ruby red lip


Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

Pre apocalypse - Negan is very attracted to one of his students; Y/N. Negan and his wife get invited to their new neighbour’s house for dinner, only to find out Y/N lives there. 2 part fic, idk how I feel about this.  *oc is over the legal age of consent 

“But dad! I’m meant to be going out with Stephanie tonight!” you whined, stomping your feet against the marble flooring, hoping your dad would fall for your puppy dog eyes but those days were over. “That’s enough, Y/N! We are the new ones on the block and it’s nice to get to know the people around us.” You rolled your eyes; you could care less about getting to know anyone around here. You had made enough friends at your new school, you didn’t need any more. “But they don’t even have any kids, you said! So why would I want to get to know any oldies?”  you were annoyed, he knew you’d planned to go out tonight and he was fucking it right up. “Actually, I know the man who lives there works at your school. So maybe you could talk? I already know you’ve been annoying the teachers.” It was true. You were never really one for authority; you hated being controlled and told what to do. Seeing teachers outside of school was more embarrassing and awkward than anything else, never mind having dinner with them at your house. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had a deep feeling of hope that it was that hot new teacher called Negan.

He was a mysterious man, not wanting to be called ‘sir’, just Negan. He always had a smirk rested on his face and he could be pretty terrifying if you pissed him off, you didn’t really want to find out what that felt like from a personal view. He didn’t dress like the average teacher, always in a black leather jacket rather than a suit and tie.  You had developed a schoolgirl crush, hiking up your skirts and pulling down your tops to get a reaction out of him. He didn’t disappoint, you noticing his gaze that fell upon your breast when you were talking and his eyes wandering after you when you walked away.  You had seen the gold wedding band on his ring finger but neglected to keep it in mind when you mindlessly flirted with him. So what if he was taken, he didn’t seem to mind so why should you?

You remember back to around a week ago, a conversation between the two of you that had been interrupted before it got too heated.

“Sir.” He turned around, looking at the girl in front of him. Her hair pulled up into a ponytail, black mini-skirt barely covering anything and the tight white blouse she had on was creating a stirring inside him. She knew what she was doing and he was letting her do it, he tried so hard to care but he couldn’t bring himself too. “Now Y/N, you know it’s just plain old Negan to you.” He laughed, turning around fully, dropping his glasses on the table. “Sorry to bother you, I just need help with something in the homework.” She walked to the front of his desk, where he had moved to sit down. “What is it your needing help with?” she opened the booklet, turning to page 60.

“Oh fuck.” Negan thought to himself, she had turned to the page that read “SEX EDUCATION”. He swallowed hard, looking up at Y/N, an innocent look on her face, watching him squirm. “And what don’t you understand on this topic?” he asked, trying to keep his lustful stare off her pushed up tits that sat right in front of him. “I don’t get the diagrams, I need a demonstration.” She stated, looking in Negan’s eyes, watching the lust fill up in them. “Well fuck, Y/N. There’s plenty of porn on the internet? You look through that, you should get the picture.” He chuckled, trying to ease them off the topic of sex.

“You’ve been teaching me for a long enough time now to know I learn best from a practical lesson.” She purred, pulling the book out of his hands, throwing it over your shoulder. You began to climb over the desk on all fours, your ass stuck out in the air, legs crossed over one another. “Y/N, I am a happily married man.” He showed her his hand, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than her. She smiled, licking her ruby red lips she took his hand in hers, wrapping her lips around his ring finger. She gripped her teeth on the ring, sliding it off his hand. She took it out of her mouth, observing it. “What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.” You giggled, pulling Negan towards you by his collar. He leaned in, your lips just about to meet before a loud knock came at the door. It was the dean of the school; you rolled your eyes, huffing as you placed the ring back on his still wet finger. “This isn’t over.” You said, looking at him, waiting on his reaction. 

“To be continued, sweetheart.”

 part two is in the works now x


First story I write 😯

It was Friday night, about three o'clock. My sister Deanne had come home a minute ago, blind drunk again, as she often did lately. Right now, she was stumbling up the stairs in a fruitless attempt to make as little noise as possible to avoid waking up our parents. Of course, she didn’t need to worry about that, I doubt even a cannon blast would wake them. Not with his loud snoring and her earplugs. However, it did wake me.

In a few more moments Deanne would stumble into my room, she always did. My cock was already swelling in anticipation.

“Hi shexy” she slurred as she staggered through the door and steadied herself with both hands on my bed. I could smell beer on her breath, then taste it as she kissed me.
“I’m sho wet for you” she giggled and drew a slippery finger over my lips, “Here”.
The distinct aroma of aroused pussy entered my nose and I tasted the sweet tartness of her female nectar.

I could now see my sister’s naked pussy, neatly shaven and highly excited, below the hem of her little black dress. Deanne had already discarded her underwear, eager as she was for another drunk fuck with her brother. I made a mental note to look for it later, lest mom would find it somewhere and might start asking questions. My worrying was cut short, as seconds later the little dress fell on the floor and my sister was completely nude.

I knew what she wanted was wrong, but it was near impossible to resist my sister’s drunk advances, especially when she was crawling naked into my bed. I’m only human and Deanne was not just sweet, smart and funny, but unbelievably gorgeous as well. To top all that, she was a passionate lover and much better in bed than any of my girlfriends had ever been.
With every time we fucked, I regretted more that this perfect girl had to be my sister. If only she was another girl, any other girl. A girl I could take home and introduce to my parents as my girlfriend. A girl I could kiss in public and fuck while she was sober.

Not that I am complaining, mind you, and if there was any doubt in my mind, it quickly melted as she pulled down my underwear and closed her hand around my cock.
“It’s sho big” she cooed, gently jacking me off. “Ish it becaushe of me?”
Of course it was, but I wasn’t going to admit that to my drunk sister,
“Just suck it Deanne” I grunted.
She smiled at me and lowered her mouth over my cock.

A second later, her ruby red lips touched my pubes and a gagging sound confirmed that my cock was now deep in her throat. She continued to expertly suck my cock and fondle my balls for a wonderful couple of minutes. It wasn’t long before I felt the first signs of an imminent orgasm. I closed my eyes and tried to suppress the urge to cum, and enjoy my sister’s talented mouth as long as possible. Much too soon, I had to acknowledge the fact that it was impossible to hold off the inevitable any longer.

“I’m gonna cum!” I grunted to warn my sister I was about to flood her mouth.
I was surprised by her alertness, especially given her state of inebriation. Deanne spat out my cock at once and firmly squeezed its base of to prevent me from ejaculating all over her delicate face.
Once she was assured I wasn’t going to blow my load, she grabbed my cock again and swung her leg over my waist. She then guided my cock between her silky lips and sat down. Deanne’s pussy was incredibly wet and my cock smoothly penetrated her tight opening. My sister’s pussy swallowed my shaft until her labia kissed the fingers that still held my cock upright. Then she lifted her body again, high enough for me to slip out. Even in the dim moonlight I could see the creamy juice on my shaft, right up to the point where her fingers were.

Deanne stroked my slippery cock a few times, spreading her wetness along my shaft and mixing my precum with her own copious secretions. She rubbed the tip over her clit and ran it between the dainty lips, teasing me by letting the tip graze the entrance to her vagina and then raise her hips when I wanted to push in. Then she finally let the tip slip back into her hole, took her hand off my cock and dropped her ass all the way down. In one quick move she had taken every inch of me inside her smoldering wetness. She leaned slightly forward and placed her hands on my chest, then arched her back and began to sensually rock her hips. I could feel the little bump of her cervix rub against my glans and heard soft squishy noises from her pussy as she ground her swollen clit against my pubic bone.

While I couldn’t see much of her pussy as she was leaning forward, I had a great view of her firm breasts. I could just lay back and look at my sister’s bouncing breasts for hours. They were just the right size, still perky, yet perfectly round and full, and tipped with pink, rubbery nipples that were always hard and just begged to be fondled and kissed. I craned my neck to bring my mouth to the pink nubs when I suddenly became aware of my sister’s scent. She smelled great, a perfect blend of perfume, arousal and a touch of perspiration. I inhaled again, feeling almost light-headed.

She moaned softly and shut her eyes as I closed my lips around her nipple and gave it a little suck. She froze for a second and I felt a series of contractions race up and down her pussy. It was only a tiny orgasm, just prelude of what was to come later. Hungry for more, Deanne stopped rocking her hips and got on her knees. Then she took her hand from my chest and placed it behind her for support as she leaned back. Plunging her hips up and down, she began to fuck me with long, rapid strokes, effectively jacking me off with her pussy. The view of her jiggling breasts was replaced by an even more arousing sight of her hairless pussy and her moist pink labia swallowing my cock every time she plunged down.

As she rode my penis like a cowgirl, the fingers of her free hand worked frantically on her pussy, rubbing in little circles around her clit to coax as much pleasure from the little pink nub as possible. It never took much time for her to cum, and tonight was no exception. After only a minute or two, she lunged forward again and mashed her clit against my body as she fucked me with erratic, forceful jerks and thrusts. The first full-blown orgasm hit her hard and wracked her lithe athletic body. I could feel her pussy try to suck the sperm from my balls as she came, shaking and wailing like a banshee.
While I knew it was almost impossible to wake our parents, she was so loud, I began to worry about our neighbors. I pulled Deanne close to me and rolled her onto her back, pressing my lips against hers to muffle her screams while I furiously pumped my cock into her quivering body. Within a minute, her first orgasm was followed by a second, equally powerful orgasm.

I was close to cumming as well when Deanne climaxed again, and I kept thrusting into her as hard as I could. I was only seconds from exploding inside her when she froze and held her body tightly against mine. Her hands clawed at my back and her strong legs locked around my waist. I wasn’t able to move at all, locked in her grip as her muscles contracted uncontrollably for the duration of her orgasm.
Her churning pussy sucked and squeezed my cock as she kept cumming a really long time, moaning and panting into my open mouth. Then, as rigid as her body was before, she collapsed from pure pleasure overload. For a moment I was afraid she’d pass out before I had cum, but soon she stirred again. With her mouth back on mine, she kissed me while she slowly regained control of her senses.
“That was nice,” she smiled. “You’re a good brother”

Without letting my cock slip even an inch from its snug little hole, she rolled me on my back again and sat up again.
“Your turn” she said and began to bounce her ass up and down. The orgasm I was denied twice earlier was still close, but this time I wasn’t going to warn my sister. I just grabbed her ass and pulled her down even more forcefully while thrusting up at the same time, fucking her as deep as possible until I couldn’t postpone it any longer and flooded her pussy with a hot torrent of potent, incestuous cum.

Deanne kept rubbing her clit as I pumped an enormous load inside her, and just as I squeezed the last drops from my balls, she came again, shaking and panting. After another massive orgasm, she slumped forward, looking like she would pass out. I could feel my sister’s hot breath panting in my ear as she lay on top of me, shivering and convulsing for over a minute before she pulled herself up again.

“God, that was the best, ever!” she grinned and kissed me tenderly.
My hands wandered over her back and her firm, round ass, stroking her soft, sweaty skin as we kissed. Again I was sorry this minx was my own sister, but I was maybe equally sorry that she wouldn’t remember a thing tomorrow.
“It’s shtill hard” she said after a while, suddenly slurring again.

It was no surprise I was still erect, her pussy had been squeezing and sucking my cock throughout her lengthy orgasm and the snuggling afterward. As a matter of fact, I was almost ready for a second round. That was, if my sister was up for it too. To my delight, she was.

She dismounted my hips and got on her hands and knees with her ass up.
“Fuck mee from behind bruv, do me doggy shtyle”

I could hardly believe my luck; doggy style was also my favorite position, and fucking my sister this way was something I had dreamed of ever since she first crawled into my bed many Friday nights ago.
Years of yoga, aerobics and track running had given her an ass that was truly out of this world; firm, round and shaped like a beautiful inverted heart that flowed into a slim waist that was perfect for holding on to with both hands. To complement this wonderful work of nature were two little dimples at the base of her spine, something I found extremely sexy.
Right now, this gorgeous ass was pushed up high in the air, ready to be taken.

I don’t think my cock had ever been harder than when I got into position behind her. Deanne looked truly scrumptious. I grabbed her ass with both hand and pulled the silky globes apart. A thick, frothy glob of semen oozed from my sister’s rosy pussylips. I watched the creamy glob increase in size until it lost its battle with gravity and dribbled down her clit and onto the mattress where it pooled in a slimy puddle between her knees.

I aimed my cock at the gooey pink gash and thrust my hips forward, parting Deanne’s lips and slamming my cock deep in her pussy. In this position she was even tighter than before and I was also able to reach deeper as well, making her groan as I stretched her tissues with my cock. Of course her pussy was quite sloppy this second round, and I was glad for it. The reduced friction aided a lot in increasing my stamina and I fucked her savagely for a delightfully long time. Loud slapping sounds reverberated in my room as I slammed my hips against my sister’s ass, pressing her face deeper into my pillows with every thrust.

Soon Deanne’s muffled moans became louder again, indicating she was rapidly approaching another massive orgasm. I didn’t want my sister to cum and risk her passing out just yet. As I slowed down and eased up my thrusting to keep her from cumming too soon, I let my thumb roam over her tight little asshole. Deanne wasn’t likely to remember a thing anyway, so I felt safe to take more liberties with her than I would have done with a girlfriend. To my surprise, my sister seemed to approve of what I was doing, even pushing her ass back and up against my hand. Pressing a little harder, her puckered little hole slowly yielded and my thumb slipped inside her. I slowly moved it in and out a bit, while I kept fucking her pussy at an agonizingly slow pace.

I was just about to push a little deeper when she looked around and surprised me with another slurred request.
“Put your cock in my assh”
I could simply not believe my ears.
“what?” I gasped
“I want you to fuck me in the ass”

I was almost convinced I was dreaming as I pulled out of her creamy pussy and pressed the tip against the little hole. It was already loosened up a bit by my thumb, but still I had to press hard to open her up far enough to accept my cock. Deanne eagerly pushed back and tried to relax her muscles as much as she could. Suddenly the tight ring gave and my penis sank an inch or two inside her ass.

Deanne let out a yelp of pain as I invaded her rear entrance.
“Don’t…” she gasped and lay a hand against my hips.
I didn’t know whether to not pull out or to not push in, so I just held still. A few moments later my sister withdrew her hand again, giving me green light to push in a little more. I spat on my cock and slowly moved in and out, steadily fucking her deeper until my shaft was all the way inside her.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her tight little asshole stretched around my cock, nor for the way the ring of muscles squeezed it like a rubber band. I don’t know if she ever had anal sex before, or if I was the first to fuck her ass, but my sister was the first for me, and I was simply stunned by the sensations of this incredibly tight hole.

I applied a little more saliva and sped up again. Soon I was fucking her ass almost as hard as I had fucked her pussy earlier and I felt my balls tighten again, in anticipation of an unprecedentedly intense orgasm. My sister was not far behind, and catching up fast. Every time I pushed in, I could feel her fingers tickling my balls as she was diddling her clit, laboring for another climax while I pumped her asshole. When she suddenly came, groaning and trembling over her entire body, her ass tightened so much, it was almost like it was trying to strangle my cock. For almost a minute, a series of contractions held me tightly and made it almost impossible to move inside her. With great force I pushed in one last time and shot my first rope of cum in her ass.
I kept cumming and cumming, pumping an enormous load in my sister’s bowels. I came so hard, I was light headed and my hands lost their grip on her waist. Stumbling over, I landed half on her back before I found new support on the mattress. On all fours now, I desperately kept thrusting my hips to squeeze every last drop of sperm into her.

Deanne wasn’t doing any better, exhausted from cumming, her arms gave way and together we tumbled on the mattress. There was no kissing or snuggling this time; Deanne was out cold. My cock slipped from her unconscious body and I rolled on my back, too tired to move. Deanne rolled on her side, her face on my shoulder and her arm across my chest, asleep in a drunken, well-fucked stupor. Again that wonderful scent of her entered my nose. For a moment I was tempted to just let her sleep in my bed, and maybe fool around a little more. But I wasn’t sure how she’d react in the morning, when she was sobered up a bit more. Then I thought of the risk of being caught spooning my sister by our parents and decided to take her to her own bed instead.
I put on a pair of pants and got her dressed as well as I could, then carried her to her room and laid her in bed. Kissing her one last time, I ticked her in and left. Tomorrow she’d wake up in her little black dress and probably feeling like she’s been fucked hard.

On my way back I picked up Deanne’s very damp thong. I briefly considered keeping the fragrant little piece of clothing, but decided it’d be best if I just made it disappear. After one last whiff, I buried it in the garbage bin and got back in bed.

The next morning Deanne looked like she had a terrible hangover when she appeared at breakfast. She didn’t show any sign of remembering our nightly romp, although she did blush a little when she saw me noticing her discomfort when she sat down at the table. Never did she show any affection towards me other than wholesome, sisterly love.
I felt really bad for taking advantage of her weaknesses and once again I resolved to resist her advances the next time she’d come to my bed, knowing full well I was incapable of doing so.

Such had become our routine: she’d come home wasted, we’d have the greatest sex I ever had, and the next day I’d feel guilty while she never remembered a thing. But after each time I was feeling worse and worse about myself. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and delicately and with as much diplomacy as I could, I suggested she shouldn’t drink as much.

She laughed at me and told me not to worry about her. That night she fucked me with as much gusto as ever, sucking my cock back to life twice and letting me finish up her ass again. It seemed she was determined to give me the best night of sex ever, to make sure I’d think twice before asking her to stop drinking again.
It almost worked, if my selfish lust hadn’t been exceeded by my love and care for her. I just couldn’t enjoy this self-destructive habit of her. I had to try again.

I had learned the hard way that Deanne wouldn’t listen to me, so I decided I needed help to keep her from getting wasted again. The next Friday, I was going to enlist the help of her best friend Lynn. As usual she came to pick Deanne up around ten. I waited for my sister to go to the bathroom, so we’d be alone for a minute.
“Could I have a word with you?” I asked in a low voice.
Lynn briefly looked up from her phone. “Sure”
“I’m a bit worried about Deanne”
“Worried? What is it?” at least I got her full attention, and she stopped texting.
“Well, to be honest, her drinking”
“Her drinking?” she asked, a little confused.
“Could you, as her friend, keep an eye on her?”
“Sure, but why? I know she’s a bit peculiar, but her drinking is hardly a problem to anyone.” Lynn said, emphasizing ‘her drinking’ in a way that made me feel she wasn’t taking my worries seriously.
“Hardly a problem? She’ll kill herself if she keeps drinking like she does”

Deanne’s friend looked at me in amazement and was speechless for a minute.
“But… Deanne doesn’t drink!” Lynn said.

This conversation started to make less and less sense.
“Then how come she’s shit-faced every time you bring her home?” I asked, desperate for a little understanding.
“Shit-faced? Deanne drinks nothing but juice and water! She only takes one sip of beer before we go home. She can’t possibly get pissed from one little sip!”
“No… you can't”

I was then that I realized the truth, and all the pieces fell together; Deanne’s alertness, her intermittent slurring… An act! My sister had been sober all the time, every time, it had all been a carefully constructed act!
Well, if she could act, so could I.
“Never mind what I said, Lynn… and please don’t tell Deanne we had this conversation”

Tonight I was going to call Deanne’s bluff, and then her ass would be mine. Always.

Title: Five Times I (Reader x Matt Murdock) 

Summary: Five times you almost told Matt Murdock you loved him and the one time you did 

Word Count: 1637







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I’m Not Scared of You

Prompt: “I’m not scared of you.”

AN: I’m getting this up with 6 minutes to spare. Damian won by one vote over Jason. I went with something a bit different today. Hopefully you guys enjoy it!

Words: 935

You take in a deep breath, and steel your nerves. Your hands are tied above your head, and your shoes have been taken from you, making running across the glass shattered on the floor much more difficult. Damian’s words ring in your ears, show no fear. He feeds on fear, it’s what he wants more than anything. He derives pleasure from it.

Your hands are going numb when he comes back in. His green hair is slicked back, and those ruby red lips are in that twisted smile. It takes everything you have to meet his gaze and hold it. He never looks away, and your breathing hitches as he presses his nose into your neck. “Where’s your pretty bird, little girl.”

You’re sad to say your voice shakes a bit, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He takes a step back and his voice rises “The latest boy wonder, a bit taller than me, wears a mask? You know who I’m talking about right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out this long, dramatic sigh, “Last month, I blew up a mall. Chained twenty people down, and gave the boy wonder time to save only one person. I fully expected him to save the kid. Instead he saves you. Then his disappears with you. Doesn’t take you to a hospital or anything. Just vanishes with you. It got me thinking.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about. It had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d been picking up Damian’s Christmas present, when the store you had been in had come under siege. You’d been one of twenty people taken hostage. While batman and the others had been busy on the other side of town, Damian had been left to make the toughest decision of his life. He had chosen to save you over the other nineteen people.

To everyone on the outside it had appeared as though Robin had simply been too late. It had been designed as a personal torment for Damian. To know that he couldn’t save everyone. His nightmares had been times worse than yours. More than once you had curled around him, and lured him back to sleep after he had woken screaming.

It had only been in the past month that Damian had started returning to himself. The two of you had done your best to put it behind you. Neither of you had thought that Joker would pick up on the fact that Damian had taken you straight home. You had underestimated him.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything. The Joker just growls and says “Fine, don’t say anything. We’ll have a little bit of fun until bird brain gets here.”

You hurt. Your entire body is in pain. For the past two hours Joker’s minions had been beating the crap out of you. You’d cried all the tears you had. But you refused to give in. “Poor little kitten.” You steel yourself. You take a deep breath, and grit your teeth. Joker’s white hand comes and pushes some hair behind your head “It’s as though you’ve been declawed. Why be so faithful to the little superhero?”

You refuse to say anything. He just shrugs, “Fine don’t say anything, I expect the boy wonder will show up soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll watch you shake in fear for a bit longer.”

That draws out a snarl and you look up and meet those cold fish like eyes “I’m not scared of you.”

He just grins, and says, “Looks like the kitten found her claws.” Just as his hand begins reaching for you there’s a clash of glass as Damian burst through. Joker grins, as several more windows break, and the rest of Damian’s family comes through.

You expect him to go straight for Joker. Instead he comes for you. He immediately cuts you down, and you collapse into his arms. That’s the last thing you remember before you pass out.

You wake up in your room. You’re in your bed, and Damian is curled carefully around you. There’s the faint sound of beeping, and you can’t help but wonder where they got hospital equipment. You keep your eyes closed a bit longer and listen to Damian murmur to you in Arabic. You catch the word Beloved more than once, and he ends each statement with a kiss to your temple.

You open your eyes and give a small tired smile. “Hey you.”

He doesn’t jolt like most people would, he simply brings his face more into view, “Take it easy. You have a broken leg, three cracked ribs, and some deep bruising. Lee said you’ll make a full recovery, though.”

You smile, but the tear begins seeping out. You look him in the eye and say, “I didn’t show fear Damian. I made sure that I didn’t show fear.”

He presses his forehead against you “I know, you’re so strong sweetheart. I’ll make sure he never touches you again.” You sniffle a bit, and he kisses your forehead.

The pain killers start to drag you back under but you hang on long enough to say two things “This wasn’t your fault Damian. I can see the guilt in your eyes, and it’s not your fault.”


“No, no self-loathing. Promise me.” He just nods. You give him a small smile, “I love you Damian Wayne.”

He smiles and give you a gentle kiss “I love you too, Y/F/N Y/L/N. I love you so much, my brave little Hell Cat.”

They Wanna Make Me Their Queen

( Prompt: princess diaries style “I grew up not knowing I was royal and suddenly my royal grandparent showed up out of nowhere and told me I was so now I guess I’m the heir to the throne and you’re my crush from my pre-royal days but I still have a crush on you” AU ) 


A/N: Yeah, okay, I have had this fantasy playing out in my head. Picture it: me, a princess of some small and obscure island, and my long-lost grandmother tells me I’m a princess and I get married to Tom Holland AND WE ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Okay, on a serious note - Princess diaries AU anyone? I watched the movie and it was great. 

Taglist: @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter | @tomsleftbrow | @tryn25 | @tanglefire | @midnight-memorial

You drop your backpack on the floor inside your front door. It’s the area that your mum not-so-fondly refers to as the ‘shoe graveyard’ where everyone who comes in leaves their coats, shoes, umbrellas, and in this case, a backpack and a soggy cherry-printed umbrella.

(Y/n)? That you?” Your mum calls from the kitchen.

That’s odd. Mum doesn’t usually get home from work until six o’clock. Shaking out your rain damp hair, you head down the shadowy hallway and into the sleek, modern kitchen of steel and chrome. What you see there makes you gasp.

Mum’s gotten out her best china, gold-rimmed and floral, the ones she’d gotten as a wedding gift. She’s sitting and having tea and fancy pastries with the strangest-looking woman you’ve ever seen. She has pale skin, ruby red lips and hair piled up on her head in an elaborate bun. Small and bird-like, with a stern expression on her wrinkled face, she’s sitting ramrod straight, staring and assessing your every move. She’s dressed in a black cashmere cardigan, and flowing jersey pants, her legs crossed delicately at the ankles. On her feet are black Chanel ballet slippers.

“This is her?”

“Yes,” Your mum answers, glancing up at you with a too-big smile. “This is my daughter, (Y/n).”

“Um,” You say intelligently, glancing at mum for help. You want to ask the woman, Who are you? But you think that might come across as being a little rude. “Um?”

“This is your Grandmother,” Your mother says, waving you forwards. “Your father’s mother.”

“I thought he died.”

“He did, but now his mother – your grandmother – wants to see you.”

“What, after years of total radio silence?” You snort, flinging yourself down into an empty chair. You grab a small finger sandwich, making a face when you realise you’ve grabbed a cucumber one. “What does she want from us? Money? My left kidney?”

Lips pursed, voice clipped, the old lady says, “I can assure you, I have no need for such frivolities.”

“Frivolities? Really? Who even says that anymore?”

(M/n), if you do not tell her, I shall,” Your grandmother says sharply, brandishing a butter knife and heaping a large dollop of clotted cream onto a scone. “There is much to be discussed.”

(Y/n), the thing is . . .” Your mum’s tripping over her words, and you tilt your head to the side as you always do, saying nothing but willing her to continue. “You’re a princess, (Y/n).”

And grandmother nods sombrely along to every word, as though she has to give up her left kidney.

As for you? You take the news remarkably well.

You faint dead away, right then and there.

The worst part about this whole ‘princess’ thing, you think grimly to yourself as you stomp down the hallway of Midtown High, is that you’ve been forbidden from telling anyone. Not Ned Leeds, not Michelle Gonzales, and most certainly not even your best friend, Peter Parker. You’ve just become princess of a small island called Serangoon, have a queen for a grandmother, basically have unlimited power and resources at your fingertips, and you’re not allowed to talk about it. Grandmother had explained – rather impatiently, in your opinion – that if you told your friends, the information would spread like wildfire. You could – and would – be compromised, assassinated like a character in Game of Thrones. This was for your safety, she’d assured you.

You don’t even get a makeover like Taylor Swift in her You Belong With Me music video. You’re still the same old (Y/n), with your frizzy hair, less-than-ideal clothes and the acne scars on your face.

What you do get are princess classes – Mondays to Fridays, 3pm to 7pm. History classes, etiquette lessons, and basically whatever your grandmother saw fit to throw at you. You’d seen the disdainful way she’d looked at you. Because of course princesses had to be charming and graceful, with impeccable manners.

You’d tried to tell her that you had homework, a social life, but your pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears.

How is it that a freaking princess can be invisible, you think grouchily, slamming your locker with a little more force than is strictly necessary. The metal trembles violently, then stills, and you glower angrily at it.

Stupid locker, stupid grandmother, stupid, stupid, stupid!

“What did that locker ever do to you?” Peter demands laughingly, sidling up to you, a soft, sweet smile on his face.

Instantly, your mind goes fuzzy, a big useless snowstorm. Your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and you gulp. That crush on Peter hasn’t disappeared at all, has it? It’s almost amazing to consider – you’re a princess, who will likely be married off to a prince/duke/king to provide heirs to both kingdoms ( or maybe this is your Game of Thrones obsession shining through ), but you still feel awkward and small around a boy you’ve known ( and liked ) since middle school.

Of course, the only way he’d ever notice you was if you became as gorgeous and as popular as Liz Allen.

If only you could tell the press …

But no.

“Earth to (Y/n)!” Peter’s laughing now, waving a hand in front of your face, his eyes bright and happy. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Um. Um?” You shake your head to clear away the fog. Your face feels far too warm for your liking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Movie night? My place or yours? A new episode of Star Wars came out, and you agreed that we’d watch it tonight.”

“Thanks a lot, grandmother,” You mutter, cursing your grandmother out in your mind for scheduling princess classes on a Friday. “I can’t, Peter. Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face falls, and you’re kicking yourself for having to flake out on him and this time honoured tradition. For a moment, you think about just caving and telling him – but the resulting earful you’ll get from your grandmother is not worth it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” You say instead. “Promise.”

You glance anxiously at your watch. 3.12 pm. You’d asked Stanley – your chauffer cum body guard – to pick you up three blocks away from school, outside Hunan Kitchen, a dingy Chinese place, and you can practically picture his stern, youthful face as he waits, the engine of the Rolls Royce idling.

“Okay.” Peter’s smiling a little now, and that’s worth something, at least. “As long as you promise.”


Summary: Jughead reflects on why the road trip with Archie meant so much to him; and when his deep, dark secret is exposed, he doesn’t know what to do.


Frankly, Jughead knew, deep inside him somewhere (even though it was probably buried so deep, it would have to be excavated), that Archie didn’t mean it. The redhead didn’t mean to leave his best friend waiting for three hours at the spot they’d meant to have met, instead opting to text him with five words- “Sorry Jug, can’t make it.”

To others, it seemed like such a small thing to stop talking about- one cancelled road trip, but to Jughead, it was going to mark a pivotal moment.

The moment when he’d tell his best friend, the one he can trust with everything, that no, Jughead currently didn’t have a home- only an excuse of one. He’d been debating whether to tell Archie, let alone his friends, for weeks, but had only now decided to accept that his living situation was just shitty and he needed help.

But of course, Archie didn’t show up, which just reiterated the doubt that had always lingered at the back of Jughead’s mind- what Archie was to him, he wasn’t to Archie.

What was so incredibly frustrating was that now, Jughead couldn’t tell anyone else. Even if he’d wanted to, when Archie drifted away, so did Betty, who was devoted to him. Who did he have to turn to now?

As he sat in the lunchroom if Riverdale High, blasting ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ through his earphones, his shoulders slumped.

Maybe he was talking to Archie, and consequently Betty, now, their friendship wasn’t what it used to be before.

And when Jughead found out later that Archie ditched their road trip so that he could ‘do the do’ with that pedophilic teacher on July 4th, Jughead couldn’t help but feel resentment boil inside him.

This is what their years spent hanging together in treehouses and sneaking behind their parent’s backs meant to him?

Therefore, Jughead couldn’t bring himself to admit that now, with the drive-on closing, he really might have no one to turn to.

Ignoring the strange sensation in his chest-sadness, if he wasn’t mistaken, he increased the volume of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, tuning out the din of the lunchroom, choosing instead, to focus on the titillating harmonies as his fingers tapped on his keyboard.


There were times, times like these, when Jughead truly hated Cheryl Blossom. No, despised her, and what she embodied- the rich bitch who could definitely not be trusted.

Yes, bad things had happened to her. Yes, her twin brother had been murdered. Yes, the murderer was still, in all likeliness, galavanting around Riverdale, and yes, all she could do was wait.

That still gave her no excuse to do what she was currently doing.

Phone in hand, evidence of what she was letting the rest of the biology class know -he didn’t know how Prof. Phylum could deal with her at all- that Jughead was hiding a deep, dark secret.

“We have a Serpent in our midst.” She said, turning around and shoving her phone in Jughead’s face. There it was. A picture of Jughead and his dad talking, that terrible day when he’d moved out of the driveway and into his father’s despicable house.

“And if those of you haven’t realised from this picture, it’s Jughead Jones, Riverdale’s resident writer.” With a smirk, Cheryl flipped her hair to one side and sat down.

Jughead put his head in his hands. If Betty, Veronica, and Archie weren’t there, then Jughead’s wouldn’t really have cared.

But they were, they were there, currently looking at Jughead with betrayal, hurt and disbelief on their faces.

Jughead put his head in his hands.

“Alright, class, enough.” Phylum said, only after regarding Jughead with disdain. “Back to dissection. The stomach…”

Jughead tuned out. What was once comfortable silence turned unconformable. He was ashamed, yes, and would give up nearly anything on the Earth’s surface not to be affiliated with his father, but right now, what choice did he have? His secret was out in the open, and there was nowhere for Jughead to run.

The Serpents… So what if the school found out? It was his friends that he was worried about.

He dared not to turn around and look at Archie’s expression, or Betty’s. He didn’t even bother thinking about Cheryl’s satisfied smirk.

Shit. They were going to find out that he had been homeless soon enough. They were going to raise questions about Jellybean, his mom, his entire life…. They were going to realise why’d he’d been so worked up about the Drive In shutting down.

Jughead was an outsider. Even though he pretended to be fine with it, he wasn’t.

After the pep rally, when he’d made up with Archie, he’d experienced a taste of something he’d been longing for- contentment.

Being homeless- those months were encompassed with loneliness- but hanging out with the gang at Pop’s- that was his ambrosia.

Now it was probably all gone.

When the bell rung, he didn’t bother waiting for his friends and made his way straight to the door, not making eye contact with anyone. Until Cheryl stood in front of him- hands on her hips, her ruby red lips angled upwards.

Neither said anything, but Jughead looked up and gave her the fiercest, deepest and most hatred-filled glare he could muster, gaining some satisfaction when the cheerleader shrunk back ever so slightly.

Ignoring her, he walked out the door into the hallway, paying no heed to the calls of Betty, Archie and Veronica.

It was like those cliché high school scenes- everyone turning towards him, whispers of serpents and secrets exchanged between them, hasty glares.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, running away from the blonde, redhead and brunette chasing after him. They were going to corner him eventually. When he realised this, he abruptly turned.

They almost crashed into him, taken aback. Betty looked at him. “Let’s take this somewhere else.”

She turned around, and Jughead followed.


“Juggie, what’s going on?” Betty asked, taking Jughead by surprise when he saw concern on her face.

“We want to hear it from you, not Cheryl.” Archie added.

All four of them sat at Pop’s, Biology having been the last period that day, and they’d conveniently forced Jughead into a corner booth, so he couldn’t boot.

Jughead sighed. What’s there to lose?

And so, he poured his heart out. He told them how his father had joined the notorious gang earlier that year, and how his mother had left a week later, unable to resolve her conflict with his dad, taking his dear Jellybean with her.

He talked about how he’d wanted nothing to do with his dad, even though he had no other choice. He spoke about the things he’d seen from his limited proximity to the gang- theft, assault, looting, pillaging, and that was just what he knew.

He told them how he’d stayed on his dad’s side at first, after being led to believe that this was the only option to get them out of the debt their parents were falling into. When Fred Andrews fired his dad, Jughead had naively believed that his dad could do only good.

His hatred began when he’d overheard the Serpents talking- and found out that his father had been feeding him pure lies.

So then, he’d moved out. He had discovered the Drive In- perfect for a temporary shelter. He’d even got a job there, which made it all the more suitable.

At some point, his father had come there and tried to reconcile- and Jughead had accepted. Now, whenever they encountered each other, Jughead tried to forget all the terrible things his father had done.

Jughead spoke about how devastated he’d been when the Drive In shut down. He’d said that it was almost his home- if only they’d known how literal he had been.

Those Twilight months were the lonely ones, he said, without even the company of his little sister to help pacify him. Now all contact he had to Jellybean was through a payphone near Twilight.

After Twilight shut down, Jughead had tried to find accommodation somewhere, but to no avail. Last week, he’d moved back into his father’s hovel, trying to spend as less time there are possible. His father tended to get drunk late in the night, and though nothing had been inflicted upon Jughead yet, he was not eager to stay.

But right now, he wasn’t spoilt for choices.

He ended his explanation with an “I’m sorry.” And waited.

Betty, sitting near him, looked at him, tears in her eyes and just hugged him.

Veronica, sitting across from him, grabbed his hand, and Archie said, “Jughead…”

Honestly, Jughead expected them to be angry.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Betty asked, hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know. You guys were busy…”

“Bullshit.” Betty’s eyes narrowed. “Jughead, you’ve been through so much already, and you clearly needed help. We would’ve done everything we could! Right, Arch?”

Archie looked slightly guilty at failing to notice what his best friend had been going through all these months. “Definitely.” He said, and leaned forward. “Jughead, if you need a place to stay…”

Months of tension had finally been released, relief coursing through Jughead’s veins. A tear trickled down his smiling face, only encouraging Betty’s tears to fall and Archie’s eyes to water. Veronica massaged Jughead’s hand.

“Yes.” Jughead accepted. Yes, his family was still torn apart, and yes, his father still engaged in abominable activities in a very violent gang, but right now, Jughead could rest.

Jumin Han is NOT Always Prepared For “Action.”

So… This is all Sinny’s fault.

@sinfulinsecret is an even worse sinfluence than my Pervy Nao lololol

Ayy but go check out my dear Sinny’s Jumin fics! They’re really, really hot NSFW. Like damn. She is my Sin Queen. Like, there was that vote for most sinful admin and someone was calling us Queens of Sin but this is because you haven’t seen Sinny. (WAIT no, call her Quinn lol I’m the only one who can call her Sinny, don’t you dare steal my nickname D: )


A short drabble to spite Sinny.

Warning: NSFW

Jumin Han did not always come home to a sight like this.

You had worn a piece of his favourite black lingerie, lying on the bed seductively in eager wait for him. It had been three days since you last saw each other. He’d had to attend a business meeting in another country, so he had been forced to leave your side. For three days.

He’d left you starved of him for three whole days.

“Welcome back, Jumin~,” you greet him, blowing a kiss with your ruby red lips.

His lips curl into a smile at your words. “I’m home, Kitten. Where’s my welcome back kiss?”

You spring onto your feet, quickly padding over to hook your arms around his shoulders and plant a kiss on his lips. Pouting, you said, “I missed you…”

“Mm, it sure looks like you did,” he chuckles, his hands squeezing at the back of your thigh. “You’re waiting for me like a good girl, after all.”

He steps back to admire your appearance, taking in the way your hair falls on your shoulders, and the way your eyes look up at him innocently despite the playful smirk on your lips.

His eyes roam shamelessly over your body—it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s everything he wants to touch. He gently caresses your cheek, looking lovingly into your eyes. “And have you been a good girl while I was away? Hmm?”

“Of course,” you softly reply. “But I’ve really missed you… if you know what I mean…” You bat your eyelashes up at him bashfully, and he smiles in return.

Jumin lifts you up, hooking your thighs around him as he pulls you into a deep, passionate kiss. He kissed you hard, never enough to hurt you, but enough to convey his love and longing for you.

He threw you onto the bed, climbing over top of you as you watched dazedly, anticipating his next movement.

“Now, as much as I love how that looks on you, I’d like it much better off,” he murmurs into your ear, one hand tugging at a strap of your lingerie and snapping it back on your skin. He hovers over you, watching as you slowly remove your only garment of clothing, sliding it over your head and tossing it aside.

He hums in approval, a pleased glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

He cups your breasts in his hands, groping and teasing you. He adored how soft the skin was, how his fingers just sunk in… Why were you so perfect?

Jumin leans in to breathe hot air onto your nipple, making you shiver from the difference in temperature. His tongue swirls around it, then proceeding to suck as his hands play with your other breast.

You moan softly, your hands gripping at his hair gently. Jumin Han was surprisingly skilled at this, too.

He leaves a trail of kisses from your chest to the inside of your thigh, licking in small circles as he reached a sensitive area. His hands hold a firm grip below your hips, fingers spanning to your ass.

Jumin runs a thumb across your slit, the tip of his finger grazing your fluids. “My, you’re already so wet, Kitten,” he muses, arching an eyebrow. “I’ve hardly done anything yet.”

You pout, “But Jumin! It’s been days… The better question should be, why aren’t you excited?”

As if to prove your point, you poke at his crotch with your toes.

Alarmed, he realizes that he must be too tired to… get it up. “Fuck,” he curses, blushing a deep red.

Jumin Han was not always prepared for action.

Alternate NSFW End:

“Should I help?” you laugh, and his cheeks flush more with embarrassment. “My, Jumin Han, must the woman do everything around here?”

He glares at you, albeit weakly, what with his embarrassed, rosy cheeks. He keeps quiet as he watches you, unbuckling his belt with ease while you palm him over his suit pants.

You cast a smirk at him, mischievously gazing up at him. You make a show of licking your lips slowly, staring straight into his eyes. You don’t break eye contact even when you slide your mouth on the tip of his cock, breathing hot air over it.

A moan escapes your lips as you take in the scent of him. God, it had been a while since you last tasted him. The smell of a gentleman who could control you to do anything for him. A smell of power and dominance.

Jumin narrows his eyes at you, as if challenging you to move any slower. You only smile innocently, taking your sweet, sweet time. You slide your tongue against the vein on the side of his cock, making him close his eyes in pleasure as he twitches in your hand, gradually growing harder.

You wrap your lips around the base of his length, sucking lightly down to his balls while your fingers rubbed at his tip. He tries to refrain from panting, from showing you how flustered you were making him. But it’s hard to hide the glazed look in his eyes, pleasure pooling in them.

He has a hand at the back of your head, pushing you onto his cock, and you take him in your mouth, sucking gently. His glare is hard (like his dick lololol) and you can see the frustration in his eyes.

He just wants to push you down and take you, claiming your body after the days you’ve been apart. But he also doesn’t want to stop you because the way you worked your mouth was heavenly.

But you end up making the decision for him, removing your lips from his shaft with a ‘pop!’ and pushing at his chest, gesturing for him to lie down.

Jumin raises an eyebrow in amusement. You really expect him to bottom tonight?

“Now, Kitten, I’ve let you have your share of fun with me. But it’s about time I remind you who’s in control here,” he growls, gripping hard at your shoulder as he turns you around and slams you to the mattress, keeping you pinned down under his weight.

So yeah, he’d had trouble getting excited. But he sure as hell could keep you excited for the  rest of the night.

Friends With Benefits (Part 2)

(Part 1)

AU: Jughead never went to Riverdale High and never became friends with Betty and the gang the way they were supposed to. Archie, Jughead, and Betty were close in middle school, but once they parted ways and Jughead followed in his father’s footsteps of becoming a Serpent, their relationship was never the same.

Note: I have plans for a part 3 and possibly a part 4 if you guys want it, just let me know! 

Betty glanced up from the heavily pencil-marked notebook paper resting on the mahogany desk, the exasperated eye roll resting patiently behind her eyelids threatening to take over as she squinted at the scribbles and lines in front of her. 

“Jug,” Betty called to the leather jacket-less boy standing by the floor to ceiling window with a wooden pencil tucked behind his ear. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“What?” He feigned innocence as he turned away from the view overlooking the courtyard and took a step closer to the golden-haired girl sitting hunched over one of the massive desks with a look of annoyance written all over her face. 

“I know you don’t expect me to read this chicken scratch,” Betty mumbled, shoving the paper in his direction and leaning back in the rolling chair with an irritated huff. 

“Bets, it’s been scientifically tested that brilliant people such as writers have significantly worse handwriting than most people in their age and gender demographic,” Jughead pointed out, placing the paper back in the center of the desk with a sense of pride overtaking his expression. “Don’t diss a literary genius for his hastily executed penmanship when he chooses to spend his time creating eloquently crafted stories instead of taking his time with his handwriting.”

“I’m pretty sure that test had numerous inconsistencies,” Betty teased, pushing herself out of the chair and taking a few steps closer to Jughead to place a delicate hand on his chest. “Besides, you’re just making excuses for how you can’t handle writing with plain old pen and paper instead of being in front of your laptop to get a story done.” 

“Oh really?” Jughead quirked an amused eyebrow down at her as she sidestepped his attempted embrace and hopped up to sit on the desk behind him in one swift motion. “If that’s the case, then maybe you should give me a handwriting lesson. Since you’re such a pro and all.” 

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Betty agreed, pushing him back with one hand as he attempted to close the gap between them. “And after that I’ll teach you how to reign in the egotistically asinine backtalk you’ve gotten so good at lately.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Jughead teased, reaching up to gently pry her hand from his chest and taking it in his grip. “Seems like you could learn a thing or two about that yourself.” 

“Is that right?” Betty raised a challenging eyebrow at him as he positioned himself between her legs dangling off the edge of the desk, leaning in so close that the tip of his nose brushed against hers as his hands slid down her arms to rest comfortably around her waist.

“Definitely,” he breathed, her arms snaking around his shoulders as their lips finally met for a soft, but passionate kiss. 

As Betty’s legs wrapped around Jughead’s hips and his hands slipped underneath her knitted pink sweater, the gentleness disappeared and the passion took over the way it always did when they were together. Just as they adjusted their body weight to lean back onto the table, a booming knock coming from the front of the room startled them into sitting upright, nearly kicking a stack of dictionaries onto the tiled floor from the unexpected movement.

“Knock, knock!” 

The couple pulled away from each other and Betty flung herself off the desk, reaching out to steady herself on Jughead’s shoulder as she struggled to regain her balance. 

“Cheryl!” Betty gasped, frantically pulling down on the hem of her crumpled sweater in her attempt to straighten it out as much as possible. “What are you doing in the Blue and Gold room?” 

“Fear not, my significantly less attractive and far less remarkable Lois Lane and Clark Kent,” Cheryl greeted them with a fake smile, her ruby red lips glowing an ugly shade of burnt orange in the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. “I haven’t come to take over your little craft corner of a newspaper room in the valiant effort to put it too far better, far more interesting use just yet.”

“Okay, then why are you-” Jughead started to ask, but was promptly cut off by Cheryl shoving a perfectly pointed fingernail up to his lips in her attempt to quiet him. 

“Wait a minute,” she smirked, tossing her long red hair behind one shoulder and taking a few more steps into the room. “That’s exactly why I’m here. The River Vixens need a better locale to prepare for football games, sans the repugnant odor the girl’s volleyball team leaves behind after their practices. Your sorry excuse for a newsroom will make for an adequately sized dressing area don’t you think?”

“Forget it, Cheryl,” Jughead shot back. “How could you possibly think that we would give up the Blue and Gold room so your cheerleading squad can primp and polish yourselves to scream at a bunch of football players from the sidelines?”

“Because you Southside garden snake,” Cheryl snapped, her eyes narrowing to glare in their direction as if they were scum on the bottom of her overpriced designer shoe. “I have dirt on the two of you that would break a certain ginger-haired stallion’s heart if anyone were to leak such information over to his side of football field.” 

“You don’t know anything,” Betty muttered, her fists curling up into two angry balls as she felt the overwhelming fit of rage bubbling up inside of her that was all too familiar. 

“Oh don’t I?” Cheryl fluttered a set of dark lashes at Betty as she reached into her leather handbag to pull out her phone. “Then showing Archie this picture of you two locking lips borderline NC-17 style would be acceptable?”

With one click of a button, the image of Betty wrapped up in Jughead’s arms blinked onto the screen, the intimate moment thought to have been shared only by the couple, showing much more than either of them would have liked anyone else to witness.   

“You were spying on us?” Jughead gaped at the redheaded deviant in complete and utter disgust. “Cheryl, that’s low even for you.” 

“No, what’s low is that wench of a friend of yours, Veronica Lodge, thinking she can take over my squad a get away with it,” Cheryl spat, tugging the phone away from their view and sliding it back into her purse for safe keeping. “Scoring the Vixens a new dressing room will win the girls back from her villainous talons once and for all. Then all will be right with the world yet again and we can all move on with our lives.”

“There’s no way Principal Weatherbee would go for this,” Betty reminded her. “The school has set aside a budget for the newspaper, not to mention that it counts as credit hours for-”

“Oh, he’s already signed off on it,” Cheryl informed them, a devious smirk creeping onto her lips as she took in their bewildered expressions with a sense of accomplished delight. “Mommy promised to fund the next three school-sanctioned events if he agreed. The only glitch is that he can’t forcibly remove you from the paper and ask you to give up your credit hours. That’s against school policy. But I assured him that all it would take was a little persuasion on my part and-”

“You mean blackmail,” Jughead corrected her, his voice so low that it nearly came out as a vehement growl. 

“Call it what you will,” Cheryl sighed, pulling at the sleeves of her dark red mini dress and smirking unapologetically. “But regardless, it seems as though you have a tough decision to make. Risk the friendship with your BFF of nine plus years by revealing the betrayal of epic proportions or relinquish your rights to the Blue and Gold for good.” 

“Forget it, Betty,” Jughead whispered, turning to her with concerned eyes and a deep-set frown. “You don’t need the room to run a newspaper, we can ask your mom if we can use the Register’s resources and-”

“Au contraire,” Cheryl crooned, taking a step closer to Betty to place a firm hand on the wooden surface of the desk in front of her. “No more Blue and Gold room, no more Blue and Gold. Mr. Weatherbee’s rule. It was a dying art form to begin with. He decided it was best to cut his losses in the long run, if you were to sign off on it of course.” 

Betty whirled around to face Jughead with pleading eyes, the hopelessness in her expression giving him the urge to reach out and comfort her, but knowing better not to. 

“You have 24 hours to make your decision,” Cheryl announced. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have fabric to buy for the velvet lounge chairs I’m planning to put in that corner over there. The decor in this place is seriously depressing, I can’t wait to work my magic. Later, losers.” 

With one last flick of her luscious locks behind her shoulder, Cheryl turned on her heel to make her grand exit out of the room, leaving Betty and Jughead to stare opened-mouth at one another as they tried to comprehend what just happened. 

“She can’t do this, Bets,” Jughead told her, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on her elbow. “We won’t let her.”

“She’s a Blossom, Jughead,” Betty reminded him. “They have all the power in this town and in this school. We don’t have a choice.” 

“Yes, we do,” Jughead assured her. “We tell Archie about us before Cheryl can.” 

“We already talked about this,” Betty mumbled, backing away from his touch and crossing the room to stare absentmindedly at the cluttered bulletin board displaying various school news and activities. “Telling Archie isn’t an option.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Jughead muttered, his brows furrowing together in confusion as he tried to wrap his head around what she was saying. “You would rather give up the one thing you’re most passionate about in order to keep our relationship quiet from the person who cut me out of his life as a result of something my father did, than end all the secrets and lies once and for all and just come clean? Is that about the gravity of the situation or did I miss something?”

“You don’t get it, Jug,” Betty whispered, the tears beginning to spring up in the corners of her eyes as she lifted her chin slightly to meet his gaze with an agonized whimper. “Archie was there for me when Polly left town and I was at my lowest point. I owe it to him to be there while he’s going through everything with his Dad. I’m telling you, it’s just not the right time.” 

“Are you sure it’s not something else?”

Betty knitted her brows together, shaking her head in confusion as she wracked her brain for any information that would hint at what he could have been referring to. “Like what?” 

“Like you’re ashamed of being with a pile of Southside trash like me,” Jughead spat, the words falling off his tongue as if it were physically painful to utter them. 

“Of course not, Jughead, you know I could never think that,” Betty assured him, taking a few steps closer to place her hands on the smooth skin of his cheeks. “I love who you are, every part of you.” 

“You’re just not in love with me,” Jughead concluded, wrapping his hands around her wrists and pushing her away. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe you can’t feel anything real for the boy from the wrong side of the tracks so you keep him close enough to get in his pants but push him far enough away to avoid feeling a real connection with him.” 

“That’s not true and you know it,” Betty breathed, the hot tears welling up in her eyes and beginning to fall onto her cheeks as she struggled to keep herself from screaming or collapsing into a heap on the titled floor or simply running away from everything altogether. 

“Well it doesn’t matter anymore either way,” Jughead muttered, his expression hard and stony as he held up his hands and backed away from Betty entirely. “I’m done. I’m done with the Blue and Gold. I’m done with this friends with benefits bullshit. And I’m done with you.”


“We could have had something special, you and me,” Jughead informed her. “We could have had the real deal. But you chose keeping your friendship with Archie over keeping anything with me. I hope you’re happy with that decision, Betty. Because now you have no boyfriend, no newspaper staff, and no newspaper. Congratulations.”

With one last disappointed glance in her direction, Jughead crossed the room in just a few bounding steps and left the Blue and Gold room for what could have been the last time, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that the plaques hanging on the wall by the chalkboard shook in protest. Sliding down the hard surface of the desk where she and Jughead had just shared an intimate moment together not ten minutes ago, Betty let the tears come hard in fast as she wondered how, and if, she would ever be able to fix this. 

kept {one}

What: BTS Fic
Genre: Angst + Implied Smut
Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk x Reader 
Words: 2.2k

Jeongguk and you grew up together and has had a huge crush on you since childhood. One night together changes the equation. The question is, is it a good change?

Suggested Listening: My Love - Majid Jordan

A/N: There is implied smut in this fic simply because I’m THE worst at writing smut but after much encouragement (and multiple draft checks) by the actual angel @taecup I decided to post this. I owe you a lot bb, thank you so much for always always encouraging me! Ily :3

“I’ve waited so long for this, I can’t believe it’s actually happening.” he said in a breathy tone, sitting patiently with his hands crossed and clasped tightly behind him, in the gold ornate chair of your hotel room.

“Did our little Gukkie really think of me that way? I’m flattered.” you twittered pleasantly from the bathroom. It wasn’t a lie, you were genuinely pleased that he wanted you this way, you had never known. 

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sugar and spice and a poisonous mouth;
a tale of a cruel man with silk-like hands to sweeten my undoing;
jagged crisscross scars to go with my venomous, sharp-edged teeth;
ruby red lips and broken skin to go with my crumbling pride; 
still with a tongue so sultry and hot it scorches your lips;
equal parts hell and desire, i’m a ruin made out of briars;
reverse kalopsia, a gathering of spilled poison and blood stains;
the angel you seek hides a monster beneath

or is it the other way around?

—  i will use my own scars to cut you down / genya

Tommy asking you to be a distraction for him in a meeting with an important client and you do an excellent job, making Tommy jealous.

Originally posted by imaginesparadise

“No, Tommy! I will not do that.” You crossed your arms across your chest, a stubborn stance that couldn’t even come close to the outrage that sparked in your eyes. 

“Y/N. Please. Do me this one little favor.” Tommy Shelby wasn’t one to beg, but this was the closest you’d heard him come. You wondered what made this client so important, and why he wanted you to be the one to accompany him to, as you imagined, sweeten the deal.  “He’s coming from London to Small Heath to talk business. He’s some rich bloke who wants my advice. If he bets how I tell him, well, the payout would be pretty significant.” He met your eyes and you saw what was, for Tommy Shelby, genuine excitement at the prospect of swindling the man out of his money. 

“Tommy, what’s so different about this one? You get clients asking you to tell them how to bet all the time, what d’ya need me for?” You were outraged, frankly, that he’d ask you to do this. As one of Tommy’s oldest friends, you worked for him as a trusted secretary for both the legal and illegal aspects of the Shelby business. While he mostly hired you to take notes of his transactions, handle phone calls, and deal with scheduling, you felt like whoring you out to some client was a bit out of your jurisdiction. 

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olicity || ao3 || explicit || smut || 1375 || more fics

summary: Oliver is a fan of Felicity’s white and red dress (for @muslimsmoak)
a/n: more shameless smut yay

Oliver walked into the almost empty bunker and immediately paused when he reached Felicity’s desk. She was wearing a dress that resembled a white top and red skirt. The skirt was long or longer than a lot of her dresses and skirts. The thing was tight and rested just at her knee, showing leg but also making her ass more pronounced. It didn’t help that she was bent over the desk. He had to bite down on his lower lip. When she turned to greet him the rest of her clothing was revealed. There was something about the outfit that just did it for him. It was modest and yet it was still so sexy. Especially that peek-a-boo hole in the top, only being kept together by some black cord.

“You’re staring,” she said in a sing-song voice.

He could have just waved it off or apologized, but instead he let a smirk form on his lips and said, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Is that so?” she stood completely, placing her hands on her hips, “And here I thought you were the king of control,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes and stepped forward, “When have I ever been able to control myself around you?”

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Comfort - Elijah Mikaelson

Request: Request: could you do a elijah reader where the reader comforts Elijah after they lost finn? (Your writing is amazing) ((Anon))

Pairing: Elijah x reader

Warnings: Mentions of losing someone. Crying.

A/n: As it turns out, I can cry while writing.

Originally posted by hyopotter


Freya was inconsolable, Kol was sitting in silence, staring off into nothing, Klaus was being- well, Klaus was being Klaus. He was wreaking havoc to conceal his grief. You didn’t feel anything, you knew Finn for about two days, but he seemed like he was good- damaged, of course, but there was beauty somewhere under all of that pain and brokenness.

He reminded you strangely of Elijah. Elijah was so strong in the moment that Finn died, he was so solid, so much like the man you fell in love with in the beginning. He was always so strong, so powerful and formidable, but it took you less than a month to get through to him. You found out that his ice cold demeanor was just the outside, that on the inside he was strong for a different reason, for family, for love.

And he just watched his brother die. You didn’t expect him to straighten up and become everyone’s rock, you expected him to go upstairs, lock himself away to cry and smash things. He went to his room but the door was left open and he kept his back to it. Your feet barely made a noise as you stepped into the room. The air was heavy and his shoulders were slumped, his tie undone and his hair tussled.

“Elijah..?” You voice trails off as you lay a hand on his shoulder, as gently as possible.

“I love you.” He doesn’t turn around as he talks, but you feel the weight of his words. Like he thinks it’ll be the last time.

“I love you too, but this won’t be the last time you say it to me.” You keep your voice low, gentle and quiet, like when you talk to an inconsolable person at a funeral.

“No, I mean, I love you. With every fiber of my being, every muscle and every inch of my darkened heart, I love you so much that if I lost you-” Elijah’s voice breaks, and you think that if you see him cry you’ll cry too. “If I lost you I would die.”

“You aren’t going to lose me.” He swallows. “You aren’t going to lose me to Lucien or Aurora or hell- even Klaus, I’m always going to be here.”

“Look at me.” You grasp his shoulder, gently but firm enough to tell him you mean it. “Elijah. Look at me.”

He turns around. His eyes are red and puffy, his lips ruby red and his cheeks tinted violently pink. He looks so broken. You wrap him in your arms.

“It’s going to be okay.” He lets out a sob, his hands clawing at the small of your back as you both fall to the ground. “It’s going to be okay, Elijah.”

He holds you close to him, hands grasping desperately at your sides as he sobs into your shoulder. You run your hands over his hair and his shoulders as he cries.

“I promise you, we’re going to be okay.”