sometimes i wonder if i have too much time on my hands

anonymous asked:

I'm going through a real rough patch and if you want to write something cheerful you have no idea how grateful I'd be.

Flash sidled up to Superman on one of the Watchtower’s mezzanines, leaning against a rail. They looked at each other sidelong, then away.

“Wanna hear my new time?” Flash asked sideways, swaying as he alternated which foot held his weight, hands on his hips.

“There’s no way you beat my time,” Superman muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were in the other direction, and both men went silent as the Lanterns walked too close. Superman and Flash gave them a nod of acknowledgment, then waited for them to be at a safe distance.

“Nine seconds.”

“What!” Superman dropped his arms, whipped his head around to where Flash was grinning and bouncing on his heels. “No way.”

Flat,” Flash said.

“There’s no way.”

“Check my heartbeat if you don’t believe me,” Flash said, tapping his insignia with his thumb. Then he frowned. “Actually, don’t, I’m pretty excited about this so my pulse is probably crazy.”

His heart always sounded like an angry hummingbird trapped between his lungs, but Barry was also a notoriously terrible liar, so it wasn’t as relevant as it could have been.

Dangit,” Superman said, crossing his arms again. He leaned back to scope out the area around them. No one seemed to be paying them much mind. “What time?”

“Eleven on a Saturday,” Flash said, looking even more smug. “You know I don’t mess around.”

“Tch!” Superman made an irritated sound, licking his canines. Then he snapped his fingers. “You forgot about–”

“Nnnope,” Flash interrupted. “I’m including the new ones in that, that’s the whole reason we had to reset our times, otherwise I’d still be at seven-point-four.”

Tch.” Superman drummed his fingers against his bicep. “Nine seconds,” he repeated, torn between irritation and awe.

“You know what that means,” Flash said, waggling his eyebrows.

Superman sighed. “Alright, where are we going?”

“I want soup.”

“Uh-huh.” Superman waited. Flash was waiting for him to ask. Superman was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“… in Saigon.”

“You’ve been watching Bourdain again,” Superman accused.

“It looked like really good soup!” Flash said, defensive.

“Fine,” Superman said, “but I am going to beat your time, and when I do–”

“Beat what, now?” Wonder Woman asked, having managed to approach them while they were distracted by negotiations.

“Nothing!” Flash and Superman said at once.

“We were just talking,” Superman said.

“About stuff,” Flash added unnecessarily. “Private, personal, man stuff.”

Wonder Woman’s eyebrows shot up. She was close enough for her lariat to hum on her hip. She looked Flash over. Flash started to turn red.

“Okay bye!” Flash said, and he was gone in a streak of red.

“Superman?” Wonder Woman asked.

“I should, uh. Hal…”

He wasn’t actually making any definitive statements, just stringing words together, and yet somehow it still managed to ring false. She watched him go, putting her hands on her hips.

She could practically sense it when Batman came up beside her, even quiet as he was.

“Do you want to know what they were talking about.”

“Do you know?” she wondered. He said nothing, so she turned to look at his face. It was as expressionless as ever, but she got the impression that he did not consider the question worthy of dignifying with a response.

He was Batman. He would never be so rude as to say ‘of course’ – but of course he knew.

“I wouldn’t want to invade his privacy,” Wonder Woman said cautiously.

“He’d tell you if you really asked,” Batman said. “They just like feeling like they have a special thing.”

“Oh.”

“Flash, especially.”

“I see.” She tapped on her lower lip as she watched Superman talk to one of the Green Lanterns. “So what’s the special thing?”

“Pick me up in the plane on Saturday and I can show you.”

She froze. Slowly, she turned to look at him. As always, being able to see him helped not at all. “Like a date?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “More like a stakeout.”

“That could be like a date.” She was mostly saying it to tease him. Sometimes if she did it right, he turned pink and had to find a shadow to hide in.

“It’s usually not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m usually with the kids.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine.”

She put her hand out to rest on his shoulder. “I would never imply–”

“I know.”

She took her hand back. “I’ll behave,” she assured him.

“You don’t have to,” he said, and she grinned.

“I’ll pick you up at ten,” she said, and she gave him an exaggerated wink as she walked away.

“It’s a date,” he murmured.


Why,” Wonder Woman asked, “are we in Florida?”

Batman was sitting beside her, and the plane was in a low hover. “Because as far as anyone can tell, this is the single biggest and busiest Walmart in the world.”

“I don’t think that explains as much as you think it does,” she said.

Batman held up a phone. A clock took up most of the screen. 10:59. “Watch,” he said, and he pointed out to the parking lot, vast and terrifying and teeming with people. She watched, and she had no idea how she was supposed to see anything in the crowd.

Finally, she spotted it. The motion too quick to be anything mortal. Would anyone on the ground notice anything more than a strong breeze?

“Oh! It’s the–” She snapped her fingers, couldn’t remember the word.

“Carts,” Batman supplied.

“Yes!”

In almost no time at all, every cart in the parking lot had been returned to one of the designated corrals. Batman pointed to something that he must have been using technology in his mask to see, because otherwise his eyes should not have been good enough. Wonder Woman was much better equipped to see Superman, standing beneath a tree and checking a stopwatch and scowling. He did some kind of motion with his arms and one leg that suggested he’d have thrown his hat to the ground, if he’d been wearing one.

“They introduced new carts,” Batman explained. “They don’t fit with the other ones, so it slows them down. Ruined their whole system.”

“They had a system?” she asked, giggling.

“No, here,” he said, tapping her arm to point again. “This is the best part. He’s frustrated.”

That’s the best part?”

“Watch what he does.”

She watched. Superman was gone again, more impossible-to-follow motion through the crowd. Things were moving. Large things.

“He’s fixing the cars!” she said, clapping her hands together.

“He’s fixing bad parking jobs,” Batman confirmed. “Because he’s mad.” There was a brief crooked curve to his mouth.

“He moved that one to a different space!”

“Illegally parked in a handicapped spot.”

“How fun.” Wonder Woman watched the people wandering through the lot, wondered how many of them had noticed what was happening and how many had disregarded it as nothing worth noticing. “Flash is the winner of this contest, then?”

“Consistently.”

“Is there a prize?”

“Clark buys him lunch. Usually somewhere he saw on a food show, since he can’t normally do that.”

“Why not?”

“Hm?”

“Barry can run anywhere, can’t he?” she asked. “I see no reason he couldn’t run to these places on his own.”

“He doesn’t like being alone in foreign countries,” Batman explained. “It makes him anxious.”

“Oh.” She returned her gaze to the parking lot. “How nice, then, that it all works out.” She frowned. “Is this weird?” she asked. “Spying on our friends like this.”

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask.”

“Do you do this often?” she wondered. “Watch people have fun without you?”

“Define 'often’.”

Wonder Woman held up a finger in warning. “Zatanna taught me a trick.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“She says that if you ask me to define the parameters, it means the answer is bad.”

Before he could respond, there was a thump.

Superman was standing on the nose of the invisible jet.

He tapped a knuckle on the glass, until Diana opened the hatch. “Hello!” she said cheerfully.

“What are you two doing here?” Clark asked.

“We’re on a date!” Diana said.

“We’re not on a date,” Batman said.

“If you’re not on a date, can you give me a ride?”

“You’re out of our way,” Batman said.

“Nah, just drop me off in Gotham,” Clark said, slipping inside the plane, awkwardly floating between the two front seats into the back.

“You don’t even need a ride,” Bruce said, having to fit himself as far as possible into the edge of his seat so that Clark would have room to get by. “You can fly.”

“Yeah, and you can walk, but I don’t see you giving up the Batmobile.” Clark made himself comfortable in the back seat as Diana closed up the plane. “I’m craving Dimitri’s.”

“You’re too sober for Dimitri’s,” Bruce said.

“I’m always sober. You’re lucky I can tell this wasn’t a real date, or I would be really creeped out by the whole spying on me thing.”

“Don’t tell Barry we know about your special thing,” Diana said, pulling the plane out of its hover to ascend. “I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

“I won’t,” Clark assured her. “Hey, you know where we should go while we’re here?”

“No,” said Bruce.

“Where?” asked Diana.

“No,” said Bruce.

“Disney World!”

“No.”

Diana gasped.

“No.”

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You can’t have come all the way to Florida just to see me,” he coaxed.

“I’m banned from Walmart, strongly discouraged from visiting Disney parks, and my parents are dead. I have no other reason to visit Florida.”

anonymous asked:

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Please please share your thoughts on Wonder Woman? Thank you! :)

ANYONE WHO WATCHED WONDER WOMAN (2017) DIR. PATTY JENKINS AND WASN’T COMPLETELY IN LOVE IS NOT TO BE TRUSTED

Some thoughts:

  • So we all knew it was going to be emotional to FINALLY have a female superhero movie, but the movie exceeded those expectations. The fight scenes were incredible and so focused on Diana and what she was capable of – the men basically weren’t even there. The fuckin no man’s land scene SAVED MY LIFE. Superhero movies are known for being heavy handed and this one didn’t escape that for sure (the love speech at the end was….a lot), but that scene was so well done…they didn’t have to stoop to some Éowyn knock off line of “I am no man,” we were allowed to just see her do what real women do - step up and do it. Even though that wasn’t the first time we’ve seen her in full Wonder Woman costume on screen, it felt like it was, like it was the first time I’d EVER seen ANY hero before and it took my breath away. By far the best Superhero Reveal Moment I’ve ever seen. My girl taking out bullets right and left, drawing fire from the entire German army!! Fuck me up!!!
  • You can’t talk about this film without talking about gender role reversals. Chris Pine was So Perfect and I think they really couldn’t have pulled the movie off if they’d cast any other white boy in the role. He was funny but genuine, capable but never arrogant, charming but not entitled about it. He learned quickly what Diana was capable of and respected her for it, always moving to the sideline during the fight scenes (the shield moment with the bell tower comes to mind - who needs a sniper when you can fuckin launch a god at the shooter??), knowing that these were her fights and never trying to mansplain her out of them. He wanted to protect her, but didn’t underestimate her - all the things that a typical female romantic interest does in these kind of movies. It was amazingly well balanced, so much so that I didn’t even mind the romantic sub plot. Plus he was almost entirely naked there, way to play to the audience my dudes!!!!
  • The historical context did the movie such a great service. The outward displays of sexism became so ridiculous when faced with Diana, who genuinely had never had to deal with the patriarchy’s bullshit before. It didn’t just make the men in London look pathetic and mean, it cast a large shadow over the way that women are treated today. 
  • The Dark DC Gradient™ on all the shots isn’t my favorite but it did Chris Pine’s fuckin bright blue eyes a huge favor
  • Gal Gadot was so fuckin good??? Not only was she beautiful, like really really distractingly beautiful, like I kept having to force myself to pay attention to the dialogue cause I, like Steve Trevor, could not stop looking at her (and she’s standing next to Genuine Stud Chris Pine and still?? SHE’S SO BEAUTIFUL). But she was way more then that, her performance was spot on. Diana was naive, commanding, strong, compassionate - while never being reduced down to just a one note version of these things. She felt so real to me, in a genre that spends very little time on character development. Even in the sappiest parts of the script, she sold it. She absolutely sparkled. 
  • Some of the best dialogue was the back and forth between Diana and Steve when she’s asking questions about mankind/London - it was cute and funny without being too overdone or obvious, which it easily could have been
  • The villains weren’t much to write home about, but they didn’t need to be. The movie was so laser focused on Diana and Steve that they really didn’t matter, you could self insert whatever you wanted to there
  • Themyscira is the ideal for I too want to hang out on the beach and never see a man again
  • Also that lesbian line, and how stupid male reviewers blindly did not understand it!!! Fuckin drag em
  • But also the fight scenes on Themyscira were INCREDIBLE. I wish that first section had been a bit longer just because I was enjoying it so much, but it was so refreshing to see all women on screen - women who fought and loved and supported each other. Incredible. 

I haven’t enjoyed, really enjoyed, to the point of not having to think about the message or the structure or how much fuckin time I’ve wasted listening to some male superhero talk about honor or some equally boring garbage, since The Avengers came out in 2012. Even then, Wonder Woman felt like something else entirely. It leaned on many of the same tropes and sequences, but there was enough reinvention in between (particularly the characters, who I felt were much more fleshed out then any superhero movie I’ve seen before) to make it feel fresh and exciting. This so easily could have been a throw away movie, a chance for movie execs to point and say, hey we tried with women that one time!! But Patty Jenkins, and Gal Gadot, and all the other women who worked on this incredible production, knew what was at stake, and weren’t going to let that happen. Every time I see a little girl dressed up as Diana Prince, on her way to the theater, my heart fills more and more. During the film, I found myself on the verge of tears five or six times - sometimes because it was so beautiful, to see a woman who felt so real being strong and vulnerable and saving the damn world, but other times because the plot itself genuinely moved me. Wonder Woman is revolutionary for the industry, sure, but more importantly, it’s just a damn good movie. 

Hogwarts Headcannons
  • Give me Dean, muggleborn that he is, imitating Steve Irwin in Care of Magical Creatures class, much to everyone's confusion except for Harry and Hermione who are. On the ground. Unable to breathe. And refusing to explain why.
  • Give me Harry, demisexual that he is, realizing that the reason he can't stop obsessing over Draco is because Draco is the one who saw - and subsequently disliked - 'Harry', and not The Boy Who Lived. Realizing that Draco was the only one to first talk to him for HIM, in that robe shop, and not his parents or fame (because even Ron and Hermione did that at first). And thus, leading to him randomly starting crying in the middle of lunch and claiming he's doomed, much to everyone's fear.
  • Give me Seamus, pyro that he is, super happy one Christmas when Hermione buys him a book on fire caution, flammable materials, and elements such as magnesium. Thus afterward, the mysterious fires that have always happened are far more safe and controlled.
  • Give me Luna, wonderful airhead that she is, being stared at as, calm as anything, she waltzes right into the Slytherin common room and starts talking to the mermaids like its absolutely normal. A first year drops a book he's staring so hard, because HOW DID SHE KNOW THE PASSWORD. Draco just sighs, gets up, goes over to her, and offers her tea.
  • Give me Draco. Who looks on as Neville offers Harry rhubarb pie that he made himself, as Harry stares forlornly at his Treacle Tart, and makes and annoyed sound. "Dammit Longbottom he hates bittersweets." The Slytherins stare and Pansy just mutters "How do you even know these things. Merlin, help him realize."
  • Give me Parvati, who is being constantly mistaken for her sister by Ron, who panics and screams "IM A LESBIAN" when it gets to be too much.
  • Give me Ron, who stares wide-eyes from a distance whenever he sees Padma from that moment on for a full week, until Padma flips out too and hexes him. Parvati awkwardly wonders why Ron starts getting scared whenever she tries to approach from then on, since she knows Ron doesn't have problems due to that sort of thing from how he handles Harry.
  • Give me the thirty or so of the school's Muggle-raised, who made the mistake of showing their folks howlers, and react accordingly whenever one of the families sends one that is just a recording of Rick Astley, or High School Musical, or spoilers for Doctor Who. And the Wizard-raised just... staring... in fear... watching their savior and multiple other students as they run around screaming and crying in an absolute panic for some reason even though it was a different student that got the weird howler.
  • Give me Harry, whose hair surprises people by being dark red like his mother's when in direct sunlight. And usually at the Weasley den they're inside, but one day Harry joins them outside for a picnic, and Molly is so confused about where Harry went to then has do do a mental tally of her children.
  • Give me George, who in the midst of the final battle, hit Lucius with an Anaticula curse, so that every spell he tries makes a duck instead. And the Death Eaters are just so confused. "Lucius... is that a duck?"
  • Give me the Gryffindor common room. The new first years suggest Monopoly for game night. The entire room goes dead silent. One first year tries to ask what they did wrong. "Never mention that game again," is the only response they get. "But why-" "NEVER TALK ABOUT SIXTH YEAR. WE NEVER TALK ABOUT SIXTH YEAR." Their brave upperclassman Neville yells, trembling. Hermione starts crying. Harry goes into a panic attack. Ron whispers, "There are many reasons we don't talk about sixth year. If The Incident had been the only thing that happened, we would only not talk about The Incident. Many things happened that year. Thus, we do not speak of that year, or of that game."
  • Give me McGonagall, who struggles to control the cat population, because while students are told to have their cats fixed you know not all 100 students that brought cats did so. Her curling up around a litter that lost their mother to illness. Training them to stalk the corridors. Albus had his ways of getting information, and hers is the spy network of cats.
  • Give me muggleborns singing everything from Phantom of the Opera to Katy Perry in the corridors. Singing We Will Rock You to a pureblood who disses them for it. The purebloods thinking the weird songs and their tunes are some kind of Rite of Passage and fleeing whenever a muggleborn student starts singing. Altering song lyrics. "I throw my ferret in the air some-times, singin EEEEEEEYO, this is DRAAAAAACO!"
  • Give me muggleborns that are really confused about the whole quill instead of pens things, throwing transfigured pokeballs in Care of Magical Creatures, the band students bringing kazoos and harmonicas and the wizrd-raised students that are just so confused as to how those things even work, because it must be some sort of air magic, right??
  • Give me muggleborns making entire conversations out of pop culture references specifically to confuse some Slytherin who just called one girl a Mudblood. "These are not the droids you were looking for." "I'm right on top of that now Rose, I promise." -jazz hands-
  • Give me muggleborns with Patronus that are things like Pikachu, velociraptors, the quiet Canadian transfer student with a moose patronus the size of a SMALL HOUSE, the one whose is a angeled-out Castiel, the one whose patronus is the democrat donkey and another the republican elephant and the two, previously best friends, become mortal enemies rivaling the fame of Harry and Draco.
  • Give me muggleborns hugging each other before break, promising to 'call' each other, trading weird codes, how they can't wait to go for 'sushi' or planning that trip together to 'disneyland' where they can go flying?? But no one's allowed magic?? Or flying?? And the wizard-raised think that somehow, shockingly,<i> these children totally new to our world have developed a way to cheat the system?? Muggleborns are badasses!!</i>
  • Give me muggleborns who are fully aware that the anti-tech wards were made when, like, radios barely even existed, much less cellphone towers and microprocessors, so while they can't turn them on inside the stone school walls there's this group that Harry joins constantly that just sit there in silence staring at these tiny things and sometimes randomly laughing hysterically, and every now and then standing and just running all the way across to the other side of the lake all at the same time with no signal whatsoever. The purebloods are <i>terrified</i> of this frequent happening.
  • Give me Harry, Hermione, Dean, and Justin from the D.A, muggleborns they are, doing a movie night every week to help the D.A. relax and bond. They re-start this after the battles, during eighth year, with several other people such as the returned Slytherins joining in. The entire year they play things like Tangled, The Breakfast Club, Brave, Lion King. But then the last four weeks, they announce they don't want to mislead everyone that everything is all fun and rainbows. The last four movies are My Sister's Keeper, The Shining, Marley and Me, and for the last week, a marathon of the entire Jurassic Park series.
  • Give me Hufflepuffs, who secretly are very relieved to be the 'normal' House. Jocks over there, know-it-alls over there, goth wannabees over there, now lets go camp out by the kitchens we're gonna need it to survive the next seven years like this.
  • Give me Ravenclaws who are so done with the riddles when they stumble back at midnight after having fallen asleep in the Library. "What's the truth?" "THE TRUTH IS THAT I WILL SET YOU ON FIRE IF YOU DON'T LET ME IN."
  • Give me the Trio, who use the Marauder's Map to find the most absolutely ridiculous routes to class, knowing every single one of the shortcuts. It's not odd for them to simply appear out of the ceiling. One day the new first years try to follow them, to learn the school better, but it doesn't go so well because then they try to go through a disappearing wall the Trio just did they instead run headfirst into it, and the next time they do behind a tapestry, down a waterside, around some sort of tower, causally past an entire doorless room full of bats, and somehow come out on the complete other side of the castle.
  • Give me Draco whose just completely had it with Harry's staring and confronts him, like they always do, and Harry just blurts out that he likes Draco's new haircut and can he touch his hair, and Draco so shocked he lets him. "Potter stop treating me like a cat I'm evil remember? Bloody hell have you gone daft?!" "But... it's soft..." "I hate you." But he just can't find any anger over this, so there's like no venom whatsoever in it and Harry can't stop giggling.
  • Give me Ginny, who can't stop giggling as Luna confuses the fuck out of an entire crowd with her way of speaking, and who during seventh year could 100% get away with insulting the Death Eaters because of the way she said things. Who after Luna used said tactic to get her out of a Crucio punishment just clung to Luna, shaking, and realizing that she loves Luna so much for this very reason. That there will never be another person like Luna in her life, ever.
  • Give me Harry, who was not really well educated while living at the Dursleys, who couldn't read very well but was wonderful at sneaking around, little tricks like hiding things, and loved music. He taught himself magic tricks, and MERLIN ALMIGHTY THIS 11 YEAR OLD KID HAS MASTERED VANISHING SPELLS, WHAT, HOW, and Percy, uptight prefect he is, just looses it.
  • Give me Ron walking in on Harry talking to some random snake in their dorm room, laughing like the snake said a particularly good joke, tipping his head and smiling as he responds, the python slowly curling up his arm to rest over his shoulder. Ron freezes, stares, and then slowly backs away, closes the door and stands there staring at it for a full half hour in absolute horror.
  • Give me the rest of the D.A. walking into the Room of Requirement and hearing screaming, Dean shrieking that he's going to murder someone, Hermione crying, Justin cursing like a sailor yelling for everyone to stop, and the rest panic and run around the corner and there the four Muggle-raised students are. With some sort of odd device in their hands. Playing Mario Kart.

Sometimes John and Sherlock accidentally talk all night.

Like maybe the intention to go to sleep at a normal time was there, but then they get distracted.

11 PM: They finish the movie and it just naturally feels like time for bed. Teeth are cleaned, doors are locked, and they settle in between the sheets, and damn is the bed comfortable compared to the haphazard dog pile of limbs they had gotten into on the sofa.

“What did you think of the film?”

“Nice; very enjoyable.”

“Did I tell you it was my favorite when I was a kid?”

“No. Really?”

“Yeah. Would watch it on repeat.”

“Interesting. But it’s no longer your favorite?”

“Right. I dunno- I still love it, but not in the same way.”

“I understand. Your favorite now is that one Bond, um…Die Another Day?”

“Yeah.” John gives Sherlock a small, soft smile. He looks almost bewitched.

“What’s that look for?”

“It’s for you. ”

“Yes, but why?”

“Because it’s really nice to have someone remember things like that about me.”

1 AM: The discussion has shifted to favorites, and why they’re favorites.

“So you would rather listen to that same Rolling Stones album again and again for eternity than ever even trying something like Debussey?”

“Correct.”

“Alright, well, now I know.”

“You know what?”

“That we’re breaking up.”

They laugh.

2 AM: …and now they’re just naming things they like.

John: “Long car journeys”

Sherlock: “The smell of coffee.”

“You hate coffee.”

“I hate the taste of coffee.”

“You are a complex being.”

“Thank you.”

They laugh some more.

John: “Rainy mornings that last all day.”

“Me too.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They’re lovely.”

“Why’s that?”

Sherlock fidgets with his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.

“Because you always wake me very…pleasantly… and often you continue waking me pleasantly for most of the morning…afternoon…even into the evening sometimes.”

“Do I? When it’s raining?”

“Yes. Not every time, but under a certain set of conditions I can, for the most part, look at the forecast for the morning the night before and know in advance whether or not I’ll be getting anything done the next day.”

John looks back at him, a concoction of surprise, then near embarrassment, then a sly smile.

“Interesting, see, I find that I get one thing in particular done consistently on those days.”

Sherlock snorts.

4 AM: The topic has shifted between worst hangover stories and crazy uni memories to some more difficult things, like John’s time in the service, and Sherlock’s addiction.

“We’ve sort of been dealt a few tough hands eh?”

“Truly.”

“Makes me want to take you away somewhere and just be relaxed for a bit.”

“I would agree to that in an instant.”

“Yeah? Let’s do that, then.”

“Fantastic idea!”

“I do get them on occasion.”

More laughter.

5 AM:

John is trying to work in to the concersation something he’s been wanting Sherlock to know for a long time. It’s difficult, though- he’s never really said anything like this- anything so personal.

“It says a lot about you, I think, that I can do things like this- stay awake all night, not having to be overwhelmed or rampant. You balance me, John.”

“Yeah..yeah I- I know what you mean. You also- I mean, you sort of…I don’t dread…my life to come…anymore. I used to think of all the days and years I had left to endure, wonder how I would fill them, hoping I could find something that wouldn’t feel so miserable, something to settle for, but you- fuck, Sherlock, I think back to that now and it feels like a horrible nightmare. I’m…more than just glad, to have found you. You- damn, this is hard, I-”

Sherlock ties his fingers with John’s and moves even closer.

"Take your time. No rush. No pressure. Anything you want to tell me, you can. You’re safe here.”

"I suppose…You umm…you made me rethink- my plans, for me, yes. But not only that, you also showed me a way of living so different from what I had known, so much better and full of richness, I look back at those days where I no longer wanted to be alive and think -it’s probably because I wasn’t alive. I had every responsibility and felt every drawback of life but was denied any of the good stuff. You showed me so much more than I ever knew was out there- you sort of saved my life by…showing me how to live it? That’s so cheesy, I-”

And now Sherlock is crying. So John starts crying.

6 AM: they’ve got themselves together by now and moved on to something a little lighter.

"Right…so, you mean to tell me that James Moriarty, criminal mastermind, scary man with an affinity for the latest in explosive fashion, still sleeps with a teddy bear?”

"Precisely.”

"How did you figure that one out?”

"It took a few-visits- to piece it together, mostly because I was in disbelief myself, but he shows signs of a stiff neck as if he sleeps in an extremely bent position with one arm hooked partially under himself, likely around a small item. Persistence of this soreness shows that he didn’t just sleep wrong once, he makes a habit of this position. But what really sealed the realization was the right thumbnail. Much shorter than all the others, wrinkled texture, dry skin around the edges where the rest of his finers are immaculately manicured. Exposed to moisture for long periods of time.”

"No fuckin way!”

"Oh yes. He sucks his thumb. What a terrifying creature.”

Hysterical laughter.

"I’m always curious what you could tell about me right away and what took you a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous path John- not everyone wants to know what others can tell about them.”

"Yeah but I’m just tired enough to ask anyway.”

"Well, all the things I pointed out at Bart’s…then more and more about your childhood based on your dating habits…around a month after we moved in I had narrowed down the approximate size of your…tyre lever…”

"Really?”

"Well…I had underestimated, to be honest. Your stature is misleading, as I’m sure you know.”-

"So, that is to say, you were-”

"Incredibly anxious and then surprised in the best possible way.”

"I was going for ‘not disappointed’, but alright.”

"Not in the slightest. My God, not even a little. In fact, what’s the opposite of disappointed?”

"Satisfied?”

"More than.”

"Sated?”

"Never.”

7 AM: Talking has ceased. The sun seeps in at the sides of the drapes, pale and gray. It’s a bit chilly, but neither know- it’s aafe and warm in the bubble of their room.

Neither sleep until around noon, after tea and toast in bed- the rain hits the roof in steady droves, tapping occasionally at the window if the wind blows a certain way.

Sherlock gets absolutely no work done.

anonymous asked:

“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” au sterek? <3

OK, I wrote you a quick little thing. :)

now also on ao3

*

When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.

He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”

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A Lesson in Love (Confessions)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,178

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED. Also, this is not the end of story.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - The messages you sent me after editing this part let me know that I had successfully tugged on all of the right heartstrings, so thank you for that.

Originally posted by ditchthevillian

Whenever an uncomplicated task arises, people say it’s as easy to accomplish as breathing. The adage always made perfect sense to you whenever you heard it. Breathing is second nature. It can be done without having to think twice and, sometimes, it feels like certain tasks are the same way.

Today, that’s not the case. Standing here across from Bucky for the first time in weeks, you find that breathing is anything but easy. The air was knocked out of your lungs as soon as you stumbled upon the note he wrote on the canvas and you haven’t yet recovered. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe, just breathe. But it’s hard. How are you supposed to remember to inhale and exhale in a moment like this?

“Are you going to say something?” You press, once the silence of the room becomes too unbearable. Your fingers curl tightly around the canvas as you wait for Bucky to speak. “Anything?”

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anonymous asked:

The LI's watching a drunken Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor talk endlessly to the other tavern-goers about how much they absolutely adore their lover; how wonderful and perfect they are, how incredibly blessed they are to have them. When a patron gets annoyed/bored and walks away, they just start all over with another patron.

Alistair: He’s extremely uncomfortable with the whole thing. He lets them run through two people before he drags them off to bed. “No, no. You’re embarrassing me! And you’re drunk. Just get some rest. It’s fine.”

Zevran: He’s sitting right next to the Warden the whole time, talking over them about how wonderful they are. He thinks it’s a great joke and tries to say increasingly outrageous things, hoping that the Warden will rise to the challenge, just to see the patrons’ faces.

Leliana: She thinks it’s sweet, and she’s just drunk enough to watch it all play out with a dreamy smile. For hours. Until the Warden passes out midsentence. That’s okay, though. It was lovely.

Morrigan: She claps her hand over the Warden’s mouth the moment it becomes clear that they have no intention of stopping. She’s not going to allow that. Random people in a tavern don’t deserve the Warden’s attention. And she really doesn’t want every random person in a tavern to know all that.

Fenris: He freezes up for a while, unable to figure out what to do as Hawke just babbles away to anyone who will listen about how amazing he is and how much they love him. When Hawke moves on to a fourth patron to slur at he finally manages to go over to them and get them into bed. “I love you, too, Hawke,” he says softly once they’re snoring away in bed. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was actually really nice to hear all that.

Isabela: She laughs and creates a stage out of a table and a couple of chairs and sits Hawke in the center of attention. “Yes, love, tell everyone how great I am!” She’s watching the whole thing with a grin. She loves it.

Anders: He’s pretty uncomfortable with it, but it takes him a little while to figure out what to do. In the end, Hawke rambles away to two people before he collects them and takes them home. “I love you, too, Hawke, but the tavern really isn’t the place for that.”

Merrill: She’s vibrating with both anxiety and happiness as Hawke tells anyone who will listen how much they love her. She bounces up and down in place, hands pressed to her mouth and eyes wide as she listens. Finally, she throws her arms around Hawke. “Oh, Hawke, I love you, too!” she tell them, her face buried in their shoulder. No one has ever cherished her the way Hawke does, and she loves it.

Cullen: The second he hears that the Inquisitor is in the Herald’s Rest talking about their relationship, he goes to collect them. He’s the Commander and they’re the Inquisitor, and that sort of behavior really should be allowed in public. His entire upper body is beet red when he collects his drunken lover, but he keeps his spine straight as he send them to bed.

Josephine: She’s blushing and lets it go on just a little longer than she really should just so she can hear it, then takes her lover to bed. With a glass of water right beside them, she tucks them in and kisses them goodnight, secretly pleased with what happened.

Cassandra: She smacks the Inquisitor to get them to stop, then takes them someplace quiet and private and lets them ramble about how much they love her. She wants to hear it, but she doesn’t want anyone else to hear it.

Iron Bull: He thinks it’s great fun! He keeps the Inquisitor’s cup full and lets them talk until they’re hoarse. The Chargers tease him mercilessly, but it’s all worth it!

Blackwall: “Now, my lady, that’s really improper,” he tries to say, but the Inquisitor just talks louder. After a while, he just scoops them up and sends them to bed. It’s sweet, but he’s not comfortable with it.

Sera: It’s great! Well, she knew it all already, but to hear Inky just keep talking is great! She’ll correct them sometimes or add things. And she makes sure the drinks keep coming!

Solas: He wasn’t in the tavern when it was happening, but hears the next morning that his vhenan was drunk and talking non-stop about how much they love him. He says nothing about it, not to anyone. When he sees the Inquisitor, hungover and sheepish, he kisses them lightly and makes a hangover cure, but otherwise doesn’t comment. He can’t deny, privately to himself, that he finds it oddly compelling.

Dorian: He’s right next to his amatus, and just drunk enough to let it go on without comment, his chest bowed out with pride. They laugh about it the next morning, both hungover with their limbs tangled together in the sheets.

anonymous asked:

snowbaz soulmates au where the ink you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin and vice versa

Okay, I really let my imagination run away with my words here. :D I really love this trope. But what if we took this a step further? What if, instead of soul mates, this was actually a spell that could be used to communicate with someone from far away?

Sometime around seventh year, this spell is taught in Magickal Words. And you get forced with a partner to learn it. Baz and Simon get partnered up, of course. And Simon botches the spell and makes it relatively permanent.


At first, neither of them really do anything about it. Simon might occasionally draw a stupid face or something on his arm just to piss off Baz. But Baz makes certain to no longer make notes to himself on his skin. It’s like this for almost a month. Until Simon goes on a mission for the Mage, and he receives dozens of cuts all over his arm and a few across his chest. It isn’t until he’s checking his cuts on his way back that he notices something written on his wrist.

Snow. Are you hurt?

Simon is really confused by this at first. Because why on earth would Baz be writing to him when he never has before? He immediately searches for a pen.

I’m fine, he writes back. Why? His handwriting is atrocious compared to Baz’s.

Suddenly, all these small arrows start appearing on Simon’s skin, each one pointing to his cuts. He looks under his shirt at his chest; there are some there, too.

I’m covered in scars, appears underneath his writing.

Fuck. It suddenly makes sense. He must have really fucked up the spell, and now Baz is getting all these marks on his skin where Simon’s cuts are.

I was cut, Simon writes. Do they hurt you?

Not much, Baz writes back. Be careful next time.

Simon doesn’t write back. He doesn’t know what to say. They don’t speak about it at all when he gets back. Nothing happens again until a few weeks later, over Christmas break.

Simon is sitting on his bed at Watford, trying to enjoy the quiet, when a large scar appears along the side of his neck and over his collarbone. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but begins to feel a burning sensation there. It isn’t until he goes into the bathroom to shower that he sees it. It terrifies him to see such a scar that large. He immediately runs out of the bathroom and grabs a pen.

Baz, what happened?    

Dueling. The reply is almost instant.

With who?

My father.

Did you lose?

Yes.

This almost makes Simon shiver. Baz so easily admitting defeat. In the form of one beautifully written word on his skin.

Simon walks back to the bathroom and stares at the scar in the mirror. It still burns. Burns like magick. Baz must have been hit pretty hard to have a scar left like this. He traces it up and down, wondering what it must look like against Baz’s grey skin.

Does it hurt? Came another set of words on the back of his hand.

It burns, Simon writes. Are you in pain?

I can handle it, forms along his right hand. Simon snorts at this. Of course Baz would be ambidextrous. Simon searches along his arm for a place to write but it’s all full of words. He then looks down at his legs. He’s wearing boxers, so he can write there. He’s not sure if Baz will see it immediately, but he decides to write there anyway.

I’m not left-handed, Baz, he writes. And then because of the extra space on his leg, he adds, I can’t write on my right arm.

So you decide to write on your leg instead? Idiotic, Snow. The reply appears on Simon’s leg, right under his own words. And it was almost instant again. Simon tries not to wonder if Baz is actually wearing pants at this moment.

You wrote on your own leg too, Simon writes.

To prove a point that it’s idiotic.

How is it idiotic if you’re doing it too?

There isn’t an instant reply this time, and Simon realizes they’ve written all the way from his knee cap to the top of his thigh. Something they could only do if they’re both not wearing pants. Simon really tries not to think about it.


(I don’t know what this was, I’m sorry. But maybe I’ll turn it into a real fic one day :D)

Little Notes

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Masterlist

Request: “A cute little Bucky X Reader idea popped into my head today. How about the reader always writes reminders/her To Do list on her hands, so she always has writing in them. She’s so busy all the time that she often falls asleep wherever she sits down in the tower. When she wakes up she sometimes finds new notes written on her hands written by none other than the Bucky Barnes. Do what you wish with this little idea, I trust your creative genius! Thank you always for writing 💜” - @lovelyladylilac

Word Count: 1972

Warning: little bit of fluff

To @lovelyladylilac, thank you for requesting the cutest ideas, and thank you for checking in on me when I’m absent for too long. Even in my writer’s block and overwhelming life you’re always there to make my day and help me focus on what makes me happy. You mean the world to me! <3

Keep reading

Punk (Chap. 12)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 3923

Warnings: language, talk about injuries, sarcasm (sometimes jokes are okay)

A/N:  Thank you all for the amazing feedback and support on the last chapter.  I’m completely blown away and ecstatic that you like the story.  I hope you like this next part, it’s a little drawn out but I had some angst I needed to get out.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Thank you again for your patience between updates.  



Apparently Natasha didn’t actually want you to answer that question.  She was ranting and raving, throwing her hands in the air, pointing a polished, accusatory finger in your direction.  She switched from English to Russian so quickly that it seemed as is if she were a one-woman show playing all the parts.  You couldn’t get a word in edgewise though.  Every time you opened your mouth to reply she merely answered herself or spoke right over you with a barrage of “what were you thinkings” “you could have dieds” “I’ve never seen anything do stupid in my entire lifes” “what the hell is wrong with yous” and what you suspected were several rude and explicit Russian insults.

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anonymous asked:

prompt: isak comforting and taking care of even during one of his depressive episodes in their new apartment xxx

Anonymous said: Skam prompt: Isak looking after Even during an episode, maybe?


It never feels like Isak’s looking after Even when he’s like this.

Not really, anyway. It feels more like…helping him out. 

Even can’t bring himself to make breakfast? Okay, Isak can cook some eggs for the two of them, even if he can’t make them as well as Even does. Even feels overwhelmed at the idea that it’s his turn to wash the dishes? Well, there’s probably some dishes still left over from Isak’s turn, anyway. Even can’t handle going to school? Isak can let the school know and pop over to his teachers to collect any work Even’s missed. He genuinely, really, absolutely, doesn’t mind. He knows that as soon as Even feels better, he’ll pick things back up. Until then, Isak is there to help him out. Which is okay. Things are okay. Things will be okay. 

One day, Isak finds himself walking home from school and, despite himself, he can’t help walk that bit quicker knowing Even is home, alone, feeling low and a little hopeless.

He steps inside and heat hits him like a punch to the face. Because Jesus, their flat feels like a fucking sauna. They’re entering the summer months anyway, and they have so many large windows that it kind of turns their place into a greenhouse when the sun’s out. But it’s more than that. Isak’s fingers trail over the radiator and find it almost boiling to the touch. He frowns, switches the heating off, and walks into his and Even’s bedroom.
Even is curled up in bed, duvet splayed on the floor, t-shirt and hair damp with sweat. Isak swallows hard, because it just isn’t a nice sight. Even just looks so small like this. 

At some point, Isak’s legs remember how to work. He opens their window as wide as it will go before climbing in bed, next to Even, pressing a kiss on his cheek to wake him up.

“Are you trying to cook yourself alive, or?” Isak murmurs, laughing a little nervously, trying not to make his worry abundantly clear. 

It takes Even a little while to respond, but eventually, he opens his eyes. Looks at Isak before his eyes dart away quickly as he rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. 

“I tried turning it down, but…” His voice is small, raspy, and his eyes are teary and tired and God, Isak just wants to make it all go away for him. “I couldn’t figure it out, so.”

“I’ve fixed it,” Isak murmurs gently, threading a hand through Even’s hair. It’s a bit gross; greasy and sweaty, and if Isak’s honest, Even hasn’t showered in days and the whole room stinks because of it. It’s alright, though. Isak doesn’t mind that much.

“I just.” Even swallows hard, tired eyes fluttering shut, looking on the verge of tears. And Even’s cried over less when he’s been like this; out of frustration and exhaustion and, well, depression. Isak learnt a long time ago that comforting words can’t always do a huge amount when Even’s like this. That the best thing he can do sometimes is simply sit there and be with him.

“Hey,” Isak murmurs, turning Even’s face to look at him, making their eyes meet. Even’s eyes are a little dulled, a little less light, a little less starry. They’re heavy, exhaustion radiating from them, but they’re still Even’s eyes. Wonderful and perfect and Isak loves them just the same. “Minute by minute, yeah?”

Even swallows again. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and Isak smiles a little, brushing his thumb over Even’s cheek, then his mouth. He closes the distance between them and kisses him, soft and undemanding and reassuring. Just letting him know he’s there. Even’s mouth tastes a little bitter, teeth unbrushed and lips dry and chapped, but Isak wouldn’t want any other lips but these. Even’s. Even, who is the brightest and kindest and most beautiful person Isak knows, even when he’s low like this. 

“How about a shower?” Isak suggests tentatively. 

After half a minute of silence, Even nods, pulling himself out of bed with heavy limbs and tired eyes. It’s progress, though. Good progress. 

Isak fixes the shower so it’s the colder side of warm - they’re both boiling from the heat of the flat - and when Even gets undressed, Isak picks his clothes up. Says, “I’ll join you in a minute, I just need to put the washing on.”

Isak collects the rest of the dirty clothes from their bedroom which - okay, their bedroom is a tip, but Isak’s never been particularly tidy and maybe it does go to shit a tiny bit when Even isn’t there to remind him to pick his clothes up. But whatever.

He strips the bed linen, too, down to the pillow cases, and crams everything into the washing machine before returning to the bathroom. Even is under the shower, rubbing the shower gel over his body kind of numbly and methodically. Isak undresses himself, steps in the shower with Even, and smiles up at him. Kisses him once, softly and gently. Another day, another mood, kisses in the shower can be messy and hungry and desperate. But not in times like this. Times like this, the kiss is nothing but a reassuring hello, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Noses brushing against one another, foreheads together, deep breaths and closed eyes. Standing under the jets of water and melting into one being. And Isak just can’t help thinking that if something as simple as love could make Even happy, then he’d be the happiest boy in the world. 

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Of Hidden Talents (Feysand Fluff)

So this just popped into my head last night when I couldn’t sleep. Set post-ACOWAR and contains nothing but fluff.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Feyre found herself commenting, smiling slightly as she tried not to groan in pleasure under Rhys’ hands.

He chuckled from where he was seated behind her, the sound sending a thrill through her spine, even decades into their relationship. “I should hope so; I have to keep my High Lady entertained somehow. Wouldn’t want her eternity to get boring.”

“Boring? How could I ever get bored with a mate who thinks so much of himself?” She shot back, though its effect was lost when she leaned further into him, her hands running over the legs that were on either side of her. She could feel the delicious heat of his bare chest so close behind her, the thin nightdress she was wearing a poor barrier between them. 

Rhys’ fingers continued to comb through her hair, expertly separating it into three equal parts. “I take offense to that.”

Feyre let out an aborted snort. “No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t,” Rhys agreed, in a blithe voice.

They fell into a comfortable silence then, built on years of learning how to just be together. Neither of them felt the need to always fill the air between them with pointless chatter. Oh, they liked to joke and bicker… but they also knew when to let words fade away and just enjoy each other’s company.

It had been happening more of late, likely because Rhys had refused to leave Feyre’s side for the past few months. He was a constant presence at her side, though he did his best not to hover too much (he knew all too well how she loathed feeling locked in, how it still made her bones lock up in fear, even after all this time). He needn’t have worried; Feyre never, never felt tied down by her mate, never felt confined by him. She knew that even now, when he was so concerned about her, he would give her space if she asked.

(He’d once told her, in a fit of hopeless romanticism, that he would give her the very stars above Velaris if he could. Feyre had believed him, of course, if only because she said she would do the same for him.)

So Feyre was quiet, letting Rhys gently braid her hair as if he’d done it hundreds of times before. She’d been utterly surprised when he’d offered to do it for her earlier, after he’d heard her curse in front of the mirror while she struggled with trying to tame her wild locks into something more manageable. Feyre was so tired these days and sore too, the heavier she got. And she was constantly hot then cold, her hair always in the way and, Cauldron, she didn’t care for it much now and all the work it took to keep it neat, not when she was already so uncomfortable. She’d been beyond tempted to just chop it all off, had Rhys not stepped in when he did with his innocuous offer.

At first she tried to deny the existence of a problem but she really couldn’t hide anything from Rhys; he knew her too well, felt her struggles through their mating bond and tried to ease her discomfort as much as he could. (Rightly so, Feyre sometimes thought when she particularly annoyed with how limited she was lately, considering he’s the one that put me into this situation in the first place.) 

So here they were, Rhys’s gentle hands working wonders on Feyre’s nerves, his fingers softly tugging at her hair as he built the braid into something spectacular; Feyre herself was usually no slouch when it came her hair (at least when she wasn’t so cranky), but she had the feeling that Rhys was even better. So many hidden talents, this mate of mine.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She’d felt his hesitancy when he first offered, that pang of grief that he’d been unable to conceal from her.

“My sister,” Rhys said after a long pause. His voice had lost that light-hearted edge from earlier, filled instead with wistful regret. “She’d come to me when our mother was too busy for it. She could have asked the servants, of course… but she liked to spend a few moments with me, I think. She continued to ask even long after she could do it by herself. I never had the heart to say no.” 

Feyre’s own heart ached for her mate, for the family he’d lost so long ago. He rarely spoke of the little sister she’d never meet, even less so than his mother. From what she’d gleaned over the years, his sister had been quite a bit younger than him, had looked up to him in a way no one else ever had. Feyre couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for him to have to bury her broken body.

She rubbed her thumbs comfortingly over the sides of his knees. I’m sorry, she sent softly to him through their bond. I’m sorry

Rhys’ mind caressed hers. Me too.

Feyre kept running her hands soothingly over him, tempted to turn around and pull him to her, wrap her arms around those broad shoulders of his. She didn’t though; the act of braiding seemed to calm him… like coming home to something he’d thought he’d long forgotten. (Still, she wished she could protect him from all the pain he endured… but that same pain had made him into the wonderful male he was today.) 

When he was finally done, she saw his finished work briefly through his eyes, the image flashing through her mind.

“It’s beautiful,” Feyre said with a smile, reaching up to run her fingers over the intricate pattern he’d managed to weave her hair into. “Thank you.”

Rhys’ strong arms around wrapped around her body, finally pulling her back to rest against his chest. “I figured it was about time I got some practice,” he whispered in her ear as he moved one hand to cover her rounded belly. “I wouldn’t want our poor daughter to be left with an inept father.”

Feyre tangled her fingers with Rhys’, holding them over her stomach, where their unborn baby was slowly growing. “You could never be an inept father, Rhys,” she told him softly. Rhys only pressed kiss under her jaw in response, though she could feel his quiet gratitude for her faith in him. “Besides, how do you know it’ll be a girl?” Feyre continued, turning her head so she could arch an eyebrow at him.

Mischief lit his violet eyes. “Perhaps I asked Elain.”

Feyre leveled a look at him. “Elain would never tell you, even if she knew.” Her sister had become quite the responsible seer over the years, never revealing more than was necessary. (Well, that and Feyre had wanted it to be a surprise, telling Elain in no uncertain terms not to let Rhys charm the answer out of her.)

“Then let’s call it a father’s intuition,” Rhys replied now, unable to stop his grin.

Feyre laughed, leaning her head against the edge of his jaw. “She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger, isn’t she?” 

“Of course,” he kissed her forehead, his happiness a near tangible thing. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Feyre could only cuddle in closer. She looked at where their joined hands were resting on her belly. Don’t worry, baby, she thought, we love you already, no what you turn out to be.

(A few years later, when their daughter runs up to Feyre, her hair braided in a crown around her head, little flowers carefully tucked in the midnight blue strands, she doesn’t need to ask who did it. Rhys’ proud smile is answer enough.)

Something about Fate

Dean decides to go to a new psychic in town - just for the hell of it, of course - with his roommate Castiel, and doesn’t get the reading he was expecting.

~5.2k

AO3

“Hey, Cas, have you ever been to a psychic?”

Dean watched as Castiel looked up from his book with his eyebrows pinched together.

“No.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged.

“Garth texted me. Apparently there’s one in town that he went to yesterday and he’s obsessed. He said she really knows her stuff.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the textbook he had sprawled across their kitchen counter, so he could eat and study at the same time - a sight that was not all that uncommon in their apartment.

“Psychics don’t exists, Dean,” he said, matter-of-factly, as he turned the page. “People who claim to be psychic are scammers hoping to draw in the desperate or the gullible. Garth is the latter, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, he’s not -”

“Remember when Gabriel told him that stop signs with a white rim around them were optional?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out a stool on the opposite side of the counter from his roommate.

“Duh, Cas. I know that they aren’t legit. Everyone does. But at the very least they’re supposed to be super good at reading people and then you essentially pay them to tell you what their first impression of you is.”

A small smile crept its way across Castiel’s face.

“I could tell you that for free, you know.”

Dean flipped him off as he got up and pulled out an apple from the refrigerator, not even bothering to look back as he did so.

“Whatever. I think it could be kind of cool.”

“Then by all means…” Castiel wrote something down in a notepad and flipped to the next page. “I think you should do it. I have free time tomorrow if you’d like to find this psychic then.”

Dean tossed the apple between his hands.

“You’d come with me?”

“Of course. I would never miss the opportunity to witness someone predicting your death.”

Castiel laughed as Dean flipped him off again.

Keep reading

The Fourth Musketeer (Part 2)

Originally posted by fyeahriverdale

Part one here

Requests: I just read The Fourth Musketeer and I’m in love! Will you release the next part soon? I can’t wait ❤❤❤

Can u please do a part 2 of “the four musketeer” please?

I know requests are closed and so please don’t even rush with this request like honestly take however long you want to, but I actually need a 2nd part of ‘the fourth musketeer’ your writing is so amazing!

Pairing: Archie x Reader

Description: Veronica has become invested in (Y/N)’s story, and so she seeks out those who knew her.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,437

Tag list: @isis278 @lost-in-wonderland-x @spam-to-follow@thatspidernamedmeagan @isabellarose5150

A/N: I have been having so much fun writing this series, hope you guys enjoy this part!


“(Y/N)” was the only word that came out of Veronica’s mouth as she sat down at the lunch table. Jughead, Betty, and Kevin’s heads all snapped up.

“How do you know about (Y/N)?” Kevin questioned.  Veronica shrugged.

“Archie was kind of having a meltdown at Jughead’s party,” she answered.  Betty and Jughead shared a concerned look.

“God, what happened?” Betty asked.

“He was screaming her name when I came up,” Veronica explained.  "He babbled on about how much he loved her and that he should’ve told her and that he kissed her.“

“Wait, he kissed her?” Kevin interrupted, his eyes doubling in size.  He glanced over at Jughead and Betty who appeared to be just as shocked as he was.

“You didn’t know?” Veronica’s eyes widened.

“No,” Jughead muttered, shaking his head.  "He never told us.“

“We always knew they had a thing for each other,” Kevin elaborated.  "But we never knew that something actually happened between them.“

"When did she move?”

“Two years ago,” Jughead answered.  "The summer before eighth grade.“

"There was this dance,” Betty reminisced, “in the fall of our eighth grade year.”

“Archie was gonna ask (Y/N),” Jughead frowned.  "He was preparing himself ever since he first heard about the dance.“

"And he never got the chance,” Kevin sighed.

“Do you know why she moved?” Veronica inquired.  The rest of her table shrugged.

“Probably her dad,” Betty replied.  "He was a really intense lawyer, and he got relocated to some big city firm.“

”(Y/N) was gonna try and stay with the Andrews,“ said Jughead.  "They were more than willing to take her in, too. But-”

“But, of course, her parents wanted her to go with them,” Veronica finished.  Jughead grimly nodded.  "So two whole years, and Archie still isn’t over this girl?“

"Well the thing is,” Betty grimaced, “he never coped well with her leaving.  After (Y/N) left he was… strange.  He practically denied her existence.”

“Seriously?”

"Yeah,” Kevin chimed in.  "He never talked about her or anything.  It was pretty frightening, actually.  It seemed like he had completely forgotten about her.“

"And if you’re wondering why Archie can’t get over her,” Jughead answered Veronica’s unasked question, “it’s because he was always in love with her.”

“Yeah, he told me that,” she mumbled.

“I don’t think you understand though,” he said.  "They were both so in love.  They were always there for each other, caring for each other.  When Archie’s parents were fighting, (Y/N) was there; whenever (Y/N)’s dog died, Archie was there.  You couldn’t find one without the other.  Betty and I were also good friends with them, but those two?  They were inseparable.“


Maybe it was Veronica’s fascination with dramatic love stories; maybe it was her desire for an explanation as to why Archie didn’t return her feelings for him.  Either way, she found herself searching for more information about (Y/N).  That was how she ended up at the Andrews household.  Archie wasn’t home.

”(Y/N)?“ Fred Andrews repeated, holding a beer as he sat across from Veronica.  "I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“I, on the contrary, have been hearing her name quite a lot lately,” Veronica shrugged, sipping on a glass of water.  "So what happened between her and Archie?“

"Oh, I don’t think it’s my place to say,” Mr. Andrews sighed.  "It’s Archie’s tale to tell.“

"He already told me about her,” Veronica quickly explained.  "But only the happy parts.  Only the parts he wants to remember.“  Mr. Andrews exhaled and took another swig of beer.  He stared at Veronica for a moment in silence.

"Why do you want to know?” he finally asked.

“I like hearing stories,” she shrugged. “This sounds like a good book.”  Fred Andrews laughed.

“If this was a book,” he responded, “my son would’ve had a happy ending with that girl.”

“Maybe he will,” Veronica offered.  "I don’t think the story’s over yet.“  Fred’s laughter shrunk into a smile.  He cleared his throat.

"If there’s one thing you should know about (Y/N),” he started, “it’s that she is the purest soul you will ever meet.  She was kind and gentle, and she was exactly what Archie needed.”  Veronica quietly nodded, intrigued.  "I knew both her father and mother quite well.  So, of course, when our children were born around the same time, we knew we wanted them to be best friends.  A couple years later, we realized we wanted them to get married.“  Fred Andrews and Veronica both laughed.  "Sometimes in the movies you see the boy and girl resisting each other because when you’re little, it’s gross to talk to someone who’s the opposite gender.  That was never the case with Archie and (Y/N).  They were both sweet on each other.”

“That’s so cute,” Veronica cooed.

“It was,” Mr. Andrews sighed.  "I remember this one day; I think Archie was eleven at the time.  He and (Y/N) were at the park all day, as they usually were.  That night, he came running home and swung the door open.  His mouth was going at a mile per minute.  When I finally got him to slow down, he told me that he was in love with (Y/N).  He had the biggest grin on his face.“

"The day he kissed her?” Veronica clarified.  Mr. Andrews chuckled.

“Yeah.  God, it made me so happy.  I knew that he sometimes overheard his mom and I fighting, and I was worried that it would somehow affect his relationships.  That kind of stuff damages a kid, you know?  But he had stars in his eyes as he talked about (Y/N), and I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy since then.”

“I heard you offered to take her in,” Veronica changed the subject, “when she was going to move.”  Fred Andrews stiffly nodded.

“Archie’s mom and I fought a lot.  But (Y/N)’s parents?  That poor kid.  She slept over here so many times because the screaming was keeping her awake.  And the saddest part was she never cried or appeared to be sad.  She would just come in here, clutching Archie’s hand, looking up at me with big sad eyes and politely asked me to stay.  Of course, I never refused.”  Veronica frowned.  "When I heard she was moving, I was concerned about how crushed Archie was, sure, but I couldn’t bear to let (Y/N) go off on her own with her parents.  At least when she was in Riverdale, I knew she had a safe place here.  Now, I don’t know if she has one.“  He took a long swig of beer before continuing. ”(Y/N) was like a daughter to me.  Archie isn’t the only one who loved her.“

"Sounds like a special girl,” Veronica commented.  Fred nodded.

“She was.”


“Have you ever considered writing a book about this?”  Veronica sat across from Jughead in Pop’s.  He lightly glared at her, lowering his laptop lid.

“Write about what?” he snapped.  She had interrupted his writing when he was in the zone.

“(Y/N),” she answered.  Jughead shot a glance at Betty.

“You know before Jason Blossom was shot, (Y/N) and Archie were the most interesting things in Riverdale.”

“Wasn’t there a two-year gap between (Y/N) leaving and Jason getting shot?” Veronica inquired.

“Isn’t it interesting that someone so in love could just pretend that the person they loved never existed?” Betty countered on Jughead’s behalf.

“Touché,” Veronica muttered.

“Anyways, to answer your question, of course I’ve considered it,” Jughead said.  "In fact, I already wrote a whole novel.“

"Seriously?” Betty and Veronica exclaimed simultaneously.  Jughead nodded nonchalantly.

“Of course.  But I do think something is missing,” he responded.  Veronica furrowed her eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I kept it non-fiction,” he elaborated.  "I didn’t add anything that didn’t happen.  Although, I guess now I’ll have to put in the kiss.  Anyways, I don’t have a plot twist.“

”(Y/N) moving isn’t plot twist enough for you?“ Betty asked a question this time.

"That’s the climax,” he explained.  "Everything that happened after that was the falling action.  I have no plot twist and no resolution.“  All three sitting at the table furrowed their eyebrows.  A faint jingle alerted the diner that there was a new customer.  Betty casually glanced up and then did a double take at what she saw.  She gripped Jughead’s arm.

"Is that plot twist enough for you?” she whispered, gesturing towards the entrance.  Jughead and Veronica’s gaze both snapped towards the front, their focus attaching to the figure who just walked in.

“No way,” Jughead breathed.

“Is that…” Veronica trailed off, unable to form a sentence.  Jughead and Betty both nodded, confirming her suspicions.

“(Y/N).”

Part three here     Part four here     Part five here

A Kryptonian and an Amazonian: Kara and Diana (and the wonders of ice cream)

based on this post from @dealanexmachina and @randomthingsthatilike123 – https://avidreaderffn.tumblr.com/post/161453797376/i-need-diana-kara-fic-stat


Alex grins over from across the diner at her little sister and her new friend, leaning conspiratorially into each other in a booth at Noonan’s. 

Both in glasses – one to conceal her identity, one because why the hell not? – both moaning as they dig into the massive ice cream sundae on the table between them.

“I only had to cross an ocean to encounter this delicious cream,” Diana is telling her. “You had to cross – what did you call it?”

“The Phantom Zone,” Kara nods, closing her eyes as she leaves the spoon upside down in her mouth a little longer than necessary, oblivious to the way Diana stops eating to stare wide-eyed at Kara’s lips.

“Was it lonely? That Phantom Zone?”

Kara shrugs as she opens her eyes, and Diana wonders at the kind of blue.

“I don’t remember it. Being stuck there. Except sometimes in dreams. Alex would wake me up screaming when we were kids. My planet would be burning and I’d be stuck in what felt like an abyss, in my pod, and I couldn’t…”

Diana reaches a hand out for Kara’s, and their eyes lock hard.

“It must have been beautiful. Krypton.”

Kara’s smile returns even as tears prick her eyes. “My father used to take me to the edges of Argo City to watch our sun rise – it was red, not yellow like this one – and so much of our cities were just… awash in silver, in our technology, and it could have been sterile, I guess.”

She adjusts her glasses and swipes her spoon through a river of chocolate fudge and licks it off slow, thoughtful. Accidentally seductive, even as Diana’s heart bleeds along with her words.

“But it wasn’t. The way the rising sun would reflect off of all that metal… it was anything but cold. It was… Anyway. It’s gone, now.”

Diana shakes her head slowly. “Not in your heart, Kara Zor-el. Nothing can ever truly be gone. Not if you keep it alive inside you.”

Kara sighs and creates the ultimate sundae spoonful: wet walnuts, fudge,ice cream, a piece of banana, sprinkles, whipped cream. She offers it out to Diana, who accepts, and her eyes fly wide as she moans so loudly, so joyously, that Alex – now joined by her girlfriend – isn’t the only one in Noonan’s turning to stare. Kara giggles.

“The first time I tried it, I got so excited I started flying without even trying to. Alex tried to hold me down but wound up just coming along for the ride.”

Diana laughs, and it’s light and it’s happy and it’s so damn full. 

“Your sister’s a brave warrior, it seems. Angry. Frightening, perhaps. But loyal. And that police woman seems to make her smile more easily.”

Kara nods and they both glance over at Alex and Maggie, who catch their eyes and wave. 

“She’s the only reason I ever felt at home on this planet. Alex. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Diana thinks of Steve, of gas and of planes. She thinks of her aunt, of generals and of last breaths.

Kara doesn’t have J’onn’s telepathy, but she knows anyway. She knows that look.

She sees it in the mirror far too often.

Nearly every time she looks.

“My aunt died, too. Was killed. She survived – she survived, I got her back, a piece of my home, and then she – “ Kara shudders, and tries not to think of Alex. 

Alex, protecting her space father.

Alex, loyal to a fault.

Alex, her sister, her world, who somehow became a hardened soldier without her noticing.

“She died. In battle. A renowned General.” Kara smiles softly, and it’s Diana, this time, who tries her hand at creating the perfect spoonful of sundae and offers it to Kara.

“I thought the world would never be able to go on when I lost my general. My mother’s sister. It felt like… you know what it felt like, Kara Zor-el.”

Kara nods, and remembers holding Astra, dying. Remembers holding Alex, weeping. Remembers holding her hand out for J’onn, breathing, breathing. Breathing.

“I have a projection of my mother. Maybe we could try to make one of your aunt. At the DEO. It… it’s not the same, and sometimes… sometimes I don’t know if she left me with the burden of caring for Earth or the burden of righting the wrongs I didn’t even know she’d done, but it… it’s comforting, anyway. Being able to see her. Talk to her. Even if it’s not really her.”

Diana’s eyes sparkle at this girl’s generosity. The way this woman bears the weight of multiple planets on shoulders that somehow still manage to look carefree. 

This warrior who doesn’t at all think herself a warrior.

But perhaps that’s what makes her such a powerful one.

“How have you done it, Kara? Seen all you’ve seen, and still… Ares told me that this world doesn’t deserve me, that I should rule it, enslave it, rather than… they kill and they torture and they… how have you done it?”

Kara pokes at their slowly disappearing, slowly melting sundae with her spoon.

“Ice cream helps,” she smiles softly, and Diana looks at her like she’s the sun. Because maybe she is.

“Love,” she amends more seriously. “If I let go of it, I… Alex does terrible things. The person I love most in the world. She hurts people, and she thinks… she thinks it’s alright, because it’s always in defense of someone she loves. She doesn’t think about the people who love the person she’s beating. Or, she does, but… after. Maggie’s helping her with it. J’onn too. And I’m trying. Sometimes I feel like it’s my fault, like I turned her into someone this ruthless, but I… I guess what I’m saying is… I love her. I love her more than my own life. All of her. And she helps me understand. Humans. This planet. The things people do out of fear. Out of love. Out of terror of losing love. The people you’ve found, Diana. They have to be your anchor. Otherwise it… otherwise it consumes you. The things Ares said to you. And you can’t let it. You’re too good.”

“As are you, Kara. As are you.”

Kara licks her lips and lets her eyes lock hard into Diana’s. 

“You know what also helps?”

Diana shakes her head, her eyes starting to sparkle, her lips starting to quirk up into an excited smile.

“Pool,” Kara grins.

“We have pools on Themyscira! Mystical pools, with water that – what?” she trails off, smiling in slight confusion, because Kara is laughing and touching her hand and god, she can feel the undercurrent of Kara’s power even in her gentle, affectionate gesture, and it makes her gulp.

“No, I mean a game. Come on. Alex and Maggie will show you.”

Kara is up and offering her hand, and Diana is taking it but her eyes are wide and her lips are playful.

“Can we get more ice cream there?” she asks, and Kara beams.

“Great thing about this city? We can get ice cream almost anywhere.”


You asked for it, @cassiebones @avidreaderffn @mrriggerworld @tiffanytheweirdo @misadventurous-meridian @supertworld 

Twenty things I’ve learned in Twenty Years

1. Life will break you down until you’re crawling on your hands and knees, until you feel like you are Atlas holding the world upon your shoulders, until you feel like the raging inferno inside of your chest is going to combust. These are the moments that will forge you in a fire and make you more unbreakable than diamonds.

2. We are made of stardust, at least that’s what they say. I remember someone told me that every atom in my body once belonged to a star that exploded. At night I stare at my hands and wonder when I will erupt. I know now that I cannot trust anyone else to keep me whole in the darkest hours of the night but my own two star infused arms.

3. You will fall in love, and that is okay. Sometimes we need to fall in love to remember that there is good out there. Fall in love with the boy who opens the door for you, fall in love with your boss who works too hard, fall in love with the woman who hands out roses on that one street corner, fall in love with yourself.

4. They weren’t lying when they said we accept the love we think we deserve. I grew up being told I was a mistake and so I adopted the idea that no one could ever love a mistake. I was wrong (they were wrong) and now it’s up to me to prove them wrong. Don’t believe the things they said, you are so much more than the toxins they tried to poison you with.

5. Close your eyes, count to ten, and open them again. You are not alone. I know it may feel like you are the only one, but believe me when I say that you aren’t. I was where you are, and now I have talked to more people that have been through much worse than I than I would like to admit to. You are never alone, not really.

6. Music can save. Play it as loud as you can with the windows down as you drive (probably a little too fast). Play it while you are at work and while you are in the shower and play it when you want to give up in the middle of the day and when you want to give up in the middle of the night. Just play the music that tugs at your heartstrings, it may save you.

7. Nothing in life is easy, not really. You will catch a few breaks here and there, but the rest of the time you will find yourself fighting tooth and nail to make it back to the top. Don’t give up, I almost did this year and if I had I wouldn’t be able to witness what the sun looks like shining in her eyes.

8. You will have scars, and that’s fine. We all have them but it’s up to you if you want to hide them or show your battle wounds to the world so they know how strong of a warrior you are, so they know not to fuck with you.

9. Watch the sunrise, and watch the sunset. There is something about the sun that screams life; let the light bleed into you and consume you until you shine with it. Sometimes it’s the simple things we are missing in life that we need the most.

10. They will say they love you and then they will turn around and break your heart. You cannot compare your life’s worth to the empty spaces that were once filled around you. People will leave (willing or not) and life will go on. Let life go on.

11. If you are under the impression you are broken, then it is up to you to decide if you are or not. It took me years to admit that I was never quite whole, but when I did it was the most freeing feeling ever. Brokenness does not take away from perfection, and you are the very definition of perfect.

12. It’s okay to let people in, you don’t need to cage yourself away from the rest of the world, don’t forget to live your life while you pursue safeness.

13. Hobbies will save you when all else fails you, find a hobby and stick to it. When the world feels all too loud, a hobby can make you go deaf.

14. The moment you realize Wonder Woman or any other superhero you idolized as a child is not going to swoop down and save you is when your life changes. You have to be your own hero in this world. Stop waiting for someone to save you and go save yourself.

15. They are gone, she took her own life and he died in a car crash and she died from cancer and he left. You cannot live your life counting how many people that held a piece of your heart vanished, I’m not saying to forget about them I’m just saying that it’s okay to say goodbye.  

16. It’s okay to cry; cry in the shower and in bed and in your car, being sad is okay as long as you don’t let it consume you.

17. Smile as much as you can even on the bad days.

18. For God’s sake, don’t let them ruin you. You are so strong, you’ve made it this far and that means you can make it another day. If you can get through today you can get through tomorrow and every day that follows. If you feel like you can’t get through the day then sit down and don’t move until the light is peaking in through your window.

19. Never say never. If you think you can’t do something try anyway, this is your life, you are the main character of your own story, but you are also the author of your story. Write it however you want, but don’t give up halfway through.

20. Just don’t take your life. While this is something I learned this year I’m also writing this as a reminder to myself and to you. Don’t do it, please. There can be more to life than what you are feeling right now, don’t rob yourself of the beauty of this world. Don’t give up, no matter how much it hurts.
—  An open letter to myself, and to you. (Sometimes I write until I run out of words) ALightLitInTheDark
Come Here - Jughead x Reader

Request — Anonymous asked: Can you write one where you think jughead looks amazing in the south side jacket and you let him know and you always pull him by the jacket to kiss him

A/N — I could not get over this request, that finale episode of Riverdale last night FUCKED me up so bad like… can Jughead not get any hotter it’s great and I’m actually loving it. Also, this contains spoilers (duh) since it’s based on episode 13 so if you haven’t watched it yet I’d recommend not to read it if you haven’t watched it yet. Anyway I hope you enjoy this imagine and it may or may not turn into some sort of smut (?), and I’ve changed this up a bit so I hope you don’t mind.

Words: 1050

Warnings: Heavy make out

(Y/N) , (Y/L/N) , (H/C) , (E/C) - Your name, your last name, hair colour, eye colour.

Riverdale was finally coming to a peace. The mystery of Jason Blossom’s murder finally came to a close and all was calm. (Y/N), Jughead, Archie, Betty and Veronica all sat in a booth at Pop’s sipping on a milkshake flavour of their choice. This whole year, you and Jughead got closer and closer due to working on the case with him and the rest of the gang trying to figure out the murder of Jason. Spending long hours alone with you and your crush at the Blue and Gold after school made you really realise your feelings about him and how it affected you. One night, (Y/N) and Jughead stayed together investigating down at Sweetwater River and shared a kiss since the two of you knew that there was sexual tension was there with them. Ever since that incident they haven’t touched each other since. Sure, every time they have a moment alone they always wonder who’s leading who first, but the both of you were two shy at that moment.

After Pop’s, Archie walked Veronica, Betty went home to join her family for dinner and Jughead took (Y/N) to his FP’s house in the Southside. When Jughead broke the news to everyone that he got transferred to Southside High and live with his new foster family instead of living in Riverdale with Archie and his dad. Everyone was shocked and devastated by the news but not as much as (Y/N). So this was her only chance to try express her feelings towards him before he leaves since she doesn’t know when she’ll ever see him again. He bent down to the doormat in front of the door, picking up a key and digging it into the door. The house was still knocked around and ruined since he last came and had his breakdown, making Jughead get chills. You knew something was bothering him, so you walked over and held onto his arm.

“Hey Juggie, are you okay?” You asked him, looking up into his green eyes with your (E/C) ones. He sighed deeply, taking off his familiar crown-shaped beanie and throwing it to the ground.

“I don’t know, I mean… I’m not feeling it. This place just reminds me of him, y’know. This may be my last time ever coming here, (Y/N), since I have no idea how long my dad will be in jail for and I’ll be living with my foster family.” He brushed a hand through his hair as he explained to her the situation. He sat down on FP’s couch, holding his face in his hands as shortly after, you joined him.

“H-Hey, Jug? Since this may be the last time I talk to you for a while, God knows how long, I just wanted to get something straight. Since we kissed at Sweetwater River that one night, I literally have not stopped thinking about you. I’ve had this feeling about you for, I don’t know, months now. You make me so happy every time I see you and it makes me smile knowing that you actually acknowledge me. I guess,” (Y/N) paused. “I guess I love you, Jughead. I love you, Jughead Jones.”  You finally admitted. He stared at you, before you noticed his lips creep up into a smile as he scooted over to you, placing his hand on yours as he stroked his thumb against your soft skin.

“I love you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” He smirked at you, making you bite your lip. And just like that, you found your lips back on his once again. The familiar sensation running through your body sent tingles down your spine as it did for him as well. He moved his hand from yours to your left cheek as the kiss deepened. You felt yourself smile in the kiss as your tongues intertwined.

As the two of you both pulled away, he smirked leaning over and pulling you onto his lap and kissed you passionately once again in his arms. You pulled his face against yours again connecting each others lips. He moved his hands to grip onto your shirt clinging at your waist as your tugged on his hair. A small groan escaped his lips, easily turning him on. He then picked you up, pushing your back against a wall as he held you up, quickly after attaching his swollen lips back at (Y/N)’s matching ones. As you tipped your head back, he kissed his way down to your neck, nibbling against your collarbone making a moan escape your lips. In the middle of leaving his mark against your burning skin until a loud knock interrupted your heavy moment, breaking up the intense moment. Jughead quickly put you down as he fixed his clothes, walking towards the door and opening it.

As (Y/N) waited for him to be finished, she quickly stood up pulling her jacket over her body as she waited behind the door to find a returning Jughead, holding his fathers Serpent jacket. He shut the door, staring down at it.

“Is it your dad’s?” You asked in curiosity. Jughead simple just nodded, still scanning his eyes over the embroidery stitched into its leather.

“Should I?” He turned his gaze to settle on her, wondering if he was to wear it. “The Serpents dropped by and gave me it. They have my back, (Y/N), does that make me one too?”

“Jug, if you want to join The Serpents that doesn’t make you a bad guy. Stop worrying, at least try on the jacket!” She gushed over him, leaning against the wall as she watched him.

Jughead stared down at the jacket, taking in it’s final details before slipping it onto his broad arms, turning to look at a mirror as he adjusted it, a smirk falling onto his lips as he turned back to look at you. “So, how do I look?”

(Y/N) smirked, taking herself off the wall as she bit her lip, strutting over to him.

“I’m loving this bad boy Jughead Jones, hopefully I get to see him more often. Come here.” She smirked back at him, pulling him to her by his jacket and leaned up to finish where they left off.

A/N — So this didn’t exactly fit the request, so hopefully this can be a part 2 sometime when I get some time to write it where the reader pulls him around by his jacket because it’s so hOt. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this imagine although I rushed the fuck through it so please don’t mind me.