frazzled. They were always about control, but this one looked a bit sheepish. She took his hand. It was warm, firm, and swallowed her own. She looked into his face, and was met with a pair of deep blue eyes. Unwavering. Honest eyes.
Something danced on the edge of her mind.
“The body is here,” Claire said, finally letting go. “I haven’t started yet. I need to prepare first.”
James nodded. The bones of her hand were delicate. Hard to imagine this waif of a woman tearing through dead people.
“Can I see him? I mean, while you do that.” James asked.
Claire considered for a moment. “No. You can stay if you like, and watch the autopsy, but no. I won’t have evidence contaminated.”
“Aye,” James said. “I’ll wait.”
Claire prepared the table, gathered her necessary instruments on a tray, gowned herself, and then went for the body. When she was ready she adjusted her microphone, and got to work.
She was thorough, James could see that. She dictated everything, cataloged each piece of clothing, noted every scar, birthmark, and tattoo. He watched her work. Steadily. Carefully. Confidently. Her voice was strong, competent, and quite easy to listen to. She captured his attention, in more ways than one. Curls riotous around her head, which sometimes hid her face. Her whisky coloured eyes never missed a thing. She stirred him in ways a female hadn’t in a long while, which was why he found himself wondering what she looked like under that voluminous lab coat.
She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
And the most interesting.
Because at one point he could have sworn he’d seen her close her eyes and shake her head, as if something was buzzing around inside her brain. When she opened her eyes, she made a quick notation on a legal pad that sat off to the side, but did not verbalize it. An off-the-record note.
He maneuvered his body slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. Taking his time, he crept around the table to see the paper.
Her handwriting was difficult to make out. It looked like a poison, followed by what might have been Stranger.
James stared at Claire. A tiny shiver ran down his spine. Now how on earth would she know that?
James sat at his desk. It was late. Very late. He was looking over the M.E.’s notes. Claire’s notes.
Tapping the fingers of his right hand, he kept staring at the last line in the report.
“Patient found to have excess saliva build up, showing signs of a breakdown of the muscle tissue, kidney failure, excess toxins in the bloodstream, as well as muscle tissue byproducts in the blood, signs of respiratory failure. Cause of death: poison.”
James couldn’t stop thinking about her momentary lapse, and the note on her legal pad. A note she made before cutting the body open.
It’s like she “saw” it, before she saw it.
That ignited his superstitious Scottish mind. It brought to mind the old Gaelic words parents used to scare little kids into following rules. Words like sìthiche, Bana-bhuidseach. He didn’t believe in fairies, or witches, but he wasn’t going to renounce them outright either. His culture was still his culture, after all.
But the woman intrigued him. In many, many ways.
Claire lay in her bed thinking about her first autopsy at Scotland Yard. She’d been careful in her notes, and in her dictation. She knew what to look for, and made sure to find the physical symptoms to support her knowledge.
Her gift was a blessing and a curse.
She’d never meant to have an audience, but she thought she’d hid it well. It was a small vision, and for that she was grateful. The bigger ones sometimes caused her to faint. The Detective had been serious, quiet. He didn’t ask questions, or interrupt her work.
But he was a distraction. A damn big one. With the most extraordinary hair, all copper, and gold. Intelligence poured from those piercing blue eyes.
She closed her eyes and saw him again, watching her. Always watching her.
Expecting? [Christian. When were you ready to expect?]
“Which one am I supposed to buy?” Christian grumbled into his phone in English, taking salvation in hoping that the old ahjussi working couldn’t understand him. There was nothing more embarrassing than standing in a convenient store in the middle of the night looking at the various pregnancy test.
“I don’t fucking know Christian” you groaned pacing back and forth in your living room. “I haven’t done this before-just get all of them.”
“All? There’s like thirty different brands. Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes Christian. Yes I have because SOMEBODY may have gotten me pregnant.”
“Chill. I got this” he sighed looking at the shelves “…Hmmm this should be fine right?” He shrugged, grabbing the more inexpensive of the brands and shoving it in the bottom of his basket. There was no way in hell he was going to leave this convenient store with only a pregnancy test in his basket. He grabbed chips, cookies, and drinks. Anything that’ll prolong the clerk from getting to the pregnancy test. “Babe, you want anythin?”
You kept your nose buried in your book dutifully, keeping a focused eye on the boy sitting in front of you in class.
Almost as if he had somehow sensed your stare, he jerked, turning his head slightly to survey the room. You nearly jolted but kept your cover, sweating as you returned your eyes to your book and pretended to read.
It was obvious, really.
Peter was seen as a nerd. And for a long time, you’d thought the same.
You might have not been the closest friend to Peter, but he was in a numerous amount of your classes. That fact alone was enough that you could tell his tendencies by now, his tell tale ticks in verbal language, the way he fidgeted on his feet endlessly and bit his lip when he was nervous.
Then one day, you stopped and looked. And all your previous misconceptions shattered.
Peter Parker was an anomaly.
Not to mention he was too inconspicuous.
Now there were many people in the school that did not stick out, washed away in the ocean of teenagers that walked the hallways. But Peter was too invisible. It was almost like he purposefully didn’t want the attention.
The moment you intentionally tried to notice him, you wondered why the hell he wasn’t more popular.
Number one: Peter was smart. Not just nerd smart, but almost prodigy smart. Perfect grades, stellar performance on the spot when asked. He went off into ramblings in chemistry class, often underneath his breath, but as you sat right behind him you often heard what others did not. The things you heard made you wonder why in the world he wasn’t two grades up.
Number two: he was kind. Now sure he had snark, but you could count on him to stop and help a crying child on the side of the road, or carry anyone who sprained their ankle in physical education when no one else wanted to.
Number three: talking about P.E, Peter was fit as hell. Maybe it was the baggy clothes that hid that from everyone’s sight, but the boy was built like a god. One Monday you’d been running late for class, and accidentally took a right for the hallway by the locker rooms instead of the hallway down corridor 1A. You groaned and went to turn around when you nearly choked in surprise at something in the corner of your eye.
Or rather, someone.
Peter was drying his hair with a towel, faced away from you, fumbling in his bag for something. Your eyes trailed from the wet hair sticking to his neck to his firm chest, down to pairs of abs decorating his stomach and even further leading down to a V line right above his jeans- You swallowed, just as your mind went haywire and you made a beeline out of view before he could realize you were there.
Whose great idea was it to have the locker rooms not have any doors??
But you digress.
Point was, there was way more to Peter than you had thought. (Lets not even mention his unnatural strength, you’d once seen him accidentally shatter a test tube with his bare hands in chemistry, whistling as he threw the remains in the trash without anyone seeing.)
But the real reason you accused him of being the masked hero swinging round the rooftops of Queens, was that Peter, putting it simply, was a hell of a bad actor. He didn’t know the word subtle if you stapled it to his forehead.
You’d lost count of the amount of times Peter had raised his hand in class to ‘go to the bathroom’, leg tapping anxiously below his chair and looking like he wanted to jet. Some people had even dubbed him ‘Pissy Parker’ based on that fact that he could never ever stay in class for too long. Twenty minutes later Peter would come back, scolded by the teacher for taking so long but with a satisfied smile on his face, a bruise lining his jaw that had definitely not been there when he left and a bounce in his step.
Oh, and wouldn’t you guess, only seconds after that the class was buzzing with chatter when social media blew up about ‘Spiderman saving the day again at a bank heist!’ just moments before.
You were many things, but you were not an idiot.
Nevertheless, Peter Parker was Spiderman, and that was a fact. You’d had enough time to find more pieces of evidence that you were sure you weren’t just making it up.
Did you tell anyone?
Why would you?
Honestly, it wasn’t your secret to tell. Peter and you didn’t even really know each other. The best interaction you’d had together was maybe that one time you’d tapped him on the shoulder to ask for a pen, or when your teacher had paired you two for a project the month before.
Other than that, you were practically strangers. Strangers that saw each other every day of their lives in the same class, but still strangers.
Such was high-school.
Thoughts of rewards and money came to your mind whenever you contemplated telling anyone, but you quickly shut that idea down every time. Peter was a good guy. He didn’t deserve that.
So you kept your mouth closed, and continued to live life like you didn’t know the identity of a literal superhero in your school.
You paused your walk in response to the voice that had stopped you on your way home.
“Yes?” You asked, itching to go. You’d left school late that day because of something your teacher had wanted to go over with you, and as a consequence it was late, the sun already beneath the horizon. Added to the darkness there were few people on the vacant streets and you really just wanted to get home.
The man looked back at you, scruff lining his jaw, hair in shambles and wearing raggedy clothes.
Homeless, you thought.
“Would you spare a penny?”
You had to go home…
His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t drunk anything in days.
The guilt in your chest only grew till you groaned and reached into your jeans pocket for your wallet, offering him a tiny smile. “Sure.”
You were zipping it open when movement stirred in the corner of your eye. You suddenly realized you’d stopped to speak to the homeless man in front of an alley. Hungry eyes from within stared at the wallet in your hands, and you froze.
“A-Ah, yes,” you put your wallet back, trying to act natural as you eyed the homeless man who probably wasn’t homeless at all. What homeless guy’s teeth were that white? “Actually I think I have to go. I’ll stop by tomorrow though.”
You stepped back but hit into a body. Pure panic rushed over you when a nasty chuckle blew breath over your ear and arms trapped your own to your sides.
“Where are ya’ going missie?”
You opened your mouth to scream but a grubby palm covered your lips. And just like that you were pulled into the alley, disappearing without a soul to see.
“Smart one isn’t she?” The homeless guy from before drawled, and his back was no longer hunched and that hopeless gleam was not in his eyes, but instead his spine was straight and a predatory glint encompassed his entire face. How many people had been tricked by his ruse?
How could you be so stupid??
You thrashed and struggled but whoever had you captive was bigger and stronger, and you could feel your eyes burn with tears.
“Aw, she’s crying,” The guy behind you cooed, hand slipping down your body to suddenly dive into your pocket. “Don’t worry pretty miss, we jus’ want your money.”
“And maybe a treat,” The homeless one grinned, raking his gaze over your form and licking his lips.
Something within you broke.
You lashed out with a strength you didn’t know you had, ramming an elbow into your captor’s stomach hard. He let go of your mouth in surprise, expletives pouring off his tongue. The minute he did you screamed the loudest you ever had, throat rubbed raw as your voice rang out hoarsely.
“Shut her up!” The homeless guy hissed, stepping forward to take care of you manually when another voice interrupted everything.
“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
The three of you looked at the end of the alley, where a certain hero stood casually, like he was watching a baseball match.
“Oh its the spider brat,” the guy behind you grunted, and the homeless guy raised an eyebrow.
“What are you looking at! Go ahead and run away you bug frea-”
The words hadn’t finished leaving his mouth when Spiderman shot an arm out, webs entangling the man, launching of his feet to kick him to the floor. You were left free when the other guy went to attack, his arm going to a bulge in his jacket that looked suspiciously like a gun.
Your heart leapt in worry and desperation. No matter how fast Spiderman was he couldn’t dodge a bullet.
Before you could even warn him Spiderman was there, impossibly, weaving through the attacker’s punches like he was dancing. The attacker was bigger and bolder in body mass, but as you watched Spiderman basically beat him into the ground and use his speed and mass against him, you wondered why you had even been worried.
Ten seconds later there were two unconscious bandits on the floor at your feet, and you were left looking at Spiderman with glazed eyes, shivering and trembling from the cold and at what had just transpired.
Spiderman stared back (or you imagined he did, his mask was not transparent). He cocked his head, as if he were studying you before holding out a hand.
You twitched, stepping back instinctively.
“Phone,” He said, and his voice was muffled by the mask, but you heard it anyway. It sounded deep, too deep, almost as if he were putting on an accent.
You could only stare wide eyed at him. Phone?
You scrambled for your phone, pulling it out and placing it in his patient palm.
He dialed a number and put it to his ear when the rings stopped.
“Yes, 911?” And again he had another accent, panicked this time and high as if a scared bystander. How many voices could he impersonate? Maybe he was better an actor than you had thought. “There are two men knocked out at the alley beside the restaurant Benny’s on fifth street! They look like the criminals that were on the news the other day. Please come!”
He hung up, tossing you your phone without hesitation and you fumbled to catch it.
Another awkward silence, and you could only imagine what you looked like: clothes a mess, a shallow wound bleeding on your face from where one of the men had scratched you in the struggle, gawking at the person who’d just saved you.
He cleared his throat.
“Are you coming?” He gestured to himself. “We need to leave before the fuzz get here.”
You didn’t give yourself ample time to mull over the fact that Spiderman had just called the police the fuzz and instead eyed his offered hand cautiously. Of course you knew logically he would never hurt you but you had already been assaulted once that night, and were understandably jittery.
His voice lowered, more gentle at your obvious fright. “I won’t hurt you.”
You thought that maybe he had forgotten his need for a fake accent because that sounded too familiar to the voice of a certain brunette you sat behind in school, but you ignored it.
You nodded and shuffled to him, feeling the warmth of his presence as his hand wrapped around yours. He stared at you for a second longer before he was pulling you towards him with a tug, and you somehow imagined a grin forming on his face.
Flying with Spiderman put any rollercoaster out there to shame.
Ok, it technically wasn’t flying, but it sure felt like it as you clung shamelessly to him, repressing screams as he swung over the city. Wind ran through your hair and had it messily streaking across your eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut, stomach falling to the ground-
And it was over. Just like that.
You didn’t know how long it had really lasted, but it felt like only a couple seconds when Spiderman landed you on your balcony. You clung to him still, mind spinning. The adrenaline should have had you as awake as a bunny on five shots of pepsi and mentos but instead you found that you could barely keep your eyes open.
“Here we are-” Spiderman was interrupted by your body slumping into his side. He nearly fell forward but adjusted to handle your dead weight. “H-Hey! You alright?”
“Peachy,” you mumbled but your legs already gave out. He sighed, seemingly contemplating something before going towards your glass doors that you left unlocked, sliding them open and stepping into your room.
“This is on so many levels creepy,” You thought you heard him say to himself but you were dipping in and out of consciousness as he laid you down gently on your bed.
You registered sheets tucking themselves under your chin.
“Night, Y/N,” You caught whispered over the rush in your ears lulling you to sleep.
“Thank you, Peter,” you muttered back, already asleep before you could feel the hand on your arm tighten in surprise.
Something was wrong.
It was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t find it.
You mused in wonder as you brushed your teeth, gazing at your reflection. What was this feeling?
You gurgled and spit, rubbing foam that had escaped the water at the corner of your mouth.
You went over the events of last night as you said good morning to your parents, popping a piece of toast in your mouth. Stayed at school late. Robbers. Spiderman.
It was easy enough to remember. After all, you had a cut on your face to prove it hadn’t been a dream.
But that still wasn’t what was eluding you, you thought in frustration as you entered the school gates, stepping off the bus. Sure it had been terrifying, but the queasy feeling of unnerve in your abdomen was different somehow. What had happened? Were you forgetting something?
You stopped stressing over it as you settled in your first class. No point if you couldn’t remember. If it was important you surely would later.
It was only when you were walking into the room of your second period that you were hit with the reason of the unease. You waved bye to a friend in the hall, stepping into the class and shifting your head, Peter Parker lifting his own head from his desk to meet your eyes-
The hazy memories came back looking into those brown eyes.
You’d landed on your balcony after he saved you…he tucked you in because you suddenly couldn’t function…he had said your name and that maybe was the reason why you felt to respond using his as well-
“Thank you, Peter.”
Oh god you’d said his name.
And there was no excuse you had for why you could possibly know that.
You broke eye contact with him, walking with hurry, trying to ignore his eyes burning into the back of your head. You stopped by one of your closer friends and asked to trade seats with him with what you hoped wasn’t a stutter. He agreed with questioning in his eyes but agreed anyway, and you sighed in relief that you didn’t have to sit behind Peter.
When the bell rang in an hour you shot out of your seat and out of the class before Peter could get the chance to even bat an eyelash your way. You were not having that conversation.
You proceeded to ignore him the whole day at every point, blatantly not sitting where you normally would for lunch, running from classes before he could catch you. Finally the last class for the day ended with a ring of the bell and you speed walked to the exit of the school after shrugging on your bag. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, freedom in sight-
You froze as a hand landed on your shoulder.
“Do you mind me asking you something?”
Yes, you minded very very much-
“Not at all.”
From an outsiders view the conversation was harmless, normal as Peter shifted, kind as he usually was, simply asking a friend to stop. But you knew better. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. The hand on your shoulder exhibited enough force that he overpowered you five times to one.
Peter smiled innocently. “Great.”
Two seconds later you were shuffled into an empty classroom. Peter shut the door behind him, leaning against it with crossed arms and expectant eyes.
“Uh-” You started. “What’s this about?”
Peter raised an eyebrow. He said nothing but his stare intensified, as if saying ‘don’t play with me’.
You broke, feeling very intimidated. “Look, yes I know who you are. But I promise, I didn’t tell anyone-”
“How can I trust you?”
You gaped like a fish. “What?”
“You heard me,” He tilted his head, and you watched his jaw tighten, eyes storming.
You wanted to cry.
“I-I don’t- I’m sorry I-”
You stopped, utterly confused as you watched Peter dissolve into laughter. At your befuddled expression he laughed louder, covering his mouth and outright giggling.
“What.” You deadpanned at this point.
He opened one eye, tearing up at his guffawing. He wiped it, a blush staining his flushed face.
“I-I’m not going to kill you, Y/N,” He said, still trying to control himself. Whatever intimidation you had been getting was erased completely, and he was genuinely grinning at you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to know how you knew it was me. But that was great.”
You had seen him trembling before, yes, but you thought that was from anger not from restraining laughter. You registered that he had tricked you finally after your brain caught up.
You were going to kill him.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“W-Woah!” He backed off, and you reveled in his frightened face, though you doubted you could even bruise him. “I’m sorry but the chance was right there and you were running away from me all day like you thought I was going to bury you in my backyard.”
At this your own anger dissipated and you couldn’t help the snort that left you at the image. You blanched, appalled at what you’d just done but if anything Peter looked more amused.
“See? It was funny.”
You let it go, rolling your eyes. “Alright fine, fine.”
“But really,” He appraised you curiously. “Did someone tell you? How did you know?”
“I figured it out myself,” You replied, and his eyebrows raised in surprise as if that was the last thing he was expecting.
“What?” You smirked. “Sad your full proof secret identity was figured out? You’re not that subtle Pete.”
His mouth flapped, as if you had just insulted his ego, ears staining red at the tips. You snorted again and he grumbled, but his lips lifted.
“Is that it?” You asked when he didn’t say anything else, merely looking at you with soft eyes, causing something stirring in you that made your insides heat. “You’re not going to bribe or blackmail me to keep your secret?”
“Bribe?” He asked, incredulous but still amused. He laughed. “What do you think I am?”
You shrugged sheepishly.
Peter shook his head. “No, if you haven’t said anything this far, I don’t think you will moving forward.” He smiled and it was like he was the sun, small dimples forming at the sides of his mouth as his eyes crinkled. “I trust you to keep my secret.”
Your heart jumped again and this time you couldn’t ignore it as warmth flooded you at his smile.
“I see, thank you.” You tried to control your breathing as your heart-rate picked up, holding onto your bag straps for comfort. “I guess I’ll leave then.”
“Wait,” He stopped you, still blocking the door. You gave him an inquisitive gaze and he paused, nibbling on his bottom lip.
“A-Actually there is something I’d like you to do,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck apprehensively. “You k-know, as assurance that you won’t give it up.”
“What?” You asked hesitantly. What could he want for him to be reacting like that.
At your words he swallowed visibly then looked at you with pink cheeks, smiling crookedly. “Kiss me?”
Your universe stopped.
When you didn’t reply he began rambling again, the confidence knocked right out of him.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve always kind of liked you and-” You were already walking towards him while he went off on a tangent, embarrassed.
“Y-you kind of sit behind me all the time so I can’t really talk to y-you but I think you’re beautiful and since, well you know my secret now I was just wondering and I-I know it’s stupid-”
“Peter,” you said, and you had crossed the distance to stand right in front of him. His cheeks glowed brighter.
You pressed your lips to his softly, inexperienced. He gasped against your mouth, unresponsive in shock, before he was suddenly all motion, gripping you and kissing you back. The world spun and his back was no longer against the door but yours was, and you couldn’t care less, raising your hands to play with the curls at the base of his neck that had always fascinated you.
Peter made a noise against you as you tugged at the strands and you found yourself unable to think when his shy, sweet kisses turned more desperate, roughly searing his lips to yours, drawing shivers and goosebumps.
A rattle of the doorknob knocked the both of you out of the spell and you gasped raggedly as the door you were leaning against rattled again.
“Locked…? Hey, is someone in there?” The janitor’s voice called.
You quieted your pants, staring into Peter’s eyes, elation running through you as he put a finger to his lips, smiling back. After another couple knocks the janitor grumbled, and you heard the jingle of keys as he backed off from the door to find the right one.
“What are we gonna do?” You whispered, but the grin curving your lips didn’t match the worry in your tone. Peter motioned for you to follow as he went to the window. It was only when he opened it and put a leg on the sill that you stammered. “Hey wait, are you serious? This is the third floor!”
“And I’m Spiderman,” Peter whispered back, winking at you as he held out a hand for you to take as the doorknob rattled once more.
Marinette twirled around, feeling the fabric swing around her legs as it swirled around her.
“Slow it down just a little,” Chat suggested. "Purrfect.“
His praise made her heart beat a little faster. Their photoshoot in the evening sunlight of the middle of summer wasn’t the only reason she was warm
"Keep the smile and when I tell you to freeze, I want you to just stop spinning,” he said. "Got it?“
"Better hurry up before I tip over,” she replied.
The skirt of the dress obeyed the laws of physics and continued wrapping around her before eventually swaying back like a pendulum. The world still seemed to spin around her, and she was relieved to feel his steadying arm around her her a moment later. "Oooooh. Sooooo dizzy.“ She laughed.
"I’d like to do a couple more of those to be sure I really captured the swing of the fabric,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead. "But you won’t have to twirl so long for those.“
"You’re really good at this stuff,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist, and blinking up at him as Paris continued to rock and sway in her distorted vision.
You were a nervous wreck, sat across from Baekhyun in a
quiet corner of a random café, nursing your third cup of green tea to help with
the butterflies in your stomach. The air between you both was silent, neither
of you saying anything. Instead the awkwardness was just prolonged, like an
itch that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you scratched.
Summary: The three of you celebrate the 1 year anniversary of you joining the Winchesters, and not dying, with fun and games. This is the end of this strand- check out the master list to get on it from the beginning!
A/N: Shout out to the amazing @littlegreenplasticsoldier for putting this together. She also trusted me to write her fantasy ending, and I couldn’t love her more.
Prompt: Betty and Jughead fall asleep in the blue & gold office while working their butts off trying to finish some articles. Betty's mom freaks out when she doesn't come home and thinks that Betty and Jughead were doing more than just napping together. She then locks Betty in her room and Jughead sneaks her out and they go on the adventure of your choice.
Sure thing! I hope you like it.
“Juggie, I’ve just got to finish this paragraph.” Betty promised.
Jughead yawned again and nodded. “You can head home, Jug, I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Jughead shook his head this time and looked squarely at Betty. “No way, I’m going to walk you home.” Jughead smirked. “That’s what people like us do.”
“Okay, I’m almost done.” Betty smiled, clicking away on the computer keys.
Jughead yawned again and strolled over to the tiny couch in the corner of the office. Why there was a tiny couch in this room - or the lounge downstairs - he didn’t know. But at this moment, it was deeply appreciated.
Jughead propped his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out before him, resting them on a table.
He closed his eyes for just a second, listening to Betty’s beating of keys across the room.
He was comfortable but too warm, he decided. He shrugged out of his coat, then his flannel, leaving him in a tshirt and jeans.
He rested his head back against the top of the couch as Betty shuffled over to him.
“Betty,” He started, cracking one eye open to look at her. “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable this old couch is.”
Betty smiled. “Oh yeah?”
Jughead reached out for her hand. “Sit with me.”
Betty did, cozying up to Jughead’s side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closely.
Jughead let out a deep breath, content.
Betty nuzzeled her head into Jughead’s chest and closed her eyes. He was right - this was comfortable.
Betty’s eyes opened as Jughead rearranged his hold on her - it was dark outside. Really, really dark. It was dark in here. Betty jumped up, looking for her phone. Shit, where was it? She was dead.
“Jughead, wake up! We fell asleep!” The panic was rising in her.
Betty could feel her usually taut ponytail slumping to one side of her head, pieces of hair falling over her face.
Jughead’s shirt was half way up his stomach, looking worse for wear. He was still asleep, a half smile crossing his face.
“Jughead!” Betty whispered again, shaking his shoulder.
His eyes cracked open this time, and the smile widened on his face. “‘Morning, Gorgeous.”
Betty couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s not morning, Juggie, we fell asleep at school. My mom is going to kill me when-”
They heard clicking down the school hall.
“Shit,” Betty whispered, throwing Jughead’s flannel at him. Where was her phone!?
The clicking of the shoes got louder and as Betty reached her desk - finally, there was her phone - The Blue and Gold office door flew open, Alice Cooper standing in the doorway.
“Elizabeth, do you have any idea what time it is?!” Alice roared into the room, looking prestine as always.
“No,” Betty said lamely. “It’s after midnight. What were you-?” Alice zeroed in on Betty’s unruly hair, then scanned the room.
Jughead was fighting to get his flannel on.
“What the hell were the two of you doing in here?”
Betty looked over to Jughead trying to get his clothes on, the hat that had slumped to the back of his head. His tshirt was still slightly wrinkled and sat just above his bellybutton. She smoothed her hair down, knowing she looked guilty doing it.
“Nothing,” Betty said, head high. She knew what happened - and what didn’t. “We were just working on the paper, Mom.”
“I won’t have you acting like Polly did, Elizabeth.”
“We were working on the paper.” Betty said again.
Alice grabbed for Betty’s arm, steering her towards the door.
Jughead shrugged on his coat, following behind the Cooper women. He knew better than to say anything, but he still wanted to keep an eye on them.
It was a silent car ride back to the Coopers - Jughead squeezed Betty’s hand as she got in the car, but kept walking. He wasn’t crazy enough to ask Alice for a ride.
Alice had yelled at Betty for five minutes when they got home - she already had one pregnant daughter, she didn’t need to - despite Betty’s protests that she had the wrong idea of what had happened at school.
Alice had ended up locking Betty in her room, saying she would unlock the door in the morning.
“What if I have to pee?!” Betty called, rolling her eyes. Her mother was so dramatic.
Betty changed out of what she had worn to school and into leggings and a large sweater.
She sat down at the edge of her bed, head in her hands. If only Alice hadn’t walked in when she had - Betty barely had time to reflect on how much she had enjoyed her time with Jughead. The best sleep of her life, packed into just a few hours.
She smiled, and suddenly there was a quiet tap on her window.
Betty looked over at her window, a bigger smile spreading across her face as she saw Jughead. She slid open the window.
“You on house arrest?” Jughead smiled.
“She locked me in here!” Betty hissed.
“I guess she forgot you have two windows.”
Betty smiled and rolled her eyes.
“You up for an adventure?”
“What kind of adventure?”
“Do you trust me?” Jughead murmured.
“Of course I do.” Betty smiled. “Hold on.” She went to her bed, fluffing up her blankets and arranging the pillow just so, just in case. She knew her mother wouldn’t check on her - she would never expect her to climb out the window.
Betty walked back to the window, looking out to see Jughead already at the bottom, holding the ladder for her.
She quickly made her way to the bottom, taking Jughead’s hand as she stepped on the grass. “Where to?”
“I’ll show you.” Jughead smiled at Betty in the dark. They strolled down the sidewalks, passed Archie’s house, around a corner, until they came to a stop.
Betty recognized this house - it was Jughead’s old house.
“What are we doing here?” Betty whispered.
Jughead kept walking into the back yard, pulling Betty along with him. They stopped in front of an old treehouse.
“The treehouse!” Betty said excitedly. “I forgot about this thing!” Betty started climbing up the old wooden boards.
She ducked her head inside, Jughead following her quickly.
It looked exactly how she remembered it. There were drawings marked into the wood with crayon, a trunk full of comic books, a notebook full of doodles and ‘secret code’. There was a skipping rope, as well as a pack of gum and a tennis ball in the corner.
“The people that bought your house never checked in here?” Betty murmured as she sat in front of the comic book trunk.
“They’re elderly, they didn’t have any children. I heard that they were thinking of knocking it down, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
Betty passed Jughead a comic book.
“I tried sleeping in here, once, after my dad started drinking again. It was pretty risky though - if anyone saw me, they’d call the cops and I’d be right back with him. Plus, it’s pretty uncomfortable.”
Betty looked at Jughead sadly. She had just recently learned about Jughead’s situation. She reached out and squeezed his hand.
They spent the next hour flipping through comic books, trying to decyfer the code in their notebook.
Jughead intertwined his fingers with Betty’s. “Ready for the next stop?” Jughead asked.
“There’s more?” Betty said excitedly.
The climbed out of the treehouse carefully, tiptoeing through the back yard, away from the house.
The night wasn’t too cold - there were stars shining above them, noises coming from different parts of the city around them.
They walked quickly, both of them excited. They gripped each other’s hands.
Eventually, they found the closed Drive-In.
Betty turned her head to look at Jughead, but he just smiled.
She followed him to the projection office.
He slipped a key out of his pocket, unlocking the door.
“They haven’t torn it down yet, obviously, and I just wanted you to see inside. I love it here.”
Betty followed him inside, looking around as she did so. “Jug, there’s so much stuff in here. Are you sure you don’t want any of it?”
She looked around, seperating her hand from his. She looked at the shelves, fingering the different rolls of film.
She looked at the different titles, noticing some of Jughead’s favorites.
Jughead was sitting on the small bed that fit into the room, playing with the pillow.
“Can you put one on?” Betty murmured.
“I can’t project it outside, in case someone sees. But I can play one for just us.” Jughead smiled, walking to the machine.
Jughead looked through the different titles, picking one and putting it on. The projector was loud.
“What’s this?” Betty asked, nodding her head to the movie.
“The Killing from 1956. It’s a Stanley Kubrick. It’s one of my favorite lesser-knowns.” Jughead murmured as the movie started.
Betty sat next to Jughead on the small bed, realizing why the Drive-In had meant so much to him. Not only did he love his job, it was his home.
Betty traced little patterns over Jughead’s skin absent-mindedly, both of them enjoying the movie.
Jughead leaned back, and Betty leaned back with him. She rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the movie but enjoying his company more.
More than halfway through the movie, Jughead turned his head the best he could, trying to see Betty’s beautiful face.
“Betty?” He murmured.
She leaned forward, away from his chest, to look at him. “What?”
He grazed his lips slowly against hers before locking her lips between his. He had wanted to do that since they woke up at school.
They stayed like that, gently kissing in the dark, the light from the movie alighting their faces.
The movie reached the end of the roll, bringing Jughead back to reality.
“Okay,” He said, taking a deep breath. “One more surprise.”
Betty smiled and took his hand to get up off the makeshift bed.
“Jughead?” Betty said, stopping him before he had the chance to open the door. “Are you sure you don’t want any of these old movies?”
Jughead shook his head. How would be play them, anyway?
Betty nodded, grazing the shelf that held the film cannisters. It was dusty. She found the one she was looking for and slipped it in her sweater pocket.
“Ready?” Jughead smiled.
Betty nodded and took his hand, leaving the booth behind them.
She was surprised at how light the sky looked above them. Sure, they’d been out for hours. But Betty expected darkness - they left the house in darkness, after all.
They strolled through the grass, the dampness from the dew touching their ankles.
She knew better than to ask Jughead where they were going - he was a sucker for surprises. He wouldn’t ruin them.
They didn’t go far, just passed the Drive-In, there was a park that was hardly ever used.
They walked between the dense trees, spotting a play-structure for children, rows of swings and a teeter-totter.
Betty walked directly to the swings, sitting down in one. She expected Jughead to sit beside her, but he didn’t. He walked behind her, gently pushing on her back so that she would swing back and forth.
A smile spread across her face. She hadn’t been pushed on the swings since she was a toddler.
“Hey, what movie did you swipe from back there?” He laughed.
“A Rebel Without A Cause.” Betty admitted. “I feel like it’s our movie.” She blushed. “I wanted it, even if I don’t have anything to play it on. It’s ours.” She said.
Jughead was terrified - he hadn’t planned this night, it wasn’t elaborate. He had thought of it at the last minute, walking home by himself, thinking of the best sleep of his life that he had just awoken from.
Why not show all the places he loved most to the girl he loved most?
And then, he realized, that he had just come clean to himself. He loved Betty. He loved Betty?
He loved Betty and he was going to tell her.
He looked upwards towards the sky, then stopped pushing against her back. She swung gently a few times around him before coming to a stop.
“It’s almost time,” He said, a shy smile on his face. He walked around the front of her, extending a hand so she could jump down.
“Time for what?” She smiled.
They walked over to the grass, keeping each other’s hand in their grasp.
Jughead pulled her down onto the dew-soaked grass, then layed down. Betty did the same.
The sky changed from the dark, intense blue to a lighter blue, stars disappearing.
Eventually they saw whisps of clouds appear, dotting the sky. There were purples and pinks decorating the sky above them.
Jughead turned his head to look at Betty - she was smiling, in awe.
“I’ve never watched a sunrise before,” Betty murmured.
“Betty, I love you.” He rushed out. There. There was no taking it back, no pretending it didn’t happen.
She was the first person beside his father, sister or mom that he had said that too.
Betty rolled onto her elbows, propped up to look at him.
“You love me?” She whispered.
Jughead nodded slightly. “I love you.” He whispered back.
“I love you, Jughead.” She smiled. “This was the best night of my life.” She murmured, dipping her head lower to kiss him.
Jughead kissed her back, tears pricking his eyes. The girl he loved, loved him too. He blinked them away, breaking the kiss.
“You’re missing the sunrise.” He murmured.
“You’re better than the sunrise.” She smiled, kissing him once more.
They stayed like that until the sky was light. They stood up, clothing wet, hand in hand.
“We better get you home before your mom realizes. I don’t want her to castrate me.” Jughead said lightly.
Betty shook her head. “Me neither. I wouldn’t let her touch you, though. Nobody touches the person I love.” She smiled, bumping her hip against him.