silent gesture

  • being friends with a gryffindor is: never having to worry about not having someone to fight for you; knowing that you are arms length away from receiving the warmest hug you have ever had, like hot apple cider or hot chocolate; pillow fights at 1AM because why not? it's not like sleep could ever give you this feeling of joy; it's sitting next to a roaring fire painting nails, or trying to braid hair [and failing miserably]; it's watching the sunset together, and trying so desperately to memorize how the colors from the sky are making their face glow; it's standing up for them, even if they screwed up - because they're your friend, and what they did isn't worth giving up those uncontrollable giggles late at night; it's teaching each other how to grow up, and be mature, and learn from your mistakes; it's often going out of your comfort zone to do things that you might regret later, but you know will be worth it in the end; it's trying new recipes together and almost coughing it back up because you seriously needed to have had a recipe; it's always being there for each other when it counts.
  • being friends with a ravenclaw is: turning around in your seat during class, to look at them and roll your eyes simultaneously; coming up with new conspiracy theories about your favorite tv show; writing messages on each other's jeans and hands/arms, and getting in trouble with the teachers for not paying attention; it's not being afraid to tell them that they need to go back upstairs and change their outfit; it's not being afraid to give them the facts, and show them how it correlates with their circumstance; it's watching the stars together, and having a contest about who can spot the most constellations, before you both decide 'screw it,' and make up your own constellations - each with their own history and characterization; it's trying out new things together, whether it's completely foreign to the both of you, or just one of you - to please the other person and to gain their perspective; it's reading to each other late at night, while the other plays with your hair; it's always going above and beyond to keep your friendship alive.
  • being friends with a slytherin is: silent gestures and small smiles during the day, to let the other know you care about them; it's like finding a four-leafed clover - once you find it, you never let it go; it's throwing rocks in water and watching the ripples as they calm you; it's not being afraid to point out the bad qualities in each other, as well as the good, and have conversations about them; it's doing each others makeup and laughing so much that your eyeliner is all over the place, and you can forget about mascara; it's seeing who can sculpt the weirdest animal [with a backstory, please and thank you - along with its diet and habitat]; it's staying on the internet until dawn, and barely speaking, but giggling as you send each other memes; it's jumping on the bed to your favorite music while singing in a hairbrush; it's texting each other in near-tears, spilling your heart out, while the other listens and comforts you, and tells you all the reasons why you'll get through it, and how you don't need the person who is the source of your hurt; it's constantly picking each other up after someone's knocked you down; it's knowing that you have someone you can be completely bare-faced with, and know that they'll either cut all ties with you, or know that you have someone to love you for life.
  • being friends with a hufflepuff is: late-night talks about nothing and everything; sending each other baby hedgehog videos; hand-holding; seeing who can eat the most in one sitting [and then comforting each other the rest of the day, because oh my god who would even eat fifteen pieces of toast in their right mind]; sketching each other [and failing miserably]; lighting dozens of candles and laying down on the couch side-by-side, whilst your favorite instrumental record plays in the background; not being afraid of tear-stained clothes; sometimes having to pull all-nighters working through problems with each other, due to too much blatant and tactless honesty; always smiling at each other while you pass in the halls; always lending an ear when needed, even if you can't give advice; squealing at seeing their selfies, because oh my god, I am friends with the cutest little bean in the universe; making road-trip plans for the future; tripping over air while going on hikes together; drying flowers together; knowing that although they might have their head in the clouds, they will always come back down to earth just for you.

Do you think Derek ever remembers the Stiles that he first met, the loud mouthed, cheerful, quirky, smirking, always moving, always curious Stiles, basically the definition of ALIVE, and he knows Stiles has been through a lot even before that but it never crushed his spirit completely.

Do you think he looks at the Stiles after the nogitsune and everything else he’s had to go through, seeing right in front of him how much quieter Stiles is, how he might flinch at surprise noises or contact, how he doesn’t strive to know everything about anything anymore, how he keeps his head low and approaches things in a more calculating way, a tired way, rather than wholeheartedly.

Do you think he sees the tight lipped smile and the dark eyes and thinks to himself how he should have been more present, how he should’ve been able to do something, ANYTHING, to stop this from happening. Because it happened to himself, he should know how it goes by now, he should’ve seen the signs, he should’ve dared to believe the nagging voice in the back of his head and should’ve stepped forward when he saw that no one else would. But no, he had let himself believe in his self-pity, that Stiles, someone so great could never fall, that he could never experience something like Derek because he was too strong and too precious and too amazing, that he could never need someone like Derek when he has so many people around him.

Do you think he blames himself for not realizing sooner that they are both just people, that he is not some monster who attracts and deserves all the worst for just existing, that what happened to him could happen to anyone, and that Stiles is not an actual angel, who is immune to everything (even if he was Derek’s guardian angel).

Do you think Derek’s heart breaks over and over again every time Stiles half heartedly jokes that they’re all just broken now and that Derek isn’t alone.

Do you think he sees the plea in Stiles’ eyes that he doesn’t dare speak, the way Stiles had seen it in his before he had even known what he wanted, a touch, a hug, unconditional trust, but that he doesn’t know what to do because he still doesn’t trust himself, and all he wants to do is fall to his knees and tell Stiles he’s sorry for letting things go this way, and he knows that it’s pathetic and he’s just being his self-deprecating self again, and that it’s not helping anyone - it never has - but he doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is what Stiles had done for him and he knows he can’t be as great as Stiles, he can’t.

Do you think he tries anyway because he would give his heart and his soul, or what’s left of it anyway (sometimes he doesn’t believe there’s anything left at all but considering he’s alive, and considering the way something beats hard in his chest when Stiles’ eyes meet his there must be SOMETHING there) no matter how small and shattered- he’d give it all for Stiles. And he can’t rewind time and he can’t fix him, and Stiles deserves so much more than his shattered pieces, and one day surely, Stiles will find someone better, someone who serves as a cooling balsam to the pain within, and that thought makes his throat close up and his chest burn and it almost makes him turn away from Stiles because he’s been taught in the past not to give anything if there’s a risk he’ll get burnt- but he does it anyway, because this is Stiles and if he’s not getting what he needs from anyone else, if by chance he’s not letting anyone else in for the moment, if Derek knows where the cracks are and how to warm them, then he’ll be there. And he might not be enough but at least he’s something and maybe, just maybe he can serve some kind of purpose, whichever it may be, to preserve that last part of Stiles that’s hidden behind the cold exterior, maybe he’ll be just enough to help Stiles survive until his life pieces itself back together again and Stiles is back on his own two feet.

Do you think he takes Stiles’ hand, silently because he was never good with words, and because he remembers that most of the time Stiles had comforted him by touch alone, small gestures, rather than his wide vocabulary of words, and that he’s surprised when Stiles isn’t.

Do you think that the tears that form in Stiles’ eyes at the contact take all of the sorrys from Derek’s lips because he loses his breath when Stiles gives his hand a gentle squeeze and sniffles, smiling ever so slightly, not strong enough for an honest full fledged smile, because it would be a lie if he did, but this one is real and it’s the most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen because it means he was right, Stiles is still in there and he might know the one or other thing about getting him out.

Do you think they’re still overly careful around each other and about digging too deep, they’re cautious to protect each other, and they might seem to bicker and argue harshly on the outside about trivial things, but when it comes to words with depth they’re both quiet and calm, and Derek sticks to his silent gestures until they start losing their power.

Do you think the time he sets a hand on Stiles’ back and Stiles pulls away, fear makes his chest tight that he’s reached his limit and he’s not enough anymore, that he’s got nothing more left to give and that this is the point where he has to let Stiles go to find someone better, someone worthy, who will put that real, honest, full fledged, ear to ear grin on Stiles’ face in the most vulnerable of moments.

Do you think Derek remembers that time, where Stiles broke through all his walls and looked straight into his soul with just one word, a seemingly irrelevant word in an irrelevant conversation that had nothing to do with either of them, really, except for fighting off a threat with a paralyzing tail.

Do you think he remembers how Stiles gave everything back then, prior to that word, he used all the energy he had left in him to keep both their heads over water and that he would’ve died to try and save them both, and Derek had found a way to dismiss it, thinking Stiles is the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for anyone, kind of like himself except that Derek did it because he thought he deserves to die much more than anyone else and Stiles probably did it because he thinks no one deserves to die unless they’re trying to kill someone else.

Do you think he takes a step forward to chase the step Stiles took away and tells him simply “you’re not alone”, and it’s three words to Stiles’ one but it’s the best he’s got and he always knew his best is not even close to Stiles’, and he knows he’s got to try everything, give it everything he’s left in him all the way to the end, because Stiles’ would do the same for him if he let him, and he has to take the chance just in case Stiles lets him to the same.

Do you think Derek keeps on talking, thinking about the way he likes hearing Stiles’ voice when he’s down, and talking might not come easy to him but it gets easier when he sees Stiles is listening and his shoulders slump as if he’s finally letting some of the weight of his walls fall.

Do you think Derek envelopes Stiles tightly, not trying to prevent it when he breaks and starts sobbing into his chest, but holding him together so that he doesn’t feel shattered and scattered all over the place when the tears slowly cease, and it hurts, seeing Stiles like this, hearing the sobs that wrenched from him, and maybe it’s such a punch to the gut that Derek tears up himself, but this time he has to be there for Stiles so he keeps talking, making sure Stiles has something to focus on beside the sounds of his sobs.

Do you think that maybe when they both quiet down, exhausted, and Derek sees how reluctant Stiles is to leave his side just for a shower, even if he can’t look Derek in the eyes at the moment, and how they somehow drift back to each other when they lie down, how Stiles grasps onto his shirt tightly when Derek brings his arms back around him, that maybe Derek starts to think maybe there was a reason they kept getting pulled back to each other, maybe there’s a reason they can see past each other’s defenses and see more in each other than either would ever dare to admit, maybe, just maybe, he can be enough for Stiles, the way a scrawny, pale but dotted with moles, sarcastic 147 pounds of skin and bones teenager simply believing in him was enough or him years ago.

Notice Me!

“I know you like me.”

“And you know this is illegal.”

Genre: (trashy) fluff??

Pairing: Teacher!Jungkook x reader, Bad Boy!Yoongi x reader

PROLOGUE + PART ONE PART TWO

“Please fix your skirt,” Jungkook said.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, she turned around, her hands flying to the back of her thighs as she tugged down at the fabric. A cheeky smile spread across her face as Mr. Jeon looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs, frowning. He cleared his throat.“I don’t understand why I have to remind you every time I see you, Miss (Y/L/N),” he scolded as he continued to make his way to the top of the stairs where she stood patiently. “You’ve been here for years and yet-“

She laughed, running a hand through her hair. “I know, I know,” she dramatically sighed, “But how else would I get Mr. Jeon’s attention?” she asked. He stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets, a blue clipboard snug under his arm. She couldn’t help but stare at his light brown hair that matched with the pale blue tie wrapped around his neck.

Jungkook gave the girl a small smile, “As flattering as that is (Y/N),” he cooed, “Wearing your school skirt as if it’s a belt doesn’t attract any good attention from me.” He stated with another (rather fake) smile. The young teacher stepped pass and continued to make his way to the second floor of the building. The hallways were simmering down as students began settling into their first class, only a few students scattered around the halls in search for their room. It was a peaceful Monday morning in which Jungkook had the first class off, taking his time to leisurely stroll around the school to his office before having to scold a young girl.

(Y/N) was a good student. Good friends, good grade and a good report. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared in her life. However, it was no doubt around the school that she had started to develop an interest on the young transfer teacher from the city. Jungkook had noted the long stares sent his way during his classes.

“I was just kidding!” (Y/N) laughed, following Jungkook with a pep in her step. Her skirt, now slightly above her knee flowed as she skipped next to Jungkook. Trying to avoid her curious stares, Jungkook continued to make his way to the teacher’s staffroom- his safe haven.

“I like you, Mr. Jeon.”

He chuckled, “Well I am a good teacher.”

“No, you know what I mean…”

His feet picked up the pace as he tried to avoid her confession. But with no surprise, she picked up her pace to match his.

“And you know that you are my student.” He quipped.

(Y/N) opened her mouth again, ready to protest before Jungkook swiftly turned around, bumping into her. She let out a squeak before taking a step back, “Jungkook-“

Mr. Jeon,” he corrected, eyes narrowing.

She smiled sheepishly, “Mr. Jeon. I’m just saying that you’re not even that much older! Plus,” she added, holding up one finger, “I’ll be graduating in almost a month!”

Jungkook adjusted the knot of his tie, the white button down shirt moving with him, revealing toned arm muscles. (Y/N) looked away quickly before he could notice the peachy hue across her cheeks. “(Y/N), just because you’re graduating soon does not mean that I’m interested in pursuing a relationship with you,” he said, “Why don’t you go after someone like Namjoon or Jimin?” he asked.

A look of disgust erupted within her, “Namjoon? Jimin? They’re just friends.”

Jungkook laughed before turning away from her, a perfect view of his back presenting itself. Fishing inside his black dress pants he pulled out the silver key, to unlock the staff room door. Swinging it open, he looked over his shoulder. (Y/N) stared into his back, admiring every inch of his body. He smirked, clearing his throat. “Go to class (Y/N).” he ordered before pushing the green door behind him.

It gently closed with a click and (Y/N) was left staring at a blank door. A small frown placed upon her lips as she turned on her heel and began walking off to her first class. In a flash, the innocent pout had instantly turned into a smile, “Stupid Joy,” she chuckled.

Jungkook planted himself into his desk chair with a thud, a loud sigh escaping his lips. Taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes locked onto a small penguin post-it note pinned into the cork board above his desk. The small penguin his co-workers gave him after his second week of teaching at the school.

‘Number of confessions for Jungkook’

14

Chuckling (and almost spilling his coffee), he placed the white mug down and reached for the little note. With a small smirk, he clicked open his pen and scribbled out the number and replacing it.

15

The class was silent when (Y/N) opened the door. Ms. Kwon turned away from the board, frowning as she glanced down at her wrist watch. “You’re 15 minutes late (Y/N)…” she pondered before she looked up at her,”You’re never late?”

(Y/N) let out a laugh, scratching her cheek, “I had to go to the bathroom,” she muttered.

Ms. Kwon nodded, pointing at (Y/N)’s desk, “Write this down then.”

Nodding, (Y/N) bee-lined towards the empty seat as everyone looked at her. It was strange to see a punctual girl like her to be late. 15 minutes late too. Embarrassed and annoyed, (Y/N) unpacked all her belongings and settled into her desk. Why did Jungkook take so long to get to school? She thought.While Ms. Kwon began to write on the board again, (Y/N) leaned over to the desk in front of her.

“Joy,” she whispered.

Dark hair brushed her friend’s shoulders as she turned to face (Y/N), an excited look on her face. “Well?” she asked, “Did you do it?”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) nodded. “Yeah and I made myself extra clingy, now give me the money!”

Joy grimaced, “Damn, you really are cheap.”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving her hand in Joy’s face, “A deal is a deal.”

With a huff, the older girl reached into her blazer and slapped a crumbled note into (Y/N)’s wavering palm, “Can’t believe you confessed to Mr. Jeon for $10,” she mumbled, “Where’s your pride (Y/N)?”

She laughed, shoving the money into her blazer pocket, “I don’t mind losing a little bit of my pride for extra cash, Joy.” She explained, “At least I was pretending. What more if I actually liked Jungkook?”


PART ONE

It was a Tuesday morning when you stood outside of the classroom, back leaning against the wall. The early sun shone strobes of light through the hallway windows. The corridor was alive with students shuffling around, shoes squeaking against the freshly polished floor. You waited patiently for Joy. “How long does it take to pee?” you mumble, kicking a piece of paper around the ground, hands shoved in your pockets. You and Joy were making your way to Ms. Kwon’s class before Joy had run off to the bathroom without warning.

The whole morning you were getting various looks from different students around the school. Even walking towards the gate, you had encountered a bunch of girls looking at you curiously. Maybe it was your un-brushed hair or scrunched up socks. Sleeping late last night definitely showed its rough consequences. You sighed, untangling your hair by running your fingers through the strands. Ten minutes had gone by and the hallways had started to grow quiet. Quickly glancing into the classroom, you couldn’t see Ms. Kwon inside yet so you remained still. Before turning back into the hallway, you caught Namjoon and Jimin staring at you before chuckling and whispering to themselves. You scoffed, wondering what they were up to.

“Ah (Y/N)!”

Looking over your shoulder, Jungkook stood in front of you alongside Min Yoongi. You gulped. “Good morning, Mr. Jeon,” you greeted, lifting your back off the wall and fixing your hair once more. Jungkook smirked at your fussiness before adverting his gaze back to your classmate.

“I heard you’re really good at English (Y/N),” Jungkook stated. You nodded, shifting your gaze to Yoongi. His hair was dyed blonde and his top two buttons were undone. Noticing your stare, Yoongi met your eyes and gave a sly wink. You silently cringed at the gesture and looked up at Jungkook. “Well,” he said, “How would you like to help out Mr. Min over here?” he suggested happily, wrapping his arm around Yoongi. You watched your classmate pull a face of disgust before shrugging his elder off.

“I told you not to treat me like a baby, Jeon,” he muttered, shoving his sleeves above his elbows. Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head.

You gulped once more. Teach? English? To Yoongi? You couldn’t even imagine the scenario. Yoongi kept to himself most of the time in class. You always noticed he had earphones in as he sat at in the middle of class, dozing off. You recall the amount of times Namjoon and Jimin would poke fun at him whilst he slept. It was so common that even Ms. Kwon allowed him to sleep as long as his music doesn’t disturb the class. You never had any significant interaction with him. Besides the one time where you bumped into him as he was sleeping and all he mumbled was, “Annoying.”

You blinked, “Help Yoongi with English?”

Jungkook nodded, “Just for a while until he gets more confident in his exams!”

“I do fine in my exams,” Yoongi said.

“You got a C,” Jungkook quipped, “plus you spelt ‘Ugly’ in English as ‘Jimin’.” Yoongi chuckled, eyes everywhere but on you. You continue to stand awkwardly in front of the two. Where the hell was Joy?

“So,” he said, “Can you do it?” Jungkook asked.

His hair was neatly styled today, unlike yesterday. A sleek side part that had split his usual rugged bangs into two neat curls that revealed his forehead. His tie was a dark red with white tiny embroidered flowers. You had to admit that he looked good today.

Yoongi gazed at your pondering face, “Look, you don’t have to-“

“Okay,” you said.

Yoongi’s eyes slightly widened, “Okay?”

You met his gaze and smiled, “Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun, I guess,” you said. You waited for a response from the blonde but no emotion radiated off his body.

Jungkook released his grip from Yoongi and clapped his hands together, “Great! Thank you (Y/N)!” He grinned at you widely and then turned to Yoongi, “If your grades go up by 15% by the end of the month, (Y/N) will stop tutoring you, deal?”

Yoongi stared up at Jungkook, a blank expression stamped onto his face, “Deal.” Jungkook reached out and shook Yoongi’s hand with a smile.


“No way!” Joy screamed.

You hummed, taking a spoonful of yogurt into your mouth. The sweet honey flavour made you close your eyes for a bit. After your encounter this morning, you couldn’t help but think about Yoongi and all the possible scenarios that could take place.

“Yes way,” you said. It was already the middle of the day and you felt exhausted. You sat down with Joy on a bench outside one of the school blocks. It was your favourite spot for the both of you. Fairly quiet with the sun shining brightly. You sighed, “I don’t even know how to teach him English without him chopping my head off…” you mumbled, swirling your spoon in the little tub of yogurt.

Joy huffed, “What are you on about?” she asked as she sipped on her banana milk. “Yoongi is nice!”

You raised an eyebrow at her, “What did you just say?”

She rolled her eyes, “He’s just reserved. Just because he doesn’t dick around like Namjoon and Jimin doesn’t mean he’s instantly some mafia king,” she explained.

Again, you were mesmerised by her choice of words, “Mafia king?”

“You know what I mean!” she whined, taking another sip of her milk through a straw.

Joy was your one and only best friend ever since you had transferred at school one year ago. Being the new student isn’t always easy and you were grateful that the girl with dark hair and bubbly eyes had captured you as her best friend. You loved her and her crazy vocabulary and you were inseparable since.

You scrapped the remaining yogurt at the bottom of the container, “Don’t you have a crush on Jimin?” you asked.

Joy’s eyes shifted to the trees around her, “I don’t recall ever stating my feelings towards Park Jimin.” You laughed, leaning over to flick her forehead. “Ow!” She huffed as she shoved your arm away, earning another laugh.

“Whatever,” you sighed, “It was just weird that Jungkook had asked me and not someone like Taehyung or Wendy.” You glanced down at your wristwatch. You had a few minuted left before class started again. You kicked at the green grass beneath your feet, wondering.

“Maybe he likes you, Jungkook I mean,” Joy said as she began to fold the straw into weird shapes. “Maybe your confession opened his mind up and now he has a crush on you too,” she giggled.

Joy flinched as you leaned over only for you to rest your head against her shoulder. “You know I did that as a bet Joy,” you reminded her, playing with your fingers.

She hummed, “Sure.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘Sure’?”

Joy lifted your head up and you whined. She smiled, “(Y/N) you’re telling me that you never had a crush on Mr. Jeon?”

You gasped, “What? No!”

She smirked, “Every time I look at you, it seems like you’re imagining what he would look like naked.”

You gagged as Joy laughed at your reaction, “Never! Plus,” you added, pointing a finger at her,” You’re the one that imagines Jimin naked every time he talks in front of the class.”


4 o’clock had hit by the time you were sitting in the library. The smell of paper had filled your lungs with a happy smile. The school library was nearly empty as students had decided to go home. But you remained at the spot Yoongi had promised to meet you at in the morning. You glanced at the clock on the wall. 

“Did he forget?” you asked yourself. You both had agreed to meet fifteen minutes ago.

Another five minutes had passed by and you decided to pack up your things. Before you slipped your bag on, a familiar blonde head had rushed into the doorway. “(Y/N)?!” he yelled out. The few people in the library had turned their heads to the puffed out Yoongi. The librarian, Mrs. Kim frowned at his tone.

You raised your hand awkwardly, not wanting to attract further attention. Yoongi looked around before laying eyes on you beside the window. A small smile erupted from his face as he made his way towards you. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he planted himself in the chair across from you, “I had to make a call.”

You nodded, sitting back down into your chair.

Yoongi noticed your bag on your back, “Were you going to leave?” he asked in a weird tone. You couldn’t read his face whenever he did that.

You shook your head as he raised a brow, “I thought you weren’t coming so I was going to go eat,” you explained before taking off your bag.You noticed his lack of reply so you smiled at him, “It’s okay though! You’re here now.”

As you dug into your bag for your English book, Yoongi watched you silently. A blank expression still on his unreadable face. Your hair was messily tied in a ponytail and your cheeks were flushed with a pink hue.

“Yeah, I’m here now…” he mumbled to himself.


“So what is an adjective?” you asked.

“A word that describes a noun.” Yoongi replied.

“An example?” you asked.

“A pretty flower,” he said.

You smiled, “Good!”

You had been teaching Yoongi for almost an hour in the library. Everyone had gone home including Mrs. Kim. The sky was fading into a swirl of orange and blue as the light had dimmed inside the building. After a few more paragraphs of reading and writing, you leaned back into your chair and stretched your arms, reaching towards the ceiling.

You sighed as you craned your neck to look outside, “It’s getting dark, we should call it a day.”

You looked at Yoongi with a satisfied smile, “Good work,” you commented.

Yoongi paused before closing his books, “Thanks.”

The school felt a bit different when it was the late afternoon. No one was screaming or laughing. There were no teachers scolding Namjoon and Jimin. Joy had to leave after school in order to make it in time for her shift at the local café. The world seemed to be a bit quiet with just you and Yoongi walking out of the school gates. You noticed Yoongi had one ear bud in the whole time you were studying up until now. “What do you listen to all the time?” you asked.

Yoongi who was in a daze had turned his attention towards you, “Music,” he said.

You chuckled, “Must be nice music.”

You came to halt at the front of the gates and Yoongi gave you a look. “I’m taking the train so I’m going down this way,” you explained as you pointed to the other street. Yoongi nodded but didn’t say a word. You gave him a small smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, same place and time?” 

He nodded again.You waved before turning away from the quiet blonde and began walking down the street.

“Good job today (Y/N).”

You stopped in your tracks and gazed over your shoulder. Jungkook walked up to you with a smile on his face, “I finished marking papers the same time as I saw you awkwardly waving Min Yoongi goodbye.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes and continued walking, Jungkook by your side.

You scoffed, “It was not awkward.”

Jungkook tilted his head to the side, “It kind of looked like a puppy learning how to shake its owner’s hand for the first time?”

A laugh escaped your lips and Jungkook smiled down at you. The streets were quiet as you both continued walking down the empty street. You tried not to be too obvious of the glances you were giving him. Jungkook’s sleeves were rolled messily up his arms and his tie seemed to be loosened around the collar. His hair was no longer sleekly parted but ruffled and dishevelled.

“Don’t you drive, Mr. Jeon?” you asked curiously, not making eye contact with him. The gentle afternoon breeze hit the both of you, your hair sweeping against your neck.

“I like to take the train most days,” he said, “Only the late afternoon trains though, so I can avoid girls like you.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Girls like me?”

He nodded, drumming his fingers against the strap of his shoulder bag. It was ridiculous how young Jungkook looked. He looked more like a student than anything else if it weren’t for his tie and fancy dress shoes. You wondered what Jungkook looked like as a high schooler. Probably a coconut with glasses.

“Girls who confess to me and then follow me wherever I go,” he explained.

Running a hand through your flowing hair you sighed, “Mr. Jeon that was a bet, I hope you realise that I don’t actually want to follow you wherever you go.”

Jungkook stopped on the sidewalk, making you look back with a curious glance.

“A bet?” he asked.

You nodded as he continued to walk by your side, “Joy said she would give me $10 if I confessed to you without throwing up.”

The young teacher laughed, one hand on his stomach as he leaned forward. “How desperate were you?”

You laughed, joining him in a small fit. “Hey! $10 is a lot for a teenager!”

Jungkook continued to laugh as he held two hands up in defence, “Okay! Okay!”

A few minutes of silence had passed before he asked you, “Why would you throw up?”

You looked up at him, “Why would I like my teacher?” 

Jungkook chuckled as he looked up at the fading sky, “You’re right.”

By the time you reached the station, Jungkook and you had your fair share of laughs. You both stood on the platform, waiting. As the train pulled up along the platform, Jungkook glanced at his phone before gasping, “Crap! I’m supposed to be on the other platform!”

You laughed at his face as he looked up at the little display that had all of the train routes and times, “Mr. Jeon are you serious?”

He nodded as the train doors opened and people stepped out. A man walked out onto the platform. Not paying attention to you, he bumped into your small frame. Stumbling back, Jungkook gripped onto your arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked as you stared up at him. His face was too close to yours, a smug grin on his face. Embarrassed, you shook him off and regained your posture. You sputtered, “Yeah thanks.” Stepping into the train carriage, you turned to face Jungkook. He smiled, one hand waving gently. A mischievous gleam was his eyes as the corners of his lips were curled upwards. You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook remained on the platform, standing in front of you.

“A part of me hoped it wasn’t.” he said, slipping his hand back into his pockets.

You tilted your head to the side, “Huh?”

As the train doors began to close in, Jungkook’s smile grew. Your chest felt weird. You didn’t notice your hands balled up into clammy fists against your skirt. You also didn’t notice the breath you’re holding. All you could see was Jeon Jungkook, your teacher, smile up at you with eyes you couldn’t look away from. 

“A part of me would like to hope that it wasn’t a bet, (Y/N).” he said with a smile as the train door fully closed. You watched, stunned as his figure began to disappear. 

a CP ficlet, as promised

(idea courtesy of @echoing-artemis, who said CAPTIVE PRINCE BACHELOR AU which then turned into UNREAL AU in my head because let’s face it, in any situation like this, laurent will still be full of machinations.)

***

When Damen laces his hands together, the left thumb is on top. Laurent fixes this detail with a look that is, as it were, a warm-up for the look he’s about to direct at Damen’s face. Damen is perched on the edge of the plush, over-quilted, impeccably white satin bedspread, elbows resting on his spread knees. He is crushing some of the red rose petals. Laurent makes a mental note to send a production assistant in here with fresh ones before they film the individual segments after the cocktail party.

Someone knocks at the closed door and says, “Um, I think–”

No,” snarls Laurent, wasting the first and most icily searing few seconds of his expression on the door. Silence follows.

“All right, what is it?” Laurent demands of Damen. “Is it drugs? Do I need to send someone out for some cocaine? Do you have a fucking headache? Has a soft-hearted AD whom I will summarily fire snuck you your phone, and you’ve found out that your cat’s died?”

“No,” Damen says, apparently to all of the above. After a moment he adds, in a tone that Laurent can’t parse, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve seen potato salad with more vivacity than you’re showing out there.”

“It’s all so–staged,” Damen says, with distaste.

Laurent manages not to roll his eyes, but the violence with which he wishes he were rolling his eyes causes dull pain to gather behind them like a stormcloud.

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friendship goals // stiles stilinski

Summary: Having only ever been acquaintances, Stiles & Y/N find out what benefits come along with being friends

Requested: no, collab with @sincerelystiles

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language & smut throughout

Masterlist

“Why does Scott insist that playing hide and seek in the middle of the pitch black woods is going to bring us closer together as a pack?” Y/N sighed, annoyed as she pulled her thin jacket closer around her shoulders.

“Quite complaining.” Stiles shushed her, bringing a finger to his lips. “You’re only upset because you’re stuck with me.” He smirked.

They had never been anything more than acquaintances. She was friends with Lydia, automatically making her friends with Scott and in turn, Stiles.

“It could’ve been worse.” He offered his hand to her, helping her over the large tree trunk that had fallen over blocking their path. “You could have been stuck with Liam.” She smiled as she reached for his hands. 

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supportive shance.

when shiro has nightmares or panic attacks, lance is always there for him, offering to talk about it and asking if it’s okay to touch him before moving on to physical comfort. whatever makes shiro comfortable. and sometimes he’ll just ramble about old garrison or family stories or something one of the other paladins said to fill the silence so shiro won’t have to feel alone with his thoughts. 

when shiro gets insecure about his arm and his position as team leader, lance is there with every compliment possible for shiro, validating his existence and telling him how important and appreciated he is. he’ll put both hands on shiro’s face and say, “i love you, you know? all of you.” and then as an afterthought (except this is always planned), “i mean, all of us love you but no one else appreciates the booty like i do.” and sure nothing is completely fixed, but shiro is laughing and that’s all lance could ask for.

when lance’s homesickness gets so bad he loses sleep, shiro can always find him wandering the halls huddled in his “cape blanket” until he settles in on the bridge to watch the stars. shiro joins him and holds his hand, pressing into his side; a constant warmth. on nights like these, lance doesn’t talk. he just squeezes shiro’s hand in a silent gesture of thanks and appreciation for him being there. the next morning, lance kisses shiro’s face over and over again until they’re both laughing and they know they’ll be alright.

they both have their insecurities, but knowing that the other is there, that they can reach out for comfort, makes them stronger. of course they can’t love each other better, but their support is that little something they need to get through the days. 

Things about 12x16 “Ladies Drink Free” #3

Alright, excuse me for a second, but it’s things like this one that make me love Jensen’s acting so much. It’s not the big and huge dramatic moments or fight scenes or whatever that capture what amazing an actor he is (I mean those do too, but those aren’t the ones that make me go “heart eyes”), it’s the aspects like this one right here, the way Dean is flexing his hand. It tells so much about Dean in this moment, the tension and unease he feels, how short tempered he may be beneath the surface. It is a wonderful visual for Dean’s discomfort and annoyance and we have seen him do that a few times before (I remember talking about it in S9 I think but I can’t find a link now). So yeah, subtlety that’s what I love about Jensen’s acting. The silent moments, the small gestures, the short looks and whatnot, because it’s those things that make Dean Dean.

you’ve met one another, right?

words: 4337.

or the one where everything is still the same: even and isak still do happen. but it’s observed under sana’s watchful inspection. on even.

(or the one where ten times, sana sees even, as even and isak happen.)

canon compliant, but, with a little bit more. this wasn’t meant to turn into a full blown fic but, oh well, no can do.

Keep reading

just reading the life of alexander before bed as you do and 

Upon which, as they were leading him away as wholly useless and untractable, Alexander, who stood by, said, “What an excellent horse do they lose for want of address and boldness to manage him!” Philip at first took no notice of what he said; but when he heard him repeat the same thing several times, and saw he was much vexed to see the horse sent away,

alexander: that’s a real nice horse isn’t it hephaistion [examines nails] guess none of these losers can handle him [flicks imaginary lint off tunic] what a shame

philip: [pretends to be super interested in flight of passing birds]

alexander: i SAID, that’s a REAL NICE HORSE [hephaistion is staring unblinkingly at philip while nodding emphatically] what a SHAME none of these LOSERS can HANDLE HIM, DAD [hephaistion: that’s a real shame alexander]

philip:  [silent eyeroll, j/o gesture directed to nearby cavalrymen. they all laugh, alexander doesn’t notice]

alexander: i SAID, that’s a  R E A L   N I C E  H O R S E -

philip: jesus christ

Just Trying to Help- Peter Parker x Reader

Originally posted by allenparker

Originally posted by marvelmuggle

Prompt: Can I request one where the reader is Starks teen daughter but she’s very shy, on the petite side and very nerdy? While other kids her age are at parties and malls she’s in her room reading comic books and playing with science experiments. But she gets bullied. She doesn’t tell her dad about the bullies but peter Parker does cause he really likes her. So one day tony decides to pick her up from school and brings along Bucky for the intimidating effect. The bullying stops from there on

Word Count: 1248 

Your name: submit What is this?

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to calm yourself down and hide the fact that you had been crying. The taunts, whispers, and mocking glances had been going on for months, and you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over it anymore. You had hoped you would be able to shrug it off. But you couldn’t. Your already low self -esteem couldn’t take it. You may be a Stark but that didn’t make you bullet proof or confident. You pressed a cold paper towel to your face hoping to diminish the blotchy patches forming around your chin. Regulating your breathing, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and made your way through the hallways, wanting nothing more than to be curled up in your bed or messing around with DIY science experiments with Peter. You became acquainted with him after your dad recruited him and your friendship had been growing slowly. But you’d also be lying to yourself if you said you only liked him as a friend. He just understood you. He didn’t make fun of you for your interests. You couldn’t tell how he felt, so you kept your mouth shut. You were too shy to make the first move anyway.

As you pushed through the doors and made your way down the front steps you spotted your dad’s car. You thought of all the comments, about how you would never be as successful as him, about how you didn’t fit in and would amount to nothing. It was rare for him to have the time to pick you up himself, but he promised you at least once a week. You took some more deep breaths, determined to not let your dad find out about your situation at school. You didn’t even want to know how he would react. He was overprotective, to say the least.

Keep reading

Rainy Day Cuddles || Peter Parker x Reader

{summary: in which Peter Parker finds that spending a stormy day alone with his crush may not be such a bad day.}

me to me: stop writing so much about Peter. You’re annoying everyone in the tags.

also me to me: stfu ho, why don’t you make me stop?

warnings: none

**don’t plagiarize/repost this story! Reblogs are fine**

——

Keep reading

Alistair Theirin - He would be half asleep and confused, smacking his lips as he tried to get the cotton taste out of his mouth. He’d grow more awake though, eyes snapping open. An awkward chuckle would bubble out of his lips and he’d raise an eye brow. “Can you…Uh…Can you run that by me again? Didn’t quite hear you correctly.” When he’s reminded, though, his face goes a little red. Awkwardly shifting under the covers, he’d scoot to the side. “Uh. Sometimes, some of the younger Templar recruits would. Ya know. Want to…snuggle or whatever. Just um. Pretend to be small.” He understood wanting to feel safe at night, so he’d try not to feel awkward about it. Key word being try.

Alistair Theirin (Romanced) - Alistair wouldn’t even bother with waking up. He’d just grunt, lifting up the blanket so the warden could climb in. When she did, he’d wrap the blanket around her, slinging a leg over her and tugging her close. The warden has dug her own grave. Now she will never escape.

Zevran Arainai - He was a light sleeper. Had to be, really, what with the grisly business he was involved in. He would peer out at the opening of the tent, the knife under his pillow ready to be drawn out in a moments notice. Of course he had no need of it! Because there they were, the Warden. A grin curled onto his lips, eye brow cocking up. “Oh? Visiting me, in my tent, in the dead of night? How scandalous, dear warden. What would dear Wynne say?” Upon hearing their request, he’d hum. “A bit too tame for my liking, but yes yes, come in.” He’d demand to be the big spoon, of course, arms holding the warden to his chest. He’d listen to them breathe, silent, a smile curling on his lips as he closed his own eyes.

Zevran Arainai (Romanced) - Chances are they were both already in the tent to begin with. Zevran would not be ashamed to admit he’d be a wee bit disappointed in the fact that he would not be making love to his warden tonight, but he would have no qualms. He’d press a soft kiss to their neck, still demanding to be the big spoon, a hand sliding up their shirt to gently rest on their stomach, gently stroking their skin. “Goodnight, my Warden.”

Leliana - She, also like Zevran, is a light sleeper. Though not as paranoid, a knife not under her pillow. She blinked sleepily, tilting her head at the Warden at her tent flap. She stayed silent, waiting for them to talk. They seemed troubled, and she hoped the smile on her face put them at ease. Though, at there request, her smile fell, eye lashes fluttering. “Oh? Well, I don’t see any trouble in it. I mean, my tent is small, but yes! Come in.” She smiled, patting the spot next to her. She coaxed them to relax, her arms wrapping around them no matter how large they were. Though, they would be waking up with a foot in their face and an elbow in their ass. 

Leliana (Romanced) - The warden is more than aware of her cuddling habits and have long since learned it is best to have their arms wrapped around her as tight as possible, lest they wake up with a mouth full of hair.

Morrigan - She would be asleep, and less than happy to be waken up. Her piercing yellow eyes would glare at the warden, an eye brow slowly raising as she tapped her thigh. “Yes? Spit it out! As it were, we do not have all night. Time is precious rest.” When she hears there request, she looks shocked. She is the last person one would ask for a…’cuddle’. And yet, here they were, asking her. “What do you take me for? Your mother? Warden, you are not a child, and I am certainly not here to mind one! Tis most disappointing that you…that…you.” Her lips would thin as she stared at their saddened eyes and quivering lip. “Ugh. Fine. But if at any moment in time I want you to leave, you go, or you will have to get your ‘cuddles’ as a toad!” Morrigan is a cuddler. The warden would wake up with her curled up, nuzzled into them, face calm. And if they brought it up at any moment in time it was like asking for death.

Morrigan (Romanced) - Morrigan, despite proving that she was indeed a cuddler, would still be hesitant. Though, waking up, curled up, safe and warm in her wardens arms? Worth it.

Ohgren - “…Bah! Not drunk enough for this.” He’d grumble, grabbing the closest container of ale he could get his hands on. He’d chug it, let it burn his throat, then move on to the next one. After he considered himself suitably inebriated he’d give a vague wave of his arm, allowing the warden in. On that day, the Warden learned that Ohgren truly did smell as bad as the others say, but that he was the warmest out of them all.

Shale - No.

Sten - A double no.

Wynne - She would probably be awake, reading or whispering to herself, eyes far away. Her attention would snap to the flaps of her tent and she’d tilt her head, a warm smile coming to her lips. “Hello? What is wrong?” And then they said what they needed to say. A part of her, long forgotten, abandoned and buried ached when she heard their words. When they both heard their words. Her smile grew worried and she was silent, then she gestured for them to come in. She guided them onto their side, their head on her lap. “Here. Sleep as much as you like.” She said softly, hesitantly petting their hair. She wondered, for a startling moment, if this is what it would be like with…with Rhys. She continued to gently stroke their hair, tears pricking at her eyes.

Dog - The dog is already sitting on your chest. Hope you didn’t enjoy having lungs. Because you don’t have them anymore. You did this to yourself, Warden. I hope your happy.

still breathing

A lil 4x03 bellarke speculation fic for your enjoyment

Bellamy can’t stand to watch Clarke cry.

Under other circumstances, he would consider himself strong. He threw away his chance at a normal life the moment he held baby Octavia in his arms, he’s gone to the ends of the Earth and back for her and the other delinquents time and time again. He’s watched loved ones die over and over and still pushed on—

But he can’t stand to watch Clarke cry.

As she sits in front of him, sobbing, he can’t help but to reach out to her, just a hand on her shoulder, a silent comfort, a gesture of solidarity. He lets it rest there for a second, giving her a light squeeze, and he’s about to pull away when she rests her hand over his, anchoring him.

Then she turns her head, resting her cheek over the hand that has a death grip on his. He can feel the wetness of her cheeks, and he is so, so weak.

Bellamy kneels in front of her, sliding the hand on her shoulder up her neck to delicately cup her jaw, his thumb swiping away a stray tear.

“Clarke,” he says, voice low. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

Another tear slips down her cheek, and he gently wipes it away. He brings his other hand to rest above her knee, thumb tracing patterns back and forth over the fabric there.

She reaches out and grips his shoulders, still catching her breath from crying, and its natural, the way his hand travels from her knee to rest on her hip, his thumb continuing the comforting circles over her hipbone.

Having her this close—it’s terrifyingly intimate. It’s more intimate than anything they’ve done before, but somehow, it still feels right. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest, but he’s breathing easier than he has in months.

He shivers when her hands on his shoulders snake around his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair. With a sigh, her head falls forward, forehead resting lightly on his, noses barely brushing.

They stay like that for a moment, just breathing the same air, and he can feel Clarke start to relax before him. It would be so easy, he thinks, to close the gap between them—only a few inches—and just kiss her.

He wants to map her body with his lips. He could make her pain go away, even for just a few minutes—he could make her feel good, if that’s what she wanted.

It startles him, when the thought crosses his mind, that it’s not what he wants.

Of course, he’d do anything he could to take her pain away.

But he wants more than that.

He knows, that as much as he’d like to kiss her at this moment, the timing is wrong. The way things are right now, with both of their still healing hearts, the ticking time bomb that is a nuclear apocalypse hanging over their heads—he could never have more.

It’s why he’s so caught off guard when Clarke closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his.

At first, she’s tentative, her kiss gentle and unsure. She presses another slow kiss to his cheek, his temple, his forehead, and then she seals her lips over his once more.

He’s ready this time, and against his better judgement, he kisses her back.

The second kiss is more demanding. She swipes her tongue across the seam of his lips, demanding entrance, and he gives it to her. She groans into his mouth, and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

The hand resting on her hip slips under her shirt, smoothing over the soft skin of her stomach and sliding up her spine. His other hand curls around her neck, tangles in her hair, holding her as close as he possibly can.

One of her hands remains anchored in his hair while the other fists into the collar of his t-shirt.

Her mouth moves desperately against his, and she presses against him, silently pleading for more.

He lets his hand roam from her spine back to her stomach, and when he traces his fingers over the skin beneath the underwire of her bra, he feels her whole body shudder.

It takes all his willpower to wrench himself away from her mouth. He tries catch his breath, to get himself under control, to tell her that they can’t, but Clarke takes the opportunity he’s presented her and attaches her lips to his neck, trailing hot, wet kisses across his jaw and collarbone.

“Clarke,” he tries, but it comes out more like a sigh when he feels the light scrape of her teeth against his skin.

She finds his lips again, but he feels wetness on her cheeks. He pulls away.

“Clarke,” he says, more firm this time, and she hastily tries to wipe the tears from her face.

She brings her forehead back to his and grips his biceps. “Bellamy, please.”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “We can’t, Clarke. Not like this.” She looks at him then, her bright blue eyes boring into his. “Not when we only have months to live.”

He’s afraid, after he’s said it, that Clarke wouldn’t even want this if they weren’t about to die.

“What if we did?” she asks, and her voice is strong, sure. “What if we did have time?”

He searches her eyes for any evidence of hesitation or uncertainty, but he finds none. Instead, her eyes are clear.

It takes him a long time to find the words. “If you still want this after we both survive the end of the world,” he starts, and even he is surprised at the confidence in his words, “then I’ll be here.”

It feels like a promise, somehow, and she squeezes his arm to tell him that she feels it, too.

She looks at him then, eyes a little watery but otherwise composed. “You still have hope?” she asks.

He almost wants to laugh. The only reason he’s had hope since he landed on this radioactive wasteland of a planet is sitting right in front of him.

“Are we still breathing?”

02 | flashing red

( things you said through your teeth + vampire!kim taehyung )
word count :: 1,319

He interrupts you before you can even get a word in. “Drop it.”

You scoff, exhaling in a laugh that brings the uneasy smile across your lips. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Of course I do,” He retorts, straightening up and turning his neck to glare at you, red eyes and all. “It’s written all over your face.”

You furrow your eyebrows together. “If you know, then why won’t you let me—!”

“I said to drop it,” Another interjection, this time through clenched teeth, balled fists, every red flag to show that you cannot win in this argument. Normally, you would let it go, let the fury from arguments simmer over until things really got better. But how can you drop something like this, how can you wait until things get better if he won’t get better?

Keep reading


Words: 1173

“I can’t believe it!” Stan exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “After all these years, you’re finally here! Brother!” He took a step forward, arms out wide to embrace his long lost twin. He didn’t expect the reaction he got.

Ford backed away, his hand flying to the blaster in a holster at his hip. He chided himself silently. This was his brother. It was his twin. He couldn’t shoot him, no matter how terrified he was right now. There were two young kids here too, anyway, along with some sort of large hairless hamster-like man. His heart pounded in his throat. Every instinct he’d developed over the last thirty years was telling him to run get away no run away danger danger danger death you could die.

Stan frowned, taking another cautious step forwards. “Ford? You okay bud?”

Ford shook his head quickly, already beginning to hyperventilate. His back pressed up against the cold metal of the now-closed portal and he held his hands out in front of him, a silent gesture for Stanley to stay away no don’t come closer I’m scared no please no-

Stan registered the fear in his brother’s eyes and stepped away, giving Ford his space. His heart sunk. Ford was acting like a terrified, helpless animal, cowering in the corner from a vicious predator or a cruel owner. He swallowed. What had happened to his brother while he was lost? What had been so terrifying that it had rendered him unable to speak?

Stan took a deep breath, his own hands out in front of him. He took a slow, careful step forwards, keeping his voice low. “Ford, listen to me… I am not going to hurt you…”

Ford pressed his back against the portal even harder, his terrified eyes locked onto his brother. He kept his mouth shut, shaking his head frantically. No no no no get away get away from me get away danger danger

Stan stepped forward again. “Please… I want to help you… I am not going to harm you…” He kept his gaze down. He knew damn well not to ever make eye contact with a terrified animal and right now his brother was no different. He kept his head down low. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe for me, you can do that, okay?”

Ford inhaled through his nose slowly before exhaling through slightly parted lips. He repeated the process until he got his breathing under control, yet he still didn’t say a word.

“Grunkle Stan? Is he okay?” A quiet, soft voice from across the room made Ford’s pulse speed up again and he started breathing quickly. Stan took another step forward until he was within arm’s reach of his twin.

“Easy there, Ford… it’s okay… that’s my - our niece. She’s just a child, she means no harm.” Ford slowed his breathing down again. Stan took this as a sign to move forward once more. He put a hand on Ford’s shoulder, recoiling instantly as his brother slapped the hand away.

Ford took a step sideways and tripped, landing on his backside on the ground. He kicked his legs and scrambled away - danger no no no too close too close - until he was pressed up against the stone wall. He brought his legs in close, his hands up to shield him from everything.

Stan slowly walked over, kneeling down to Ford’s level. “Hey, Poindexter,” he murmured quietly, “look at me. Just look at me, okay?”

Ford slowly lifted his head from behind his hands, lowering his arms to his sides. He laid his right hand over the blaster. He raised his head to meet his brother’s gaze.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you, okay?” Stan asked softly. “Please, just trust me. I know what I did was terrible and I’ve worked for thirty years to bring you home. I want to help you, Stanford.”

A second quiet voice - much like the first, only male - piped up from across the room. “Stanford? But you’re Stanford, Grunkle Stan.”

A sudden flood of anger rushed through Ford and he fixed Stan with a cold glare, getting to his feet and shoving his brother away from him. Stanley stumbled back and was about to retaliate with a punch of his own, but stopped. He couldn’t lash out at Ford, not while his brother was so petrified. He took a deep breath and got up. “I’m sorry, kids, but I’ve been lying to you all summer. This is Stanford Pines,” he gestured to the furious, terrified man in front of him. “My name is Stanley. I had to lie to keep myself safe long enough to bring my brother home.”

“It’s okay, Grunkle Stan… we understand.” The young girl said softly. She took a few steps forward towards the newcomer. “So you’re our great uncle too, huh?”

Ford swallowed, the anger leaving his face. He exchanged a look with Stanley, who nodded. Ford looked back at the little girl and nodded. The girl grinned widely and took a step forward, her arms out to hug Ford. Ford took a step back. His hand drew the gun from the holster, causing the girl’s eyes to widen and step back.

Stanley saw what was happening and moved in front of her, his arms thrown out wide to shield her. Ford had the gun halfway up to aim at the girl until Stanley knocked it out of his hands. It clattered to the floor and slid out of reach. “She’s a child, Ford. She was just going to hug you.”

Ford chewed his lip, guilt seeping into his mind. He’d been about to shoot her. A young girl. She’d done nothing wrong, but because of his own paranoia he’d seen her as a threat. He took a deep breath and knelt down, holding his arms out. He let a small smile creep onto his face. The young girl ran around Stan and embraced Ford in a hug. Ford sat down on the ground, holding the small girl in his arms. It had been decades since he’d had a proper hug from anyone. He’d missed it.

The young boy, presumably the brother of the girl, walked over slowly. Ford looked up as he came over and smiled a little bit. He held one arm out to him, the other still wrapped around the girl. The boy grinned and ran over, wrapping his arms around Ford.

“Mr Pines?” Ford blinked as the new voice filled the room, coming from the person he’d thought was one of the residents from Rodentus 7. “What are we gonna do about those agent guys upstairs?”

Stan noticed Ford cast him a questioning glance and he scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… uh… the entire US Government may or may not have found out about this place.”

Ford’s expression turned cold and hard. Stan sighed. He sat down on the floor beside his brother and gestured for the other man to join him. “I’ve got some explaining to do…”

_____

@sixerpines

Gah! I wanna write so much more for this but I’ve already got a plate full of writing to do, alongside college work and drawings and UCH!

This prompt was great!

guys remember when gansey was trying to drive adam anywhere but adam’s trailer home after The Incident but gansey kept fucking up with his words and making it worse and adam was so broken that all he could say was, “fuck you, gansey.” and he couldn’t get the door to latch when he stormed off & slammed it so he had to do it again, and then when gansey followed him in the camaro and begged him to get back inside, adam still had to struggle with the door because can nothing fucking go right right now and he couldn’t speak and he just ended up burying his face in his hands and trying to hide his imminent breakdown with jagged breathing

and then gansey and adam pick up adam’s things in heavy silence

all while ronan lynch is at the library cramming for an exam on monday

anonymous asked:

OMGOMGOMG. Please, more of The Getaway! It's so cute and I can feel the fluffy angst coming our way. What happened to poor Claire?

anonymous asked:
The Getaway was fantastic!!! I absolutely LOVED it!!! Reminds me of my family holidays, the innocence of young love, and it makes me very nostalgic. Could you please continue it? It would warm my heart to see what happens next. Thank you, your work is always amazing!


The Getaway: Part 2.

Find part 1: HERE.


As the sun set on the end of their first week, Jamie sat alone in his room sipping on the cold beer his father had procured for him from the free bar. Placing the glass carefully on the coaster, he gathered up his reading book and lay back against his pillows, determined to get some rest in preparation for tomorrow’s planned activities.

All of the adults had gathered together for the evening to go out of the hotel and eat together. Jamie had coaxed Claire from her room on the promise of food and company, promising to return her early enough that she could relax for the rest of the night.

They’d had a good time. Claire had been talkative, in fact they had conversed more in one dinner time than they had all week.

After their first afternoon out, the pair had been wrapped up in the whirlwind of trips that their parents had planned for them all and neither had really had a moments peace.

Just as Jamie was reaching to turn off his nightlight, an almighty crash sounded from the room beside his.

Claire.

His mind immediately raced with all manner of possibilities, but before he could consider the danger, he’d ripped the sheets from the bed and rushed from the room, forgetting to even put something on his feet as he began pounding on the Beauchamp’s combined rooms.

“Claire? Are ye alright?” He asked between knocks, trying to keep his voice low in order not to disturb any other guests, “Claire, please?”

The sound of a stifled sob made his ears prick as he leaned against the cool wood to try and hear her better. “Claire, can I come in?” He almost begged, his chest constricting painfully at the thought of her alone and upset.

Friends, he scoffed internally, hardly likely.

“It’s open…” a low voice spoke, hardly audible and from –possibly– deep inside the suite.

Twisting the knob, Jamie pushed lightly, causing the door to creak as he opened it and slid inside. Closing it to, he padded through the main lounge and into the tiny single room that Claire occupied.

At first he couldn’t spot her, sat as she was beside the best, but then he caught sight of her hair, the mass of curls spiking in all directions as she lay her head back against the mattress.

“What’s the matter?” Jamie whispered as he walked around the bed and knelt at her side.

He could see the fresh tear tracks that ran down her face, the thin moonlight filtering through the net curtains throwing a melancholy blue hue over her curled form.

“It’s nothing, honestly, Jamie,” she murmured back, her voice unsteady as she tried to show some strength.

“It isna nothing if it has ye on the floor in tears, Claire.” He returned, unwilling to accept that she was fine. She wasn’t, that was clear to see.

Her cheeks flushed as she viewed him –with some caution– out of the corner of her eye. “I just had a nightmare, that’s all. Don’t worry, really. I have them all the time. It was just waking up in a strange bed that startled me more than usual.”

Jamie reached his hand forward to brush a wayward lock of hair from her damp brow, bringing his digits down lower afterwards to wipe away some of her tears.

“Does this happen every night?” He asked, softly, the need to acquire as much information about her overwhelming him.

“M-most,” she stuttered, sliding herself off the floor as she shift the twisted bedsheets, straightening them out as best she could, keeping her hands busy as she spoke, “but when I’m at home I’m not usually so…jumpy. Here, with the h-heat, and the strange room –and bed– I’m more hyper-aware, I think.”

“Do ye want to talk about it?” Jamie broached, his tone wary but open as he tried to offer his support.

Claire squeezed the cotton linens between her fingers tight, her knuckles going almost white as she licked her lips and shifted her feet against the cold tiles of the bedroom floor. Shaking her head, she glanced towards him once more, a beautiful pink glow lighting her high cheekbones.

“Would you just…stay with me, just for a little while?” Shrugging her shoulders, she let the much abused sheets go, watching as they fluttered slowly back onto the top of the bed, ruffling once more as they landed in a small heap.

Claire didn’t dare look up, lest he reject her.

He could feel her vibrating, her knees shaking as she waited for his response. She wanted to talk, of that he was sure, but she was also hesitant.

Jamie had yet to learn of the traumatic event that had her so subdued, but if she needed him to rest with her whilst she relaxed, he would do it.

“Aye, o’ course, Claire.” He replied, finally, making his way around to the other side of the bed and holding the sheets up for her to crawl under.

Wrapping her up to her waist in the flimsy fabric, he curled himself by her side, fitting himself neatly onto the queen sized mattress.

Claire closed her eyes and shimmied herself to his side, nuzzling her nose against the exposed skin of his collarbone as she snuck her arm around his waist.

As they settled, a sort of calm quiet rose up around them. Jamie was half convinced she’d fallen asleep in his arms. And, although he didn’t altogether mind (in fact, quite the opposite), he knew their parents would riot if they came home to find Jamie in Claire’s bed.

Just as he was about to reignite the conversation, Claire shifted ever so slightly. The gently waft of her breath blew over his sensitive skin, making him shudder at the contact. It wasn’t long before he felt her blink her eyes open once more as she mentally prepared herself.

“It all started back in September,” Claire began, a hint of hesitance lingering in her tone as she relayed her story.

“He c-came from another school, the boy. He’d failed his A Levels and had been forced to take them again. But his previous school hadn’t allowed him to do that there. It all seemed innocent to us, back then.”

Pausing, Claire took a deep breath and steadied herself, her hands curling around the bottom of Jamie’s shirt as she grounded herself in him.

“He seemed nice at first, friendly, just the sort who wanted to fit in, you know? But then, after we came back from Christmas holidays he became really –intense…” gulping back the saliva that had gathered in her mouth, she took another deep breath.

Jamie could feel the fear radiating from her and he began rubbing soothing circles against her back as she let her shoulders slacken with every sweeping motion he made.

“Did he hurt ye, Claire?” He broke in, his voice low but steady. He had wanted to stay silent and let her just tell him, but his impatience got the better of him.

“He asked me out, we had a Valentine’s Day dance coming up and he’d wanted to take me…but I said no. I didn’t mind him as my friend, but–” stopping, Claire’s heart began to pound.

Jamie sensed the story was coming to a conclusion and brought his lips to her forehead as his silent gesture bade her to continue –at her own pace.

Not ready to admit the main reason she hadn’t wanted to accompany another to the dance, Claire shimmied her hips closer before finishing, an inbuilt need for close comfort rising inside of her at Jamie’s close proximity.

“I could see it made him mad, but I didn’t think anything of it. After that I didn’t see him again until after half term. I didn’t go to the dance, I had exam prep and I really didn’t want to go anyway…” steeling herself, Claire prepared to skip to the end, eager for this to be over once more, “I was studying with my science teachers after school one day, t-they’d all left moments before and I just stayed to pack up my books. He waited for me there. Jumped out when I came out of the lab and t-threw me against the lockers…I don’t, well, I–” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes closed tight as the images of that fateful day exploded before her eyes.

“Oh, Claire,” Jamie sighed, his heart going out to her as he hushed her and rocked her shaking body as best he could, “I’m sae sorry, mo chridhe.”

“I was lucky,” she whispered, sorrow laced into every syllable. She didn’t sound particularly lucky. “One of the teachers had forgotten his books and came back. He saw it all and forced him off me…I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

“You would have fought, Claire,” Jamie interceded, trying to lend her as much emotional support as physical, “ye would have screamed and punched and kicked as best ye could.”

Laughing humorlessly, Claire shook her head. “But I didn’t. He had me by the throat, his knee between my legs…I couldn’t even move to defend myself.”

“That wa’ just the shock. You are so brave, Claire Beauchamp, braver than me. I truly believe ye would have plucked up the strength. As ye have done to continue on as ye have after it.”

Running her damp lips against him, Claire let her tongue taste the salty-sweetness of him, her hands quivering as she pulled herself flush against him.

Now, a small part of her tried to reason, when she was in a heightened state of awareness and anxiety, was not the time to be making advances. Especially not on her parent’s best friends son.

“I lied before,” she said, her voice clear now as she sniffled, the last of her tears shed on the matter.

“About what, Claire?” Jamie returned, a low sort of seduction in his tone as he battled with himself.

She was so very warm and pliant –and she wanted him.

“I don’t want to just be your friend, but I was scared…so I lied.

Swallowing audibly, Jamie ran his nose down her forehead to the bridge of her nose, his eyes hooded as he kissed the tip of it. The reverent gesture sent lightning bolts of pleasure down Claire’s spine as she rolled her hips away from his and then back again.

Ah Dhia, Claire,” he gasped, goosebumps rising over his arms in waves as he tried to remain calm. “I want ye too, but we canna…”

“Why not?” She interrupted, need seeping though every word.

“Because yer hurting now. Ye’ve relieved all those horrid memories from only a few short months ago. I willna take advantage of ye when yer morale is low. That wouldna be verra gentlemanly of me–”

“It isn’t taking advantage, Jamie, if I *want* you,” Claire cut in, her hands resting softly against his lower back as she spoke, “but if you don’t want to, then I understand.”

Something about re-telling her traumatic tale had set alight the previously stagnant embers, causing a roaring flame to spark within Claire as she smoothly scooched her head backwards. Opening her now glazed eyes, she viewed him with a sort of wonder. The idea of him, the same Jamie Fraser she’d seen grow from a boy into a man, loving her made her thighs tingle pleasantly.

“Claire; how could I *not* want to?” He replied, his heart running at a million miles a minute as part of him actively contemplated this new situation.

Could he?

“Then come to me, Jamie,” she whispered, her tone seductive as she tilted her head against the pillow and moved forward, her lips hovering so close to his in askance. “I want you Jamie Fraser…to be the first –the only– one to make love to me.”

Without waiting for him to respond, Claire closed the gap, letting her lips seal tightly against his in a searing kiss. Her hands tugged at his shorts as she tried to untangle her legs from beneath the blankets without much success.

“Please, Jamie,” she half-begged, half-coaxed, their mouths parting only briefly for her to say the words, “I want this, I really want this. *I love you*”

Running his hand through her hair, Jamie lightly pulled Claire away, his eyes meeting hers in a very serious gaze. She was serious, in this moment, as they were, she was completely serious about this.

“Bloody hell, Claire, ye arena making this easy,” he sighed, resigned, “but I want this too. I want ye.”

For the second time that evening, the weight left Claire’s shoulders and she slunk towards him, a small smile adorning her lips. She could feel the victory just in her grasp.

“But I have conditions first, aye?”

Glancing at him with a wary expression, Claire nodded, urging him to continue.

“If yer still sure o’ this tomorrow, I promise ye I’m yours, ken? But I want ye to sleep on it –and–,” he finished, noticing her irritation at his stalling tactics, “I’ll make sure I have protection. I dinna have any on my now, and I willna do it wi’out protecting ye –and me– first. Do ye agree?”

Sighing loudly, Claire swallowed and nodded.

“I won’t change my mind, Jamie. But you’re right.”

Snuggling down once more, she clenched her thighs together, willing the fervour that had built within her to at least lessen as she closed her eyes and let her head flop against the soft pillow.

“Just don’t leave me,” she added sleepily, yawning as she spoke, “stay with me, Jamie. For tonight, please?”

Wrapping the comforter around her shoulders, Jamie nodded, shutting his own eyes now as he began to relax.

“Aye, mo nighean donn. I’ll stay wi’ ye. Sleep now, Claire –I love ye.”