so it would be a whole lot of math and effort to get them perfect

Riverdale Imagine: Music Notes, Pie, and Archie Andrews (Archie x reader)

Anonymous: Hello darling! I was just wondering – turn it down if you wanna – if you could do a Archie and a really shy reader. When it comes to like PDA or she’s just really really shy and she gets nervous/panics when she meets new people or speak in front of the class and he try to help her out of the shell by meeting his friends and encourages her to speak up.

Summary: The reader meets Archie over the summer as she has just moved to Riverdale and happens to be next door to him. He hears her playing guitar and, despite her shyness, insists that she needs to help him with his songs. By the end of the summer they are dating but as school approaches, the reader is nervous to meet his friends.

Approx. 1455 words

It all started over the summer. It was a boiling hot day and Mum had insisted I spent the day outside, even if that just meant in our garden. I’d given up on sunbathing hours before and was now curled up in the shade of the old oak tree with my guitar. Pages of sheet-music fanned out around me like a blanket, weighed down with tiny pebbles to prevent them from fluttering away in the light breeze.  I was completely engrossed in my music, unaware of everyone and everything, pausing at intervals to record music-notes and lyrics, when I heard an unfamiliar voice call from somewhere behind me.

“You’re going to have to help me with my music sometime, your playing is amazing!”

I jumped and spun around in shock, my gaze greeted by the confident smirk of an auburn-haired teenage boy. A teenage boy who was sitting on my garden fence, sweaty and shirtless. I swallowed hard as I felt my blood rush to my face, feeling the rouge of hot embarrassment spread over my cheeks as I desperately struggled to think of a response. This, it would seem, was the attractive young neighbour that my Mum had been trying to make me talk to all summer with little success. I cringed as I remembered how I had hid in my room the day we had moved in when him and his dad had come to introduce themselves. Even as child I had been unusually shy, still clinging onto my parents long after everyone else had stopped and as a result I struggled to make friends. My parents’ divorce and the recent move to Riverdale hadn’t helped matters, and I was secretly hoping to spend my last two years at school largely unnoticed. Unfortunately for me though, a new girl in a small town never goes unnoticed.

“I’m sorry” he laughed, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was only trying to get a look at the mystery girl from next door.” He winked at me and jumped off the wall and into my garden, his toned stomach flexing at the effort. “It’s Y/N right?” I nodded shyly, “I’m Archie Andrews.”

“Hi…” I mumbled pathetically as I began fumbling with my sheet music, making it into a messy pile in an attempt to hide it from Archie’s amused gaze.

“How long have you been playing guitar?” He asked innocently as he gestured towards where my instrument was lying on the grass. I smiled as I picked it up and stroked the polished wood.

“I think the real question is when am I not playing. Guitar, piano, drums… I’ll play anything. It drives my mum nuts. I guess that’s why I’m an only child.” I joked. After a momentary pause, Archie roared with laughter and I smiled back nervously.

“I like you Y/N, you’re cool.” He beamed at me. “I heard you playing earlier and, I’m being totally honest, you’re pretty fucking good.” I blushed again and tucked my hair behind my ears in an attempt to hide my embarrassment, how long had he been listening? “So…” he continued, “I was wondering if you would come over to mine for a couple of hours and go through my music with me, I could really use your expertise.” He pleaded.

I was about to decline and was in the middle of finding a believable excuse when I glanced up and looked into his hopeful face. I smiled and rolled my eyes as I slung my guitar over my shoulder and gathered up my sheet music.

“What’s in it for me Andrews?” I asked with mock seriousness.

“Well Y/N, you get to stare at my beautiful face for two whole hours!” He laughed at my skeptical expression. He tried again. “We have apple pie?”  

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your faves are problematic: the vancouver crew edition

ryang

  • regularly beatboxes ‘drop it like it’s hot’ by snoop dogg in its entirety even though he would be perfectly capable at doing other songs
  • got a job at the local ice cream shop just to be able to ‘sample’ every single flavor every single day but somehow hasn’t gained any weight
  • still counts on his fingers for simple everyday math problems
  • owns more pairs of shoes than most people do t-shirts and has an entire cubby shelf storage system in his closet for them
  • is naturally talented at cooking but is usually too lazy to actually make the effort and mostly depends on top ramen and dried fruit from trader joe’s for his nutrition

lee-squared

  • has eaten a whole pizza by himself on more than one occasion, and not just cheese, either - he prefers either loaded supreme or meat-lovers
  • kills every plant he has ever attempted to own, including several different species of succulents and cacti
  • quotes and references outdated memes that only he remembers
  • couldn’t decide which teenage mutant ninja turtle to name his pet tortoise after so he combined them all and named it leoraphdonangelo (which cheng2 thinks sounds like a species of dinosaur)
  • won the spelling bee five years in a row in middle school and has impeccable grammar yet types his text messages and blog posts like a shitty dumb frat boy on tindr looking for a hookup

sicksteve

  • inherited a huge collection of vinyl records from his older brother and owns a record player but primarily listens to spotify through his awful laptop speakers
  • buys his hard-to-find specialized hair products online even though the shipping costs are ridiculous
  • refuses to get snapchat because it’s ‘stupid and pointless’ but often sabotages cheng2′s dog filter and flower crown selfies
  • has perfect eyesight but wears glasses anyway purely for the aesthetic
  • took up guitar in seventh grade and is a natural, learned classical and jazz techniques but insists on playing mainly post-punk acoustic jams (with whiny vocals happily provided by lee-squared)

koh

  • only ever joined the aglionby soccer team because he thought the goalie was cute (and just happened to actually be pretty okay at soccer)
  • still wears heelie sneakers out in public
  • is afraid of piranhas to the point of having nightmares about them even though he has never been in any waters where they are naturally found
  • exclusively drinks super fruity cocktails (mainly tequila sunrises and malibu bay breezes) even though they give him terrible hangovers; often vows to ‘never drink again’ but never holds to it
  • plans and budgets entire trips to europe and asia almost monthly but closes every tab without actually buying any tickets or booking hotels because he hates flying and is waiting for teleportation to be invented

henry broadway/cheng2

  • prefers eggo waffles over ryang’s homemade belgian waffles and eats them straight out of the box (still frozen). also does this with frozen blueberries and then complains when he gets brain freeze
  • regularly gets too stoned to do his homework and has to copy off of henry cheng’s in the mornings before class
  • has read the whole harry potter book series seven times and has watched all of the films even more than that and still cries every time dumbledore dies
  • names 99.9% of his possessions even though he usually forgets what he names them and then has to rename them
  • has spent a shocking amount of time on his playstation4 building an incredibly accurate minecraft replica of the litchfield house

rutherford

  • is very academically gifted but puts in minimal effort whenever he can and often scrolls through reddit instead of paying attention in class
  • joined the aglionby lacrosse team on a dare from ryang even though he’d never played lacrosse in his entire life (he was terrible)
  • learned american sign language with his younger brother just so the two of them could complain about their parents’ strict rules without their parents knowing
  • has seen every true crime documentary on netflix at least once
  • can’t tolerate spicy food at all. at ALL. he thinks uncooked and unseasoned green bell peppers are spicy
hogwarts!au namjoon
  • the sorting hat put him in ravenclaw almost instantly
  • he’s a 21-year-old fourth year (again, this is more like a hogwarts university)
  • namjoon is muggleborn and he’s extremely knowledgeable about both the wizarding world and the muggle world bc he loves learning
  • his favorite classes are definitely astronomy and arithmancy
  • astronomy because he’s obsessed with astrophysics and is super fascinated by the ways the muggle and wizarding astral theories interconnect
  • and arithmancy bc he’s really good with numbers and he finds it so much more interesting than muggle math classes like calculus
  • such an excellent student, he’s always taking every opportunity to do independent research. sometimes his professors will even come to him asking for help with a project they are working on, he loves it
  • his wand is hawthorn wood with a dragon heartstring core, and it measures 12 and ¾ inches. it’s an extremely complex wand, just like its owner, and almost seems to have a mind of its own–namjoon’s wand refuses to perform for anyone other than him.
  • his pet is a gorgeous great horned owl. he’s had it since he was a first year and admires it a lot, even if it’s just as clumsy as namjoon himself (they say that pets take on their owners’ characteristics, after all)
  • they almost banned namjoon from playing quidditch because he’s a walking bundle of accidents waiting to happen. he was a chaser his first year and he sucked
  • but then they moved him to a beater position and found out that he was really good at hitting things at other people so he was allowed to stay on the team
  • his patronus is a fox. like jungkook, namjoon was the first in his year to be able to produce a patronus. he loves his little patronus fox and will sometimes summon it in the middle of the night if he’s feeling lonely
  • namjoon came to hogwarts on a scholarship and it soon became very clear that he needed to be placed in an advanced course track
  • by his second year he was taking electives intended for students in their third year or above, and by his fourth year he began taking sixth-year elective courses
  • he was mainly friends with other ravenclaws in his first year so he didn’t meet the bts boys until second year
  • he was playing a quidditch game against gryffindor, and he hit the bludger a bit too hard towards the gryffindor keeper and he shouted like “heY DUDE WATCH OUT” but to no avail
  • so this bludger cracks into the keeper’s jaw and namjoon is like oh shit bc
  • oh shit did he just knock a bludger into the face of Gryffindor Prefect Prince Kim Seokjin™
  • when the game is over, namjoon has to actually physically run for his life from Gryffindor Prefect Prince Kim Seokjin™’s fanclub and they’re all screaming about how namjoon has ruined jin’s perfect face and how namjoon will pay
  • finally he makes it to the hospital wing to visit seokjin and apologize. and he walks in and sees two boys standing on either side of seokjin’s bed: one of them is a tall, lean hufflepuff boy, and the other is a much smaller blonde slytherin 
  • and at first namjoon is like ‘this is it this is how i die because that slytherin looks capable of murder’
  • so he walks up really shyly and he’s like “hey um i’m namjoon and i’m really sorry i broke your face with a bludger”
  • and this slytherin just starts cackling h y s t e r i c a l l y 
  • and eventually when he stops laughing he’s like “i’m min yoongi, and i wanted to sincerely thank you for clocking jin in the face because it’s about time someone did it”
  • and that’s how namjoon met hoseok, yoongi, and seokjin, and the coolest squad in the whole school was formed
  • namjoon’s animagus is a great horned owl, just like his pet. he always goes outside and flies around when he gets stressed
  • sometimes jungkook will turn into a raven and join namjoon and they just fly around the grounds together and it’s rly nice
  • yoongi and hoseok and namjoon bond over their mutual love for hip hop music. they both think that music from the wizarding community just isn’t on the level of muggle music quite yet. namjoon takes hoseok and yoongi to their first drake concert and that’s the only time namjoon has ever seen yoongi cry
  • after jin’s face heals back to its usual perfection, namjoon insists on taking jin out for butterbeer as an apology. it’s entirely platonic, but soon enough rumors get spread and namjoon still isn’t sure why everyone in the school calls them ‘mom and dad’ 
  • namjoon is always seen tutoring hoseok or jimin or jungkook or taehyung in the library, but ‘tutoring’ actually consists more of gossiping and stifling laughter so they always get kicked out
  • when namjoon figured out that taehyung was a werewolf, he kept the secret until taehyung was ready to tell the others. he would always brew taehyung a wolfsbane potion and help give tae instructions on tibetan meditation techniques and it helped so much
  • sometimes, when namjoon is sitting in the library, jimin will come to him and just sit. namjoon knows that nothing needs to be said, because jimin is really an introvert and really gets tired of always talking all the time. so namjoon just sits in comfortable silence with jimin until dinnertime
  • namjoon is just so intelligent and impressive and always looks after the people around him, and all of his teachers know that he’s going to go on and do incredible things with his life 
  • and he does–namjoon travels all around the world, picking up different kinds of philosophy and scientific theory. he’s widely renowned in the wizarding world for his efforts to combine muggle science with wizarding magic, to explain how the world works
  • when he gets older he basically invents the field of scientific magic. he’s in a lot of textbooks.
  • in conclusion, kim namjoon is an incredible student and an even better friend, and he loves magic a lot

jungkook ver. / taehyung ver. / jimin ver. / namjoon ver. / hoseok ver. / yoongi ver. / jin ver.

[ next series – avatar: the last airbender!au ]

cant-we-just-dance  asked:

11 Jamilton, please. Thank you for using my prompt meme, it took a lot of effort and I'm glad that someone likes it.

No problem and thanks for posting! <3

“ 11. Growing up together and sending paper airplanes to the other person’s window each night “


The first time it happened, Alex was talking too loud again. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t at least partially because of his asshole of a neighbour, Thomas, was trying to do homework.

Alex really hated that guy. Right from the first day he moved in with the Washingtons and went to greet the “just a little older than you and a little shy, but I’m sure you’d get along” kid next door. He’d had his hopes of friendship rebutted with a wrinkled nose at Alex’s missing baby tooth and the dirt under his fingernails; replaced with an eternal rivalry with a haughty sniff and a slammed door in Alex’s face.

By some unfortunate arrangement, their bedrooms, both on their houses respective second floors, faced each other. Only a few meters of open air separated one window from another. Alex wasted no time getting into the habit of always peeking at Thomas’ room before doing anything else. Which was why Thomas scratching a pencil against his head and pulling at his own bushy hair while huddled over the day’s homework was the perfect time to make a phone call. It was an even more perfect time to make a phone call to his friend Hercules to ask him if he needed any help with today’s work, because the math was just so easy and obvious to him, and wouldn’t it be a shame if someone was left having trouble with it?

Alex should have expected some kind of retaliation. In fact, he did expect one, just not so soon. Nor did he expect it in the form of a perfectly crafted paper airplane bouncing off the floor of his room with a sudden smack that made him jump.

Alex hastily hung up. He glared out his window at the only possible perpetrator. Thomas was out of sight from his vantage point. Either he’d run off or hidden after throwing the plane, and either way, Alex wasn’t impressed.

He snatched the paper plane, fully intending to send it flying straight back where it came. He’d teach that asshole Thomas not to throw trash through his window. But, hidden under the fold of lined school paper was a thick line. If there was one thing Alex was weak to, it was curiosity. Well, that and proving himself and/or others wrong, if Alex was being honest. He unfolded the plane. In giant letters that took up the whole page were two words.

“Shut Up!”

Alex wrinkled his nose. He’d shut up, alright- and give Thomas a taste of his own medicine. Alex reached into his school binder for a blank paper.

After that day, the floodgates Alex hadn’t even known about were opened. Naturally, Thomas could never leave well enough alone and had to send a paper plane back the next day. Alex had no choice but to respond.

It started with base insults. The kinds of things Alex would shout to Thomas any day, or even through the window. But Thomas always shut it closed when that happened. The paper planes, however, were always read, and always returned, even if not right away. It was a form of power Alex didn’t always have in verbal conversations.

“nice job arguing with the teacher today, idiot”

“nice job being a teachers pet”

Slowly, over the months and without Alex even realizing, the insults morphed into actual advice. There was so much space, and Alex loved writing as much as he loved proving himself. Thomas wasn’t far behind, despite his superior attitude.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know the answer to today’s history question. Read the handouts, maybe.”

“You act like large multiplication is impossible. It’s just like single digit, but longer.”

“How did it feel coming in second to Aaron in the spelling bee? Acquaintance is spelled with an ‘a’, not an 'e’.”

Nothing changed on the surface, the paper planes like their own little world. Alex sent and received them daily; for months, then into the next year, and then into the next.

“Son, can I speak with you for a moment?” George asked one day, trying to hide a smile behind his hand.

Alex shot his adoptive father a suspicious look. “Okay.”

“Alright, son, I just want you to know that Martha and I both support and love you, okay? No matter who you have a crush on.”

Alex jumped at the words, his mind somehow flashing to a bushy head of hair and sharp, biting, intelligent words. “Wh-what are you talking about!? I don’t have a crush!”

George’s smile widened. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Of course, son. Though, you might want to work on your aim. Those paper planes that miss do have to land somewhere, and your mother and I have gotten tired of plucking them out of the side-yard hedges.

Alex flushed cherry red. George clapped him on the back-shoulder and walked away with a laugh.

The thing was, Alex hadn’t considered the idea at all. Thomas was… Thomas. An infuriating know-it-all who lived to argue with him. But he wasn’t just that anymore, not since there paper plane letters had turned to actual venting and support. Thomas shit talked Mr. Lee when he gave Alex detention over nothing. Alex shit talked Mr. Adams when he lost his temper and swore at Thomas in front of the whole school.

A plane skidded across Alex’s floor, and he jumped from his thoughts. It was just an innocent piece of paper. An innocent piece of paper that represented years of exchanges with someone who was a mortal enemy, a kind-of friend, and now, apparently, a crush. Alex unfolded the paper.

“I’m bored, entertain me! >:^(“

Alex snorted loudly, glancing out the window. Thomas stared back, raising a brow pointedly. He’d come a long way from hiding every time he sent a letter. Alex considered what to say, and then got out his pencil.

“Let’s go see a movie, then. Lego Batman is still showing at 6”

Alex liked to take chances with things he wanted, because most of the time, that was the only way Alex could even get what he wanted. This was no different. He sneaked a quick peek- Thomas was staring at the open paper and his ears were red. Alex grinned.

This was uncharted territory, but Alex was used to uncharted territory. He could manage one date.

4

Mabel + What Robbie Smells Like

High School Kook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You’re the new girl in a fancy school and you don’t know many people. When you get paired up with Jeon Jungkook for debate class you can’t help but feel utterly nervous.

Word count: 3612

You nervously looked at yourself in the mirror as you tried to do something original with your hair. It was the first day of school after winter break and you wanted to do something different. You typically didn’t care too much about that sort of thing back at your old school, but ever since you transferred to one of the most exclusive schools in the country you couldn’t help but feel pressured to make an effort. Everybody always looked their best, regardless of the occasion, and regardless of their social status.

You weren’t filthy rich nor poor, but middle class people rarely got into school’s like this, that’s why you couldn’t skip the opportunity when you were offered a scholarship to study there – as much as it hurt to leave your old school and friends behind. You were used to exceed at everything back in your old school – unless it required you to talk in public – but you quickly understood that it wasn’t enough in this school. Everybody exceeded at everything, making you become an average student. It hurt your ego, but it also made you realize how important it was to work harder. That’s probably part of the reason why it was so difficult for you to make friends in the first semester you studied there. It wasn’t that people were mean to you, it wasn’t like in the movies or dramas with crazy bullying stories, and sure you did get along with a few people, but you didn’t really have many friends, only a couple girls you wished could be in all your classes.

Keep reading

You’re okay, I guess.

Originally posted by taekookie-bts

Warnings: The moral of this story: Have sex with him. You’ll like him better than you think.


I’ve never wanted to get involved with him. He reeks the smell of trouble. His face has trouble written all over it. From head to toe, he screams out trouble. How come the more I try to avoid, the deeper I fall?

“Pick a number the sit according to the chart on the board. No complaints!” She slaps the table with her long ruler, indicates the cue for us to go pick our seats from the folded pieces of paper in the carton box. I, and of course my other classmates, have lots of concern about this new “random” seating arrangement. They all want to seat near their friends or smarter people whom they can copy the work from. But for me, I want to avoid one person, Jeon Jungkook. You may ask: “Well what’s wrong with this fine looking young man?”

Everything.

Everything is wrong about him.

He has been haunting me longer than I could remember. My mind didn’t write down the memories about the day we’ve met but it did tell me once about my first impression for him: an active and energetic boy. I often saw him being caught up in troubles as if it was an addiction and he was overdosed. Somehow, he has my attention in the palm of his hand. My eyes reach for him, still they avoid his. Strangely enough, it wasn’t a one-way affection. The way Jungkook treats me feels different, neutrally different. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. Obvious seems to be the most accurate adjective to describe it. I see him everywhere: at the cafeteria, in the hallway, by the vending machine… until it became too usual to be just a coincidence. Our conversations would always start with him “offering” me to skip class with him and end with me rejecting him with a single word. I do question his reasons sometimes, not with him but with myself.

“12.” I exhale with relaxation and move to my new seat at the end of the class, next to the window. It is the perfect place to completely immerse myself in my works, without being bothered by the rest of this noisy class. I sit down and settle myself. The gentle spring breeze greets me, touching my braids teasingly as if it is flirting with me. I feel at ease looking at the strips of golden sunshine. The state of daydreaming approaches me through different media. The sound of rustling leaves sweeps me off my feet. I am flying to those cotton clouds.

“Hey! Earth to Y/N!” The pain spreads through my scalp where my braid is. My head follows its instinct and tilts the direction that my braid is being pulled. Anger can’t even describe the emotion I’m feeling, not after I know who the culprit is. There he is, sitting right next to me with his hand grabbing my braid and pulling it down, the one and only Jeon Jungkook. I hit his hand for him to release my hair. A tidal wave of anger and disappointment rushes through my organs. I shoot him with that you’re-not-welcome look and all I receive is a typical social smile that acquaintances give each other. He is sure that I’m not too stupid to not decipher that smile as a notice that for the next few months I’m going to experience hell at its finest.

I don’t talk to him at all for the rest of that day, trying to keep our conversations at the minimum. Meanwhile Jungkook, with all of his best effort, attempts to distract me every second. I lose count how many times he asks for a pen, a piece of paper, sharing textbook… It is driving me crazy. Still, showing it to him would just make him cockier about it. Time seems longer when I’m with him, not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He leans back on his chair. Hands behind his neck, he settles himself in a laid back position and of course, restrains from doing any math questions.

“Are you not going to do this?” I turn to him, showing a bit of my honest anger.

“Don’t want to.” Only his eyes are facing me.

“Well you’re going to get into trouble with the teacher, again.” I stress on my words.

“That old hag can’t do anything to me.” His body slides down the chair. Now he looks like he is lying more than sitting. My eyes still glue to him. “What? You’re worried about me?” He smirks. My cheekbones suddenly feel like they just went out from a heated oven. My heart misses its cue to beat. “No. Do whatever you want.” I quickly turn away to hide the uncontrollable expressions on my face. Nervous and weak are the last emotions I want to show him.

“Oh… somebody’s lying.” He leans forward and closer to me, one hand twisting the end of my braid. His cheek presses on the table as he looks at my face from the bottom. I lean further away, even move my chair so I don’t look uncomfortable. Jungkook hand leaves my braid and places on my thigh where my skirt ends. I hit his hand but his fingers just keep digging in tighter. My legs stay numb, afraid that if I move them he would get the chance to go deeper under the skirt. The heat from his palm on my thigh evaporates my skin. I feel hotter and almost breathless. Now my heart has to work harder than its capability. He must be fascinated about my thigh. Sometimes he traces heart patterns on it.

The bell rings to end this awfully long period. We have gym next and I’m glad there can be some space between us for me to calm down. His hand leaves my thigh as the whole class stands up and becomes noisy. Before turning his back on me, he gives me a maleficent smirk and I can’t help but blush. He knows I could have screamed to the teacher when he touched my thigh, but I didn’t. I try to argue myself that I didn’t have a choice. However, my heart keeps throwing out these convincing testimonies. I rest my case.

Gym class starts with the friendly basketball game between the boys. As expected, Jungkook great athletic skill shines bright on the field. I’m too busy analyzing Jungkook to notice the aching volume of the girls cheering for him. The sweat drips from his forehead to his sharp jawline and paints his whole body with a glossy coat. The muscles in his arms appear and disappear as he works his way through the opponents and shoots the ball into the basket. His strong-built calves and even the veins shown through his thin skin attract my attention. The game ends faster than I thought. Our class wins.

My eyes stick with Jungkook for the rest of gym class. I wonder to myself how come a good athlete like him takes these exercises so lightly. He barely does what our teacher says, not even the easiest tasks like push-ups and running. There’s no doubt that he can do them all. It may just be that breaking the rules is his natural habitat.

I stay back to put the basketballs into the storing room. It isn’t my duty, but considering that we were the ones who took them out, I think it’s the right thing to put them back where they were again.

“Cleaning up?” Jungkook leans on the entrance of the room, holding the last basketball in his hand.

“Yeah. Why are you still here?” My arms cross in front of my chest.

“To help.” He steps towards me, closing the door behind him.

“Thanks.” I receive the ball from him. As he turns away, through the open of his backpack, I see the textbook for today’s class that he claimed to “forgot it at home”. I’m surprise and a bit angry.

“Jungkook… You have your textbook today with you…” I ask.

He turns around and flusters “Yeah…”

“Why did you lie to me?” My anger is on the top of my head.

“Well how do you think I’m going to get your attention now?” He yells out loud. His anger calms my anger down. His words stop half way through my brain. They are too vague for me to analyze. “Shit” He punches the locker. “I’m sorry okay? I know how much you hate me so… you know… what other choices do I have?” My body freezes. I just stand there, looking at him with zero expressions shown. He has his face looking at a different direction. His eyebrows squint together.

“Kiss me.” I say.

Jungkook looks at me puzzled, wondering if what he heard by his ears is what came out from my mouth.

“Give me a kiss like those romantic couples on TV. I’m giving you a choice now so do it before I change my mind.”

He steps closer until I’m at the bottom of his nose. His hands cup my cheeks and lift my face up. His rough lips touch mine, granting me this passion and lust. He starts tilting his head and our lips open. The kiss becomes tenser and lewder. His tongue gains its access into my mouth and tastes mine. I can taste the sweetness of strawberry from the tip of his taste buds. His hands leave my cheeks, trails down to my ass and then make their way to my thighs.

He cuts of the kiss and slams my back on the lockers. Stuck between his arms, my head tilts so he can nip the wet skin of my neck and collarbones. The heat of his body makes me sweat. Each time he sucks harder, my core feels like melting. I can swear there is water in my panties. My body tries to adapt this overloading sensual feeling but it’s too difficult. I start to shiver. He begins to suck harder, leaving pain lightly covers some areas on my neck.

“These are proves that you are mine. Mine only.” He whispers into my ears.

Jungkook pulls down my shorts and panties at the same time. He looks at my core for a long time, which is still in the process of developing sexually. He can tell this is my first time, not only by looking at my core, but my expression. He pulls down his shorts and underwear. His cock rises, pointing towards me. My thighs have the tendency to move closer, trying to protect my core from being seen.

“I’ll go gently. But if something goes wrong, tell me to stop.” His forehead touches mine as he tries to calm my nerves. He inserts himself into me. My core stretches out to receive him. It hurts a bit to adjust along with his size, but when he sinks in completely, my body can feel this mixture of these arousals. He starts slowly, thrusting into my pelvis to make sure I have to time adapt. But I learn this lesson quicker than that.

“Faster… go faster…” I struggle my words out of this suffocation. Jungkook goes faster. Water drips from my core to the side of my thighs, I’m not sure if it’s mine or it’s his. He pulls his dick out half way slowly then slam it in again, making sure I have enough energy to hit that climax. And I did, followed by my juice creating a mess between my legs. I sit down, feeling my core throbs and burns.

Jungkook gets a towel and cleans both of us up. He dresses me again and carries me of his back, switching his backpack to the front of his body. Exhaustion doesn’t allow me to see clearly. My cheek presses on his shoulders. His large back feels warm and for once, I don’t think about avoiding him. He’s okay, I guess.


For all of y’all thirsty people who asked for Jungkook doing you at school, hope this satisfied you. 3:20 am here so I apologize for the procrastination.

anonymous asked:

Hi Melly, liam got signed as a solo artist and I could not be more happy. And it looks like this is for real and his team is might actually be good! I mean it couldn't have happened to a better person... if anyone deserves it, it's liam. But It's also makes me wonder about zayn's situation, many of us speculated that zayn's solo career was part of the old team's exit sabotage. But could it just be that zayn choose a shitty team? I know zayn is smarter than that but i can't help but wonder.

——

Because I know u a Liam Stan imma be straight up with you. I’m happy for Liam. As a Zayn Stan I’ve always had a soft spot for Liam and think he deserves the best I mean that boy carries the world on his shoulders. What frustrates me about the whole solo ordeal is that Zayn’s team have been nothing but ABSOLOUTE shit while Liam’s team seem to be doing better work in an hour. I want them both to have good teams. I don’t understand why Zayn got lumbered with the ahit team ? No shade to Liam btw.

—-

so we all know that zany’s management is fucking so much shit up for zayn but i want to know why??? Like WHY is zayn’s management being shit when it comes to him?

hiiii!

 I’ve talked about Zayn’s team and his solo career a lot (a realllyyyyyy lot) on this blog over the past seven months or so. I like to call it being “Old Man Yelling At Cloud”.

 I’ve always believed, and I still believe, that FAE is really a decoy for 1DHQ, which is why everything in relation to Zayn’s solo career is cloak and daggers shady. The extremely smooth and extremely less fucky rollout of Liam’s solo announcement yesterday in comparison put the spotlight on Zayn’s fucky solo career even more.

 With that said,  I’ll put on my  Hoevestigator hat to lay out what I think is happening with Zayn’s team for you. You should know in advance that I talk a lot. I am very sorry in advance. 

Part 1: Why Zayn’s Team Appears to be so Catastrophically Shit: A Melly Manifesto

An excerpt from an ask I answered (I’m lazy, what can I say), highlights some of the reasons for why I think FAE is a decoy:

1) Listen, no team, Sarah Stennett included, is as intentionally shit as Zayn’s is. Zayn is the living embodiment of the 1D business model (merch & brand partnerships at the forefront, music very much secondary), right down to the marketed image - he’s just been given an upgraded wardrobe:

Between the constant (and intentional) social media fuckups, off-putting Cool Mom Zayn image,  critical lack of promo, an incredibly skewed deal between his team and Gigith’s, and horrendous client negligence about Zayn’s alleged anxiety and the repeated cancellations, any other team would have been fired by now.

Which brings me to my next point:

2)  No artists’ team is ever this visible. An important thing to remember with the entertainment industry is that 9 times out of 10, if you’re seeing something, it’s because you’re supposed to be. The constant and heavy presence of Ned, Sarah Stennett, and Zayn’s rented FAE friends is meant to legitimize the presence of FAE.

Ned was purposely and heavily pushed to the fandom up until the karaoke video disaster in May, and positioned as an A&R/Manager/SMM/Your Mom. Spoiler alert, that’s not how a management team is supposed to work. An A&R Rep is not a manager, and your manager and/or A&R rep isn’t with you day to day, traveling with you like a high level babysitter.

Sarah Stennett was positioned heavily in the press as “Zayn Malik’s manager”, Ned Single White Femaled in the background of every pap shot, and they even positioned Ned as the fandom savior, great protector of moppet Zayn and working tirelessly to singlehandedly prevent MoM leaks (more spoiler alerts: he can’t).

3) There’s Sarah Stennett and FAE’s curious ties to both Simon Cowell and Irving Azoff. The links are real and tangible: MYKL (co-writers on many of the tracks on MoM) are former X Factor contestants, Sarah Stennett’s clients Rita Ora and Iggy Azalea are both X Factor hosts, Sarah’s JV being funded by a company that Irving Azoff is on the Board of Directors,  and I’m a mindful hoe that isn’t forgetting about The Brits in March 2015, where Sarah Stennett decided to hang out at the hooves and forked tails table with Simon Cowell.

4) How would Zayn have even ended up with Sarah Stennett anyway? FAE is a boutique management company with a lackluster lineup. Zayn had brand recognition, a huge built-in fanbase, and talent. I have a really hard time believing that there weren’t other management companies that were vying for Zayn. So why Stennett? You can argue that she has a good track record of breaking an artist, but her ability as a manager to take an artist’s career beyond that is decidedly shit. Iggy Azalea and Rita Ora are both proof enough of that.

Part II: I regret to inform you Zayn is still with 1DHQ

If I were to do maths, there is roughly a metric fuckton of evidence that  Zayn never left the talons of Simon Cowell and Syco, and that he’s still tied to 1DHQ. That’s why Zayn’s career has been such a goat rodeo: it’s been designed to be. It is sabotage, for the pure and simple facts that Simon will not have Zayn to profit off of as an artist in the long term, and also part of a  a very really and aggressive effort to damage both Zayn and 1D’s brand in the long term. 

Here are just a few of the (many) receipts:

1) MoM was released under Simco and licensed to RCA, for all Simon Cowell/Simco/Syco tried to very poorly hide that. 

 Dan Wootton curled his forked tail underneath him  and penned an article with his own two hooves that Simon Cowell  dropped Zayn “out of loyalty” to the remaining members of 1D on July 16, 2015:

Yet on July 17, 2015, Billboard released an article - with a statement from a Syco rep, no less - that confirmed Zayn was still a Syco artist:

There was also the incident on January 29, when Pillowtalk was released and iTunes listed it as “Simco under exclusive license to RCA”. It was quickly changed to “RCA”, but not before the fandom could make screenshots, natch:

2) Zayn’s stunt/promo schedule (lol promo) is still in perfect tandem with Babygate and One Direction’s.  Zayn’s fakelationship with Gigith even began at almost the same time as Lounielle & Cherliam (Zigi Nov. 25, Lounielle Dec. 8, Cherliam Dec. 12), and also has all the same hallmarks as a 1DHQ fakelationship: everyone is getting engaged, everyone has pets, and everyone is living together within a month. 

Also, remember the time  Eleanor and Zayn’s beard Gigith provided mutual promo? BECAUSE I DO:

3) Zayn’s career has been used to push 1DHQ narratives and agendas. Take his interview with The Fader, and it’s curiously aggressive anti-shipping stance, for instance:

“There’s no secret relationships going on with any of the band members,” he explains. “It’s not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them. They won’t naturally go put their arm around each other because they’re conscious of this thing that’s going on, which is not even true. They won’t do that natural behavior. But it’s just the way the fans are. They’re so passionate, and once they get their head around an idea, that’s the way it is regardless of anything. If it wasn’t for that passionate, like, almost obsession, then we wouldn’t have the success that we had.”

Or that Zayn was the first 1D member to acknowledge the birth of Freddie:

4. Zayn’s cancellations (Graham Norton, BBC Radio 1, Summertime Ball), were all confined to the UK where 1DHQ is based, and were all either almost immediately reported on, or exclusively reported on by 1DHQ mouthpieces. It’s a real pattern, and all roads lead back to 1DHQ.

5. The curious case of Naughty Boy. Naughty Boy was painted the villain in Zayn’s leaving,  and cast as the person who ultimately lured Zayn away from 1D for a solo career (only to have an alleged falling out with Zayn), yet he and Simon Cowell appear to be really close bruhs, you guys!

Simon Cowell must be such a benevolent and forgiving soul ( I can’t even type that with a straight face), because Naughty Boy was at the Syco Summer Party on July 19. I present to you this real Lemony Snickett of a  photo of Naughty Boy with Cheryl, Dan Wootton, and Simon Cowell’s girlfriend:

Funny how that worked out. 

Those are just some of the Spark Notes regarding Zayn’s solo career and the associated fuckery. I fully recommend if you’re new to check out my solo!Zayn Masterpost - it’s pretty comprehensive and lays out theories regarding his sabotage-y career, his team, and lack of promo (a lot of which have come to pass). 

Thanks for reading this far - may you have an excellent day and may your hair game remain forever strong.

Hands To Myself

Originally posted by evilqueenregine

Originally posted by se-le-na-tothegomez

Originally posted by cockygomez

Tittle: Hands To Myself

Pairing: Peter Pan x Reader

Requested: Yes

Rating: PG

Warning: a island full of horny teenage boys.


   “Are you sure your even a girl? I mean I never met a girl that can punch before, let alone one who gets along so well with a group of boys.”

  “Of course I am a girl you moron.” I snapped, glaring at the chuckling lost boys.

   “All I am saying is, that maybe you should really think about this whole thing more. Women as suppose to be kind, your a bitch. Women are suppose to be gentle, you are anything but and women are suppose to make the men of the house, in our case camp, food. You don’t. So all I am saying, that by all definitions, you aren’t a girl, or a good one at least.”

  “So because I refuse to make your sorry ass dinner that means I’m not a girl.”

  “Pretty much.” He answered, his smug smile faltering when I snarled at him.

  “We both know that I can tear you apart and do my nails at the same time, so why don’t we refrain from ticking my off shall we?”

 “That’s what I mean! Girls aren’t suppose to do that. They are suppose to be sweet and kind, gentle. They are suppose to make make you feel safe, not like they could end your life at any given moment!”

  “You want girly, I swear to god I will give you girly, and when I do I want you to march your ass down to the mermaids and let them deal with your sorry ass.” I snarled, glaring at him as I pushed myself up from my seat and stormed across the camp. As I pushed past a startled Peter he groaned.

  “When you will you learn to stop pissing her off? Seriously people I have been to hell and Hades is less scary then she is when she’s pissed.”

  “All I did was ask if she was sure she was a girl.”

  “When you die, I want you to know that it could have been prevented. Oh and your fifty different kinds of stupid.” Peter grumbled, flinching as I slammed the door to my hut shut. “Now we get to deal with her all pissed off because you have no brain!”

 

   I huffed as I started to pace and back in froth in my small hut, my hands shaking with anger. Ever since I got here, all I have heard, is the lost boys doubt my being a girl. They all had their idea of a female and since I could do what ever they threw at me, better than they ever could, they decided to get me the only way they could. By doubting I was in fact a girl.

  Before I came to Neverland I was the perfect mix of girly girl and tomboy. I could play with the boys, and be dressed to impress with the girl all in the same day. But here, here I couldn’t. Here it was be a tomboy and live, or be a mix and die. Though right now, dying seemed like the better option, there is only so many times you can hear, ‘well maybe your not a girl’ before you start to hate yourself. Heck you can only hear it so many times before you start wanting to leave Neverland and never look back. The only reason I was still here, was because every time I told Peter to take me back, he reminded me of why I was here.

  I was the black sheep in a family full of doctors. I got sick at the sight of blood, I hated the whole concept of needles, and I just barely passed my science and math classes. I was an actress, and musician and a dancer. If it wasn’t one of the three I failed, badly.

   “That’s it.” I whispered, my lips pulling up into a eager grin. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, my smirk still on my face. Why not show them just how wrong they are by using the one thing they loved to stare at the most?




  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At The Bonfire ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I was pacing again, waiting for the music to start so I could go head to the camp. After working on it all day, I was finally ready. I wore a tight, forest green bra and matching high waist underwear. I had brushed my hair so much that it was silky and smooth on as it hung around my shoulders. I had somehow, after all whole hell of a lot of effort, managed to get myself a green pair of heels. I looked hot, sexy even, and with the song and dance I had in mind, I knew I would have the lost boys eating out of my hand within seconds. All I needed was for Peter to start, and that was just a matter of waiting. He always started at the same time. 

  “Right on time Peter.” I giggled. I looked myself over one more time before I headed out to the camp, making sure to walk slowly. As I walked out of my hut, I leaned up against the side, draping one arm over my head and bending one leg so it rested on the wood. As I started to sing, I let my fingers trail down the valley of my breast to the top of my underwear.

  “Can’t keep my hands to myself. No matter how hard I’m trying to Iwant you all to myself. Your metaphorical gin and juice” I sang, each of the lost boys turned to stare at me with an open mouth. I grinned, and leaned forward, throwing my hair as I slowly moved back up.

  “ So come on, give me a taste, Of what it’s like to be next to you. Won’t let one drop go to waste. Your metaphorical gin and juice.” I sang, pushing myself off the wall of my hut as I slowly made my way to the lost boys.  “Oh, cause all of the downs and the uppers. Keep making love to each other and I’m trying, trying, I’m trying, trying. All of the downs and the uppers. Keep making love to each other and I’m trying, trying, I’m trying.” As I walked, I slowly moved my hands down my body, letting my fingers run through the silky waves of my hairs as I ran my finger tips over my sides. As I did, I noticed Peter stop playing, his gaze slowly moving to me.

  “Well fuck.” He groaned, shaking his head when I instantly started to swirl my hips as I bent my knees, running my hands up my legs as I rose, my ass in the air.

  “ But I…” I threw my head back, whipping my hair back as I bite my lip, my eyes glued on Peter as I slowly moved one hand to my clothed center. “Can’t keep my hands to myself. My hands to myself. The doctors say you’re no good
But people say what they wanna say and you should know if I could I’d breathe you in every single day. Oh, cause all of the downs and the uppers keep making love to each other and I’m trying, trying, I’m trying, trying. All of the downs and the uppers keep making love to each other and I’m trying, trying, I’m trying.. but I…” I paused, smiling at Peter as I dropped in front of him, my hands resting on his knees as I leaned towards him, my face inches from his, my hips swaying to the beat in my head. “Can’t keep my hands to myself. My hands to myself.”

  “What ever you are aiming towards, it’s working.” Peter snarled, his green eyes flashing with anger as I twirled away from his grasp. I giggled, swaying my hips, my hands in the air as I spun to lean against a tree, back arching against it as I started to sing again.

  “ Can’t keep my hands to myself. I want it all, no, nothing else. Can’t keep my hands to myself.Give me your all and nothing else. Oh, I, I want it all. I want it all. I want it all, ooh” I let my gaze flutter around the camp, smirking proudly when I noticed every single lost boy were shifting around, their hands clamped tightly over their crouches.

  “ Can’t keep my hands to myself.” I sang, throwing my back as I ran my hands flat against my breast, running them down to my thighs, making sure that my fingers brushed ever so lightly against my center. “I mean, I could but why would I want to?”

  “WE GET THE POINT YOU A GIRL!” Peter screamed, making his way towards me, his green eyes dark with a mixture of anger and lust. “But why the hell you think you show these boys what is mine, is beyond me.”

  “I just had to point it out to your little boys here, that just because I can throw a punch, and swing a sword, doesn’t mean I’m not a girl.”

  “Yeah well trust me, we all got the point. Now come along, I have a lesson of my own I need to teach them.”

  “That would?” I asked, biting my lip as I let my head fall to the side.

  “Who you belong to.” Peter snarled, his arm reaching out to wrap around my waist, pulling me against him, his hands moving down so it rested on the small of my back. “I also need to teach them who is aloud to have you screaming.”

Boundaries [Part 2]

Part One Here

It was requested a couple times to continue with the saga of Luke Hemmings kid and Calum Hood’s, so there will be a third part after this, but I wanted to post part 2 before it took on a life of it’s own. Enjoy. Feedback would be much appreciated. Part One is rated G, Part Two is PG, alright? I wrote the word ‘nipple’. Be warned.

He couldn’t help but wonder if things would be different if he was more like Miles. While his twin was his most favorite person in the world, March knew that people, specifically adults, took better to Miles. Miles didn’t stay out until two in the morning on a Monday night, he didn’t race traffic lights on his skateboard, he didn’t forget to shower for a week at a time, he didn’t call girls “mega tits” to their faces, he excused himself when he belched, he didn’t have his lip pierced, and he didn’t laugh at circumcision jokes. He also happened to be a quarter of an inch taller and six minutes older than March.   

“You’re so obvious, man.” Miles snickered as he copied his geography notes into March’s duotang, and caused his brother to stop mid-ollie, hopping off of his overused Etnies skateboard and onto the pavement, the hem of his pant legs already dirty from being walked over in his skate shoes instead of polished school loafers.

“What do you mean?” Stepping on one end of his board to bring the other up to his fingers, March shot Miles his well known, practically infamous, confused expression.

“You never stay late…” Miles knew this because he often asked his twin to wait until after he was finished his student council meetings where he acted as one of the sports prefects, but March didn’t even bother to answer. He would just leave. If it wasn’t for everyone in their school knowing their older sister and wanting to be her, Miles wouldn’t even sit through wood shop, his final class most days. “And you never skate at the East doors…Daphne’s locker is in the East wing.” It would be fair to say that Miles was the twin who had access to more oxygen while in the womb. He was the more logical of the two. Both boys were smart, each earning a place on honor roll for the last few years, but March certainly knew how to act as if his brain was kept collecting dust between his ball sack. “She knows you skipped Geo to get with Raquel.” Just for good measure, Miles mentioned without even looking up from where his pen was on paper.

Without any excuse to shield himself with, “Whatever…” was all March could say in his defense.

He was taking on a small jump onto the cement flower bed, planted in honor of a drama teacher that taught at their prestigious private school long before they were even before, but March tripped over himself at the sound of his brother mumbling out a name that sounded like his favourite song.

“Hi Miles.” Daphne’s airy voice responded with a meek smile, moving down the large concrete steps carefully so her uniform kilt wouldn’t blow up from the easy breeze, her binders tightly held to her chest with one arm.

“Hey Daph…” Picking up his board with one hand, March feigned confidence as he approached the beautiful dark haired girl, dusting dirt off his pants with an empty palm.

“Hi.” While still sounding sweet as fresh honey, Daphne greeted the younger twin coldly. Her round globe eyes stared right at him, but didn’t take him into account as she moved over the paved pathway alone. Most students were gone, but Daphne generally stayed an extra half hour to hour after school for private math help. It was so normal to her to not leave the school until long after the last bell that she wasn’t even embarrassed by it anymore and it seemed to be paying off.

“Want help with the books?” Chasing after her, he tried, his back to his twin’s eye roll and amused laugh.

“I’m okay.” She told him while scanning the parking lot over the quiet road for her father’s sports car.

“Bag?”

“It’s fine.” Daphne stood right at the school’s gate, lazily leaning against one black post, heels tapping together beneath her as if she had ruby slippers on.

“I was going to call this weekend, but my dad kind of ate my shorts about the whole ‘you’ thing…” March knew he could have still texted her and he wanted to, pressing his fingers to the keyboard on his screen a half a dozen times, but his dad’s words rattled around in his head like dice in a Yahtzee cup. March was constantly being told he needed to listen more, but truthfully, he worried that he would become a zombie if he did and never do anything fun.

“I was busy anyway…” As if it was nothing, like she hadn’t held her phone all throughout Saturday and Sunday in hopes that she would feel it buzz with his name on the screen, Daphne replied with a discreet shrug. Her shoulders moved so discreetly, he could barely tell if she being nonchalant or if she had an itch.

March’s blue eyes squinted together and he let his skateboard drop as he scratched at his dirty blond locks to try and remember if she had told him about any weekend plans. He was sure that she had, but Daphne was so soft spoken and he was always staring directly at her profoundly perfect boobs when she spoke.

“Oh yeah, yeah, Emmeline.” A light bulb began to illuminate in his head. “You were with Emme, right?” It made sense that most of the children of the band members were close, they grew up alongside one another, but the girl’s seemed to have their own private club, just the four of them, which the boys couldn’t break into and they weren’t sure they even wanted to.

“I went to her fashion show, yeah.” Michael’s daughter had just started to model around Australia, but the media was treating her as if she was a real big shot. The show was a small Billabong charity event around Chowder Bay, one of her first shows, but everyone was taking pictures of the sassy Clifford daughter like she was walking the red carpet at a Donna Karan event in New York City. Daphne had been glad to be able to go support one of her friends though, seeing her friend’s happy seemed to make her insides melt somehow. She was a bit like a puppy in that sense, losing her mind of other people feeling good.

“Cool. Uh, any male models?” He didn’t hide his agenda at all, shifting his gaze from Daphne’s hips to her face in one slick motion. March might not have put in any effort with her after she left his house on Friday night, but he didn’t want any other guy getting in with the dancer, especially some oiled up beefcake. “Or was it a girl thing?” If that was the case, he wanted to come next time.

“All girls. Did Raquel not tell you about it? She was there. I saw her.” Racquel Coin had been in the back standing area unlike Daphne who sat in the front row with The Clifford family. Internally, Daphne was smirking, but she wasn’t petty enough to say it out loud. She merely loosened the grip on her books against her chest, the curve of her generous breasts becoming more evident to the teenage boy as she eyed him all-knowingly. 

“Was she?” That was news to him, but he knew why she mentioned it. He saw right through her raised brows and her smile curved gently into a bow. “Well, uh, Raquel and I don’t really talk.”

“It’s hard to talk when you’re hooking up, I guess.” Like they were just having a simple chat about the weather, she mentioned off hand. “She’s on your lip ring.” Pointing with her index finger against her black binder, Daphne showed him. He couldn’t deny anything around her, their school was small and they had classes together. She wasn’t blind when she started to spend more time with March Hemmings. Daphne was well clued in on where his mind drifted to and hands, sometimes, followed along.

Instantly, March started to polish the ring between his thumb and finger, burning up inside, “It could be you actually…” She had left her own mark on Friday after all. March chuckled over his embarrassment, wiping for a second more at the metal attached to his lip. He wished she hadn’t noticed. He wished he hadn’t forgotten that the assumptions of Daphne being stupid were mostly false and that she did notice everything about other people. He wished he hadn’t suggested to Raquel that they meet up in the janitor’s closet on the second floor and he wished she hadn’t excitedly agreed.

“I would never wear that color.” Daphne said about the Revlon Peach painted like grease on his silver ring in her tiniest voice. “It would look silly on me.” There was no Disney Princess for Daphne to idolize growing up. She was an Esmeralda and she favored wet fuchsias and bright berries. “You can hang out with her.” For good measure, just in case he wasn’t sure, Daphne concluded and looked at him with a flat face. Her words were easy to understand, but her eyes were absorbing him, pleading for him to say that he didn’t want to hang out with any girl that was not Daphne.

“It’s just my dad….and your dad…” Fidgeting, fingers scratching behind his ear, he mumbled and stared at his scuffed up skate shoes. “I’m going to the skate park, do you want to come and watch? I’ll teach you a trick or something…” He could be suave, but around Daphne, March lost a lot of his masks and defenses. He just babbled his way into being a sloppy version of himself, not at all the guy he wanted to be for the girl he was growing crazier and crazier about. “We might meet up with Penny at Wax ‘n’ Wake after.” He tried to entice her with his sister, knowing the two girls were thick as thieves. They had never kept secrets from one another up until March first kissed Daphne, drunk on a diving board at a house party. Daphne couldn’t exactly mention that to one of her best friends.

“I have dance.”

“Want me to skate you there?” March nodded with his chin and eyes down at his board as if it was a glistening carriage or a noble steed. “I could watch…” The idea of seeing Daphne’s hourgloss body stretched out and moving freely in tight shorts was one that March was quite fond of, thinking he might have even preferred it to how she looked on the diving board when they first kissed, her breasts hardly contained by the fabric of her black one piece and the black shorts she borrowed from Penelope hugging her hips tightly.  

“My dad’s picking me up. He said he wanted to talk to about something.” She would have taken him up on his offer otherwise. Even though she could how awkward things were, Daphne still wanted to spend time around March.

He was close to giving up. She seemed upset, but she was being so lovely about it. March didn’t know how to react at all in return. She wasn’t behaving like she wanted an apology from him, but she wasn’t ignoring him either. He glanced back at Miles, but his brother ws no help. He was still copying notes on the steps by the East wing.

“Awh, shit.” Looking back at the road, he gripped the top of his hair and pulled on it, the way he kind of wished Daphne had while on his bed on Friday. “Do you think my dad called him and said anything?”

“I don’t think so.” Daphne didn’t need any time to respond. She just assured him with a natural shake of her head, bangs dancing over her dark eyes as she moved. “You would be castrated by now.” When it came to Daphne, Calum was an extremist, constantly overreacting when he reacted at all. “And I’d be in a tower somewhere off the grid.” As soon as Calum announced that he was going to be a father, people were making jokes that if he had a girl, he would treat her like princess and keep her locked away in an ivory tower until she was in her late thirties.

While he didn’t like the mental image of his Uncle taking a meat cleaver to his favorite organ, March found some relief in Daphne’s answer. If Calum didn’t know about the two of them being closer than just family friend’s, he could keep his dick right where he liked it (attached to his person).

“Iwanttokissyou.” The two of them staring forward at the road until the mostly cloudy sky, March confessed what he had been thinking since he first saw her in the hallway that morning, counting the papers in her hands as she walked to English, licking the pad of her index finger occasionally to separate pages. She was lost in her own world, but he wanted to break into it again. His confession sounded like one single word, but before Daphne could reply at all, her father’s car showed up. She could hear it before it was in front of her, loud screaming metal music blaring from it like he was their age. It was as if Calum heard the last thing out of March’s bumbling mouth and appeared magically.

“Hey!” Anxiously, excited to see one of his pseudo sons, Calum rolled down the window and shouted right at the center of March’s face, the teenage boy’s blues still deeply connected to the perfect profile of Daphne, her cheeks a fading coral and eyes on the handle of her father’s custom car, black and so sleek they could see themselves clearly reflected in the door.  Calum turned down the music quickly until it wasn’t even audible, “You need a ride? What are you still doing here?” It was easy for Calum to pick Daphne up when he was around as she was always out later than other students, but he never saw either Hemmings boy there. Occasionally, Penelope waited with her but since she was a senior this year, she had been spending more time at the beach than in the halls of the academy.

March’s mouth was hanging open. He was looking at his Uncle now, but still sort of holding out for Daphne to agree to let him put his hands all over her as well as his lips over hers. He wondered how the plum color on her lips would taste if he rolled his tongue right between, weaseling into her mouth that seemed to perpetually taste of mint chocolate chip due to her deep affection for After Eights.

“He wanted to skate me to dance…” Since March wasn’t answering, Daphne spoke for him. It was a strange mix as usually March would talk the ear of a horse off and Daphne was happy to be seen and not heard. She had the passenger door open, Calum having reached over his gear shift and shoved it slightly. She placed her binders neatly down on the car seat before shaking off her backpack to rest it on the car floor. March was doing everything within his power not to watch the hemline of her kilt rise up the back of her thighs, taunting him with the sight of her tight olive skin and the idea of the lace and tulle thongs she was fond of due to being comfortable beneath her dance shorts.  

“Oh, yeah?” Calum raised his thick brows and nodded over his daughter’s head as she leaned in, nodding at March who as terrified that Calum might be able to read his thoughts. “Is there a girl you’re into there or something?” Without a hot clue, he asked.

“Uh, yeah, there’s one.” March nodded without filtering his thoughts through. Daphne had slid into her father’s car now, laying her books over her bare olive legs and giving March a look that privately asked, ‘Seriously?’ She closed the door quickly, the open window granting March access to her still.

Calum knew March and Daphne the way everybody knew them. Sure, they grew up together, but they grew up with March barrelling over her to get on the bus first or, sometimes, he just wanted to knock her down. He couldn’t do that with the other girls as they were older than him, but Daphne was younger and the size of a thumbprint. He pulled her hair, gave her wet willies, and dropped ice cubes down her back without a hint of remorse. The two were civil, but they weren’t friends. Penelope and Daphne were friends, but he never heard her talk about either of Luke’s sons.

“Well, do you want a ride home?” Calum leaned in on the wheel and spotted Miles coming down the path, shoving books into his open back pack in his hands as he did. “Miles too?” Large, his eyes slid back to March, realizing then that March was paying far more attention to Daphne, watching her fingers roll one of her long locks around as if it was painful for him to see. “March?”

“Uh, no, no, it’s cool, we’re going to skate around.”

“Hi Uncle Cal.” Miles was working his arms through the straps of his backpack once he stood next to his twin, the two of them looking more identical to Luke than they did one another, fraternal twins after all, and March the only one with a lip ring.  “Here.” Miles knocked March’s gut with his binder, smiling down at Daphne as she was playing with her hair and then laughing at his brother. He was the only person who currently knew about the two of them and he couldn’t keep a straight face, his smile large and crooked across his face, a laugh stuck in his throat.

After greeting Miles back, Calum heard a whisper so quiet and it prompted him to check the time over the radio. Daphne’s voice was naturally soft as fresh linens, but when she whispered, only those trained to hear her could. It was an elite group which Calum was the self-appointed leader was of.

“Yeah, we better go.” He agreed, uncurling his hand off the gear shift to give the twins a solid wave. “Take it easy, guys.” Calum moved in to neutral out of park, tempted to say something along the lines of ‘don’t break too many hearts’, but decided it was cheesy and he had a good relationship with his nephews. He didn’t want to screw it up by aging himself and putting himself in a box marked ‘lame’. Once he drove away, Calum rolled up the window, turning the music up just a touch. He knew Daphne would prefer something low key over his ‘death jams’ as his girlfriend called them. “How was school? Did you get your English assignment back?” Memories of staying up underneath moonlight on the tour bus, playing with alphabet magnets plagued Calum’s mind. He hoped that all those clocked hours he put in with her, teaching her how to pronounce letters and spell compound words paid off. She was a teenager now, but Daphne would forever be a child to him.

“Not yet.” She chirped, opening up one of the binders on her lap to explain to her dad what she was working on now in her classes, a routine they had been in after a tutor came up with keeping everyone in the loop with her homework back when she was only nine. Daphne saw March’s name written in all capital letters, circled in a blue pen heart and instantly closed the book, just in case Calum took his eyes off the road and saw.

“Are you okay?” Calum was feeling charged by his own excitement, but he could sense Daphne wasn’t her usual laidback self. There was something on her mind and the way she was playing with the ends of her hair while leaning her forehead against the window made that abundantly clear. “Did tutoring not go over well?” Nervous her grades might slip again, Calum’s question leaped out of his mouth.

“It was fine. It’s just…” She would have liked to have been able to tell someone about what was going on between herself and March, but she knew that she couldn’t. Her friends would simply think that it was cute as they had been friends since they were tiny and their fathers were best friends, not understanding the emotionally charged baggage that came with that situation. Penelope would be absolutely grossed out by the thought of her little brother and pseudo little sister engaging in any kind of horizontal mambo, and none of their parents would get it. “Guy stuff.” She mumbled, wondering if he would even respond to her. Calum was good at hearing only what he wanted to.

“Someone giving you a hard time?” Sternly, his enthusiasm from before now settled in the backseat, Calum asked with nerves set in his stomach. He doubted very much that Daphne would tell him if something serious was going on, but that didn’t stop Calum from reeling over what she might share.

“No. It’s just…” She hadn’t even come up with the perfect word to define what was going on, but Calum didn’t let her think. He threw one hand in front of himself, brushing the notion aside.

“Concentrate on school right now, you’re just starting to do really well. You don’t need any distractions.” The last thing his daughter needed was some stupid boy with his hormones and thoughtless words to come in and break her down when she was finally finding a groove in her academics. “Guys are pointless at your age anyway. I mean, look at March,” He loved his nephew for his wayward ways, but the kid had some growing up to do. In fact, March reminded Calum a lot of his teenage self. “He’s just chasing girls and falling off his skateboard. You don’t want to waste your time.”

Daphne tried to take what her dad said into account, but her mind couldn’t look beyond March once he was brought up. She just concentrated on how his eyes were a shade of blue she had never seen outside the painted pages of storybooks, how he was always so eager when they started to kiss but he would have to breathe as count and slow himself down due to his lip ring, how he tossed his hair around as he talked mindlessly about music, her body, and other things he was crazy about, trying not to appear as obsessed as he was. She should have found March to be annoying. He thought highly of himself and he had been the source of a lot of her scrapes when she was a toddler, but instead, Daphne was pretty sure March Hemmings was the light in her private darkness.

“So, your text said you wanted to talk about something…?” Pushing her hair behind her ears, Daphne exposed a large gold hoop earring, giving her dad all her concentration. She wished to turn his music off, replace it with something acoustic, but she was smart enough to never mess with the radio of her dad’s car.

“Yes, I do.” He drummed on the wheel for a moment, excitement forcing his cheeks a rosacea shade of pink. “Your mum and I are so proud of your math midterm.” This must have marked the twenty-fifth time he had told her that. The exam was still up on their fridge under a 5SOS magnet from years past. They still told everyone just as they had brought it up at every family dinner, even calling her Aunt Mali-koa to gush as if she had discovered a new form of life. As a C and sometimes D student at best, Calum was over the moon that his daughter had managed to earn a B plus. It was the first one she had ever brought home and while she credited one of her tutors, everybody else was telling her to take the credit. “And we want to do something for you to show you that, you know, to reward you…” Turning sharply, almost cutting off the Dodge Caravan ahead, Calum explained.  “Up to stop at the dealership on the way home from dance?” At a stop sign, Calum took a moment to slowly turn to watch his daughter’s reaction. Daphne rarely showed much emotion, but she looked as if she was about to combust right beside him. Her arms jet out in front of her and began to shake about, wrists flailing, as her eyes lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July.

“Are you kidding? You’re kidding! Seriously?!” Maybe good grades weren’t a big deal in other homes, but Daphne had truly worked hard for her mark and it was quite a feat for her. Calum was as proud as he seemed, having always wanted his daughter to be above average as he knew she was special deep down inside. “You’re kidding! I love you, I love this!” Laughing, she threw her palms up against the sides of her face and giggled. “I’m getting a car! I’m going to have a car!” It was the sixteen year old dream after all.

“Well, there’ll be rules, but yeah, we’re going to look at a car for you.” Laughing, he reached over and ran a hand smoothly down her hair, messing it up at the top for a moment. He loved when his daughter began to get worked up. It was so rare, but she glowed when she smiled and Calum would do everything in his power to keep that grin up on her face.

Truthfully, Daphne had been fine taking public transportation and driving around. She wasn’t a typical teenager begging for the keys or even feeling entitled to a vehicle, but she was thrilled to be getting her own car due to the fact that driving was the only thing she could do better than Molly Irwin. Molly was her friend, but she was a genius and that was hard to live in the shadow of when you were someone who counted on their fingers like Daphne did.

School exhausted Daphne without even trying. She usually felt ready for a long nap by the time the lunch bell called, but on a day where she had tutoring and dance, she generally crashed as soon as she was home. Today had been dragged out even longer by following her parents around, sipping on a can of chocolate coconut water, and listening to them talk safety and engines with the car salesmen who wore his hair sleeked back with gel to pull attention away from the neck tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his crispy grey shirt and paired blazer, but it was all Daphne could focus on when she wasn’t checking her cell phone for any texts from March or simply answering all of Emmeline’s messages about getting together on the weekend.

At one in the morning, Daphne was sound asleep, a white night gown taut to her plumeria lotioned skin with her hair blow dried flat between her shoulders. She had barely finished her homework before giving out underneath the covers, eyes defeated by the need for a deep sleep. Always soundly, she never wrestled in her sleep, but a sense of disorientation in the room had her moving uneasily over her mattress. It wasn’t until a large noise shook the wall suddenly that Daphne’s panda eyes popped open. Instinctively, she went to the window as she stepped out of bed, leaning over ivory desk to peer into the darkness outside, the world lit up by a banana moon and orange street lights.

Down below, a speck looking up at her while putting the shoe he had just chucked at her window back on his right foot that was soaked from standing in grass that had just been fed by sprinklers, stood March Hemmings in ill-fitted light wash jeans, a grey ‘Make Waves, Not War’ hoodie his sister bought him at random, and a ball cap sitting on his head backwards, keeping his own bedhead captive.

Daphne struggled with her window for a moment, it stuck in places, but she slid it to the sound and let it slam loudly before sticking her head out completely, long hair running down her like a raven haired Rapunzel.

“Took you long enough.” From the ground, March hissed, looking right up at her, nose to the sky.

“I was sleeping.” Daphne spoke just a decimal below her regular voice, eyes shifting to the right to see if her parent’s window was open any. “What are you doing here?” She had been looking at the screen of her cell phone every few minutes since her dance class ended, just hoping he would send her something and trying to work up the courage to message him herself, and now, at 1:12 in the morning, he was underneath her window.

“I heard you got a car.” His father had mentioned it at dinner. “Want to go for a drive?”

“I don’t get it until Thursday…and you couldn’t have just texted me that!?”

“I was busy.”

“With Raquel?”

“I knew you were pissed about that!” Shooting a finger in the air, March let his emotions get the best of him and shouted only to be quickly shushed by Daphne, a magenta painted fingernail pressed to her lips. “I just had homework and shit. Do you want to go for a walk?” He had his skateboard with him, having ditched it on the Hood’s front lawn.

“I’m sleeping.”

“You’re not sleeping right now.” March argued, both hands open at his sides as he tried to bargain with her. “I really want to kiss you again, Daph.”

She wished to be like Emmeline in that moment. Emmeline would have told him off without a second thought. She probably wouldn’t have even bothered opening her window for him. Or Molly. Molly Irwin wouldn’t let a boy run around her mind like a kamikaze rodent, well, Daphne didn’t think she would. In this moment, even being Penelope would have been splendid because Penelope probably never had to deal with advances from her little brother.

“Come on, Daph, I know I fucked up with the weekend and Raquel, but I want to see you.” He was begging, his face folded together like a crumpled up ball of discarded loose-leaf. March argued with himself, bringing one hand to his forehead and rubbing at it, massaging the tissue inward as he tried to think of what an actual suave guy would do. He tried to channel James Bond or even the beefy guy with long hair on all the harlequin book covers, but he was coming up blank. “I’m cool with sneaking around if you are.” Looking up at her age, her eyes absorbing him like black holes in the middle of the glowing atmosphere, March sincerely tried. He didn’t know what other options they had. His dad had made it plain that she was off limits.

Daphne’s lips were parting, but no words were coming out. He wished he could cover them with his own though. He didn’t need her to say a word, he just needed her to give him one of her shy nods that indicated it was okay for him to touch her how he wanted to, kiss her like he knew she was supposed to be kissed.

She hiccupped out a syllable, but the sound of another window open sent March running, her mouth erased from his mind in a instance. He leaned his body up against the side of the generous Hood home, arms straight behind his back with his knuckles beneath his butt. He shut his eyes tightly like that would cause him to become invisible somehow.

“Daphne?” Calum’ voice croaked, full of sleepiness. He had been watching television in bed with his girlfriend, just beginning to doze off when the sound of hissing outside captured his attention. “Who are you talking to?” There was a great space between Calum’s bedroom and his daughter’s, so he stuck his head right out and asked her, catching her before she could seek refuge into her own room.

“Uh…no one..” Looking down to see no trace of March, she choked out.

“I could hear you.” Calum would know his daughter’s voice anywhere even if he hadn’t been able to make out what it was she was saying.

“Maybe, you heard Marigold.” Her guinea pig had been particularly active lately, gnawing on the bars of its rectangle cage that sat against the wall on her desk, right underneath the best view of the moon.

Daphne…” He only said her name, but Daphne knew what her father was really saying. She didn’t even have to be looking at him to know that his brows were low and his eyes were impaling her face with a sharp stare. Usually, her voice was said with delicate care from her father. He never knew quite how to hold her even when she was a newborn, his hands would fumble nervously and quiver underneath her blanketed body and squirmy arms. He wasn’t just saying her name though. This time, Calum was saying, ‘It is one in the fucking morning. Don’t blame this on your guinea pig’.

“I was just hissing away a cat. That’s all.”

Below them, though he was trying to hold it in like his own gas at one of the boring, but important charity events his dad was always bringing him along to, March sneezed. It wasn’t just a petite ‘achoo’ either, but a loud call of the wild and Calum pushed his bare abs against his window sill, gripping it before he stuck his upper body out and peered down below.

Mentally, Daphne began to pick out what kind of flowers she wanted in a wreath at her funeral. She was partial to marigolds, but wasn’t sure how in season they were. Her mind reeled as she nervously watched her father stand up straight again, closing the window.

“Go to bed. You have school in the morning.” He grumbled before shutting the window completely and going back to bed. Something strange was going on, but he was too tired to even try to understand.

Unsure of himself, March stepped away from the house and showed himself again, his tight teeth apologizing up to Daphne. She closed her window before he could say another word and while he had half a mind to throw his shoe at it again, his phone buzzed in the pouch of his hoodie and caught his attention.

Meet you in the playhouse. Be quiet.

March pumped his fist in the air, waving it above his head in victory, before putting the phone away and taking off for the backyard of the Hood home, trying to be as quiet as he could be before pushing open the door of the playhouse that Calum and Luke had split the cost of years ago, having it made especially for Penelope and Daphne when they were both partial to plastic toys and sing-alongs. It had gone largely unused except for storing a few seasonal items since the girls were teenagers now and didn’t long to play house or make believe in that way anymore. He had to ball up in order to fit through the small yellow door, but March moved on his hands and knees over the wood floor to sit in a corner of the playhouse, legs spread out in front of him next to a plastic green table and chairs, teacups and Velcro fruit organized on the table and making him feel like a giant. He ran his hand down the wall, Penelope and Daphne’s names written in thick gel marker, their friendship as permanent as the ink, but the door swung open again and Daphne appeared, barely having to bend to make her way inside. She had thrown a long knit sweater, a homemade present from her Grandma Hood, over her arms, but she still had on her spaghetti strap night gown that her bouncing breasts could not be held down in. She had put on a touch of makeup in vain, but March didn’t even notice. He sat up and reached out for her once she closed the small door, bringing her down against his chest with his hands venturing up her sides and over her spine.

“It’s been Hell not being able to kiss you since Friday….” He chuckled under his breath, both his lips taking on her bottom one, massaging it as he closed his eyes and breathed her in. They were together for all of thirty seconds, but he had one hand between them both, grabbing at her boobs like they were the Holy Grail. In their grade, they truly were.  Laughing, March pulled away and wiped his mouth on his wrist with the same hand that had been kneading her breast into her own chest, “You’re wearing your sticky lip gloss again…”Girls always seemed to have something on their lips when he was making out with them, but Daphne’s had been the stickiest, his ring always glistening afterward and his own lips threatening to stick together.

“It’s my color.” She summed up simply, combing her hair over one shoulder with her fingers before moving down to kiss his neck. She pushed down on the hood of his shirt, exposing his collar bone for her to nibble on and more neck to leave her color stained over.

The playhouse felt like it was on fire. March’s head fell back and he had both hands folding the beak of his hat behind him, his eyes wide open and staring at the little plastic vase with fabric flowers blossoming out of it on top of the table. He was sweating, he couldn’t breathe, and her ass kept coming up into view, but his hands were too clammy to touch it.

“Whoa, wait…” He pushed himself up against the wall harder and squirmed until she detached from his neck. “I got to…I got to…one sec…” He tried to breathe, removing his hat and allowing his mess of blond hair to show before pulling off his sweatshirt and leaving himself in a white sleeveless top, biceps rippling from beating his brother and father in a push up contest in the garage after dinner. “Okay, that’s better.” Sheepishly, March smiled and gently put a hand on her back to bring her back down again. “You look so fucking good.” As if it was a compliment penned by the mind of Tolstoy or even Neruda, March breathed out, kissing her anxiously and wiggling his tongue in to see if she still tasted like mint chocolate after brushing her teeth. She did. It crossed his mind that she might be able to tell that they had had chicken parmesan at the Hemmings house for dinner, but he hoped that she couldn’t tell.  She could.

As he kissed her, lying flat down on the floor with her fingers massaging his hair into a better shape, March knocked the baggy sweater off of her shoulders and helped pull her arms out from the sleeves. Her arms were as warm as his head felt and March found great comfort in the idea that, maybe, she was nervous like he was and not just beginning to sweat due to the fact that they were too big for the small playhouse they were kissing one another in. His hand on her arm went back to her chest as if it was pulled there by the force of magnets, his other hand finished palming himself and went to her hip as she ground against him. He held it there for a moment, fingers pushing in and upward under the light cotton fabric of her night gown. He hadn’t realized she didn’t wear underwear when she was asleep and his thumb brushed over her soft pink, instantly pulling away out of embarrassment. He had played with girls before, touched them and felt them turn to puddles over two of his fingers, but Daphne wasn’t just a girl to him. She was the girl and he hadn’t been expecting that softness, he thought he might feel the lace he loved, but not just her bare skin.

“Are you trying to sleep with me in my playhouse?” Giggling against his lips, speaking into his mouth almost, Daphne’s large lashes fluttered up as she asked.

“No.” He answered right away, shaking his head with his unruly brows coming together above his nose. “I mean, unless you want to do that…” A virgin despite what he wanted people to think, March offered without much charisma. Obviously, he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to have sex with the most beautiful girl he knew, playhouse and all.

Daphne stopped and thought for a moment, sitting back on her butt with folded knees, right between March’s long legs. She hadn’t had sex since her first time and the idea of doing it again only entered her mind when she was with March in situations like this or watching Penelope’s surfer friends wiggle into their wetsuits on the hot sand. She was grateful that her Uncle Luke and Penelope had obviously kept their mouths shut as they both knew she wasn’t a virgin, but she was worried that March might find her less attractive if he knew. She worried that he might do as the other guy did and never talk to her again afterwards, leaving her alone to put on her clothes and wipe his junk off her bare stomach. She worried that her dad might hear the playhouse shaking and come out. She worried that she might not be any good at all.

“We don’t have to…” March told her, propping himself up again and resting on his hands. She was taking way too long to answer him.

“I want to.” Embarrassed by her desire, she admitted, looking down at the floor of the playhouse and wondering just how comfortable it would be. It was carpeted, but Daphne and Penelope used to emerge from the little house with red knees and scratch marks. She presumed that those would come with sex anyway though. “But…”

“It’s okay.” March leaned in and moved her black hair away from her eyes, his thumb brushing over her cheek to see if it would feel as satin as it appeared in the dim light, the moon coming in through the tiny windows. “I’m a virgin, too.” He admitted, kissing her cheek and thinking that might put her at ease, but instead it made her giggle for all of a nanosecond. It was long enough though. March pulled away, his spine straight, and gave a stare of fury over her reaction.

“I’m not a virgin.” She didn’t want to tell him, but she felt inclined to be honest. Daphne had been told before that she wasn’t smart enough to lie. “I’ve had sex once, but that – “

“Who? With who?” He wiped her gloss from his lip ring, examining it on the pads of his fingers and asked. “Actually, no, I don’t want to know…” His arousal dipped at the thought of another guy, so he brought his eyes back to her breasts that were threatening to fumble right out of her night dress. “Does it bug you that I’m a virgin? I brought a condom….just in case.” He had had high hopes, but he didn’t think that he would actually find himself in Daphne’s playhouse, discussing sex. “Like, I wasn’t expecting it. I just…I want to.” He summed it all up with a simple shrug and his most childish smile. That was the long and short of it, March wanted his first time to be with Daphne. She wasn’t the girl who was good for teasing and kicking anymore. She was the girl who told him that he would be fine all of the time, even after his sister and twin brother had pointed out that he was being an idiot. He could always count on Daphne to chime in quietly with a vibrant smile and say, ‘You’re going to be fine’, and he was falling for that comfort, he wanted to protect and preserve it, and have it as his own forever.

“Condom is good.” Nodding, Daphne began to play with the bottom of her hair out of nervousness.

“Come here…” He bit down on his lip, right by the silver ring, and reached for her hands to lay her down over his chest again, kissing her nose with a peck and then cocking his head to one shoulder to play with her lips again. “I, like, don’t want to fuck this up…” He chuckled as he knocked his head back, but March was feeling a lot more than a tightness in the center of his jeans. His thoughts were moving in a cyclone motion and he couldn’t figure out where to put his hands, so he just kept drumming them over her back like she was a misshaped bongo.

“You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.” She assured him, cooing before she slid her own little hands up his chest, underneath his shirt, and began to pull it overhead. Daphne balled up his shirt in his hands and dropped it to the side, straddling his lap and putting her hands on his and guiding them to her hips before she slowly moved in a circle over top his package, smiling as he watched her body move over his groin. “Do you feel good?” She asked, but he didn’t look away from her thighs and his own growth. He just nodded until she let go of his hands and lifted up his chin so she could kiss him again.

They woke up to birds chirping, sun rushing to blind them through the small playhouse windows. Daphne was naked, still showing traces of rug burn, as she laid beneath March’s arm, the plastic table fallen over his feet as he was on the floor in only his checkered blue boxers.

“Oh, crap!” Daphne’s body woke her up naturally, always seeming to bring her back from rest around seven thirty. “Wake up, March.” As she shot up at the waist, she shook him with her hands in his chest, listening to him grunt and groan in protest. “Seriously, we’re going to be late for school.”

“Fuck!” As he clued into what she was saying, he shot up and instantly smacked his head on the ceiling of the small playhouse, not sure how he ever fit into it now that he could see it’s measurements in daylight.

“You have to go.” Daphne rushed, grabbing her clothes from around her and pulling them on as best she could, tossing his to him.

“I’ll skate you to school.” Memories of her body in his hands last night, lifting her up to bring her down carefully, played like Zeppelin Four. He remembered how she whimpered at first while trying her best not to show the new sensation on her face. He remembered how she tasted, biting into her salty skin and circling her nipple with the tip of his tongue. He remembered getting a contact high off her plumeria scent and how her legs felt wrapping around his torso and knotting at the ankles. March didn’t care about being late for school suddenly. He didn’t care about being caught. He just wanted to keep touching Daphne.

“You don’t have you uniform.” Frantically, she reminded him before shoving the playhouse door open. “I got to get inside before my parents realize I slept in the backyard.” Daphne was crawling her way out of her playhouse on her hands and knees, accidentally taking March’s jeans with her and leaving them on the wet lawn before rushing into her house through the patio door. March was forced to wiggle his way out of the mini playhouse in his hoodie and boxers, running across the lawn with the jeans in one hand, waving like a football flag. While he had just had the best night of his life, he wasn’t interested in being killed by the bare hands of Calum Hood the morning after.  

 

 

 

What Is and What should never be Should Have Been

(Unfavorable contrasts in 11.12)

There’s already a lot of meta on parallels in 11.12. So many people have analyzed how Claire’s brokenness is reflected in Dean’s obsession with hunting and how Alex and Claire are blatantly obvious Sam and Dean parallels (with, admittedly, some distinctions as well as some overlap). People discuss the kitchen scene with Dean admitting that he would have benefited from the kind of talks Jody thinks about giving her girls. Those are all important, of course. 

What I haven’t seen, however, are analyses of how Jody/Claire (as surrogate mother and sister figures) and John/Dean stack up in their treatment of Alex and Sam. I’m not surprised that I haven’t seen meta like this, because these parallels and contrasts do not reflect favorably on the two oldest Winchesters.

Dean and John (unable or unwilling to support Sam out of fear for him or of him) helped to isolate Sam with unfair ultimatums and impossible standards, feeding his shame and perpetuating his feelings of inferiority in an desperate bid to do what they thought they had to. In contrast, Jody and Claire offered Alex a support system and acceptance of her past, acknowledging her as an individual with the right to choose for herself.

The parallels and contrasts are unflattering at best, but they are also important. This is how Sam should have been treated. Let’s take a look at Sam and Alex’s startlingly similar actions and experiences and compare the shockingly different responses.

The bullet points below contain as much inevitable negativity as you might expect from a meta on this topic. Potential Dean and John criticism beyond this point. **  Proceed with caution.

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Oliver Hampton: Wannabe Ice Skater

Notes: This fic is not the fic I set out to write this morning as I had a clear idea for it, but I decided to change it up. Inspired by many conversations with my bestie, @htgawm-tv, and an anon prompt about ice skating. (Sorry that I switched the prompt around, nonnie, but Jasmine and I had this very clear idea about Oliver and ice skating.) Enjoy!

“You grew up in Michigan. How do you not know how to ice skate?” Oliver asked incredulously as they lay beside each other in Connor’s childhood bedroom. It didn’t look anything like it did when he was younger. His mother insisted he take what he wanted years ago and trash the rest. Besides a few photographs and posters, it was essentially a guest room now.

“You’re acting like Michigan is Antarctica, Oliver. We do have seasons, you know. Just like Pennsylvania. And not everyone knows how to ice skate. I’m surprised that you do, actually.” The conversation had started about five minutes before then when Oliver mentioned seeing a skating rink not too far from the house. He went on and on about how they should go until Connor mentioned not knowing how, hence the sassy incredulity in Oliver’s tone.

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