stay after school

6

Bacon has spent his entire career working as an educator in and around Portland. He began teaching in the mid-’80s and became vice principal of Albina’s Jefferson High School a decade later. Many of his students from Jefferson are now parents of his students at Boise.

But the same families who grew up in the neighborhood can’t afford to live here now. Bacon says the student body’s homelessness rate has been ticking upward, and others have long commutes from the outskirts of the city. The travel means students often can’t stay for after-school programs or that parents pick their kids up early to avoid traffic. The students who rely on public buses often face an hour of commuting each way. “When an older sibling who comes to school on the bus is sick, that means the younger sibling doesn’t come to school either,” says Bacon. “Kids also just don’t sleep enough. They get up early to get here and then get home late.”

Bacon laments that the neighborhood’s new residents haven’t embraced Boise. It used to be a source of pride for the area, which had long battled for a quality school to call its own. That sense of ownership is fraying.

He knows his school will become whiter, though that will take time. In this year’s parent meeting for incoming kindergarteners, he was surprised at the number of white families. He says Boise will “be here for whoever wants to come” and that he’s tried to embrace the white families who have already enrolled. “I’m not going to spend too much time trying to force white people to come that might not want to come, but we’ll be open to their questions and sell the best parts of the school like we always do,” he says.

There are plenty of reasons why white, more affluent parents don’t send their children to Boise. They might cite the test scores or the draw of creative instruction at charter schools. But much of it involves internalized racism—racism that is amplified by ineffectual school district policies.

White families often transfer their children to Trillium Charter, a high-achieving school that’s less than 10 minutes away and 82 percent white. They can also send their kids to Portland magnet schools if their test scores are high enough or use the petition system to transfer to schools closer to their jobs. According to district figures, only half of neighborhood children attend Boise. Staff say many of these are black families who’ve long attended the school and have managed to stay in the neighborhood. The black students who fake their addresses, indicating they still live in neighborhood boundaries, also skew the numbers.


http://www.slate.com/articles/life/tomorrows_test/2016/06/portland_s_albina_district_gentrified_its_public_school_boise_eliot_humboldt.html

What’s wrong with me?– Jeff Atkins x Reader

Request: Can I request a Jeff imagine me where he’s been asking you out for a while now and you always turn him down? So one day you hear him talking to clay about how it’s actually starting to hurt him a bit cuz what’s wrong wit him? And his jock buddies give him shit and tease him about which upsets him so you shock all of them by going up and kissing him which leads to a hot makeout and ask him on a date.

Words: 2703

Enjoy it!

Reader’s point of view.

Your name: submit What is this?

I smiled looking at myself through the rearview mirror. I loved when my mom had the day off, that meant I could get the car to school, save me the monotonous and disgusting bus rides. It isn’t as if my mother went out to have fun, her days off from work, she is doing yoga in front of the TV, it wasn’t too much that the “coach” was too attractive. I shivered and concentrated on the road, until that point I was already entering the Liberty High parking lot. The disadvantage of bringing the car is that I mistrusted and was late, something that wouldn’t happen if I were traveling in the yellow device. Now finding a parking lot would be a challenge.

After a full turn, I finally find a decent place, not so far but not so close to the door, perfect. Before maneuvering to enter that space, a car closed the way and got into MY place. I stepped on the brakes and glared at the bold.  I knew the car perfectly. Instead of staying there, I found another place to two cars away, from that to stay grumbling. Yes, I was too lucky.

“Are you serious, Atkins?” I raised my voice after getting out of the car and hanging my backpack over my shoulder.

Jeff was walking toward me with a big smile and fiddling with the keys of his carriage. Asshole.

“This becomes a danger zone every morning, Y/L, you would know if you brought your car every day”

“Funny”

I started to walk with him to my side. We were in the same course, connected in our first year, we were good friends, maybe I could even consider him my best friend, it’s not like I had many in high school. Most were either useless sportsmen, or just people who weren’t worth it.  He was taking me with a few, especially since Jeff was very close to them, almost entering his social circle. They were not bad guys, but somewhat immature for my taste. Sometimes they made me laugh.

“So I heard that this new movie will be on Saturday … Let’s go together?”

Yeah, we were good friends though Jeff was determined to change that. My friend was attractive, too much to admit, but my mind was somewhere else to focus on a boyfriend. In addition, our friendly relationship worked perfectly, we sometimes studied together, I was going to see him at his baseball games, and I even stayed after school with him and Clay for his tutorials. I could come and go as often as i wanted and he did that too. We were perfectly fine, why did we need a label? What if “being dating” didn’t work? All those years of friendship would go away. Just to think about my last months in this institute without the company of my best friend, to be avoiding it by the corridors and to meet us in uncomfortable looks, left me the sensation to be without air. No, I wouldn’t let him lose it for a silly etiquette.

“How on a date?” I remembered that I hadn’t answered him.

I turned to look at him and he smiled in embarrassment. Jeff Atkins was never embarrassed. He was the most honest and funny guy on the whole site. If I didn’t know Clay Jensen, I would sign with blood that Jeff was the only one. Everyone else behaved more like idiots.

“Yes?” His answer sounded more like a question. Well, he left the decision to me again.

I sighed and settled the backpack as a reflex act.

“You did a good swing, Atkins, but I’m sorry to say you got a strike”

He raised his eyebrows and I smiled, wanting to erase the rejection I had given him. It hadn’t been the first, but sometimes I felt like the bad in this relationship. Our “dates” were reduced to exits between friends, and that was because I was in charge of enlisting Sheri with us and him, usually Clay. At one time, we invited Hannah, but lately she was walking in her own world, feeling the tension only to approach her. Too bad, it turned out to be a really fun girl.

I increased my pace. We didn’t have to stay together in the hall, our first period was different, while he was killing himself in history, I had to endure the headache of algebra. I also needed help but no one threatened to get me out of a team simply because I didn’t belong to any. That was how it was.

“Are you serious?” The good thing about my best friend is that he took rejections with grace. “You are very rude to me, Y/N!”

“I see you at rest!” I shouted at him in response and unconsciously stepped up. I never let him see guilt in me after an Olympic rejection.

At lunchtime, we took our usual table; Clay kept his eyes on his task that ignored our mini meal fight between Jeff and me. He made me eat one of his fries, but they were too greasy for my liking. Thanks to that, we didn’t go unnoticed, neither by his companions as for the rest of the school. Suddenly, I noticed how his teammates were passing by and said things to Jeff that I couldn’t grasp, used as keys that I didn’t understand. I looked at Jeff who looked down for a few seconds before turning to see me and smiling as if nothing.

“What was that?”

“It’s nothing.” He grabbed his backpack and stood up. “See you after school, Jensen?”

For the first time, Clay looked up and nodded. Jeff said goodbye to both of us and left in the opposite direction to his companions, I frowned even confused; it was incredible how my friend’s mood changed in a few seconds. I bit my lip and pushed aside my tray of food, strangely I was without appetite.

“What’s wrong with Jeff?” I asked. Clay knew him as well as I did.

The boy shrugged and looked in the direction where our friend had disappeared. I said goodbye to Clay, especially since I had just seen Hannah Baker enter the cafeteria. Jeff and I had a plan, before we graduated, we had to get these two to have something. They were too shy to approach the one and the other that we decided to intervene, rather I joined the cause, because it was a kind of deal between the two men. However, it was difficult, I was going to take care of Hannah, but she was very distant, I couldn’t approach. I sighed and left the cafeteria. I’d waste my time in the locker.

I doubted if it would be a good idea to interfere with the tutoring hours of my friends, I don’t know what was different now, if I always did, but my best friend’s behavior was too strange after the cafeteria. It made me panic to approach him. Among my doubts, I ended up in the school library, if I wandered around maybe in the end would encourage me to approach your table. I ended up on one of the closest shelves, Jeff and Clay seemed to be talking about something that didn’t look like tutorials since neither of them looked at their respective books. I went a little closer, covering my face with a book chosen at random. I pretended to read it.

“Jeff Atkins, asking me for advice on relationships?” I listened to Clay with humor. “The deal was supposed to be that you would help me with it, not the other way around.” I lowered the book a little to notice my best friend with his eyes on Pencil playing between his fingers. I went back to cover “I was paying my salary in the Cresmont that you would never go through this”

I bit my lip, afraid to know now what they were talking about, or rather … of whom. I repressed the book down again.

“I don’t know what else to do, dude.” Jeff’s voice broke my heart, but why? “She’s not like the other girls I’ve dated, it’s a challenge, but not that kind of challenge.” I started to consider whether it was a good idea to stay or not to listen, but my feet were stuck.

“Don’t stop trying” Clay encouraged.

“I don’t do it. I invite her to go out and it is always the same result: No. “I fear that someday she will get tired and send me to the devil”

My blood ran cold. They had not yet pronounced my name but knew perfectly well that they were talking about me. My hands began to tremble.

“I don’t think so. You two make a good team. It’s hard to see a Jeff without Y/N, or a Y/N without a Jeff” I glanced over and watched my friend smile. I did too. It was true; we could complement us in an incredible way.

I watched Jeff’s profile, again thinking away from his friendship, made me feel short of breath. I couldn’t imagine my life without having met him; he managed to understand me, my problems, my follies and occasionally my pessimism. The random memory hit me on a Saturday that taught me to hit, I could feel his body on my back and his arms around mine, even his hands on mine to help me hold the bat well. It had felt good, I didn’t have the imperative need to get away like when Bryce Walker tried to get too close to me. That guy gave me a very bad spine. Instead, with Jeff, I sometimes needed to have him close to feel that I breathe well, that everything is going its natural course. There was no Y/N Y/L without a Jeff Atkins, it couldn’t, and there was no consistency. It was like going against nature. My heart sped up and I hid my face again between the pages.

“Clay. What is wrong with me?” I had a gasp, only a few verbal rejects, at no time I distanced myself from him, after my negatives we were as normal as ever. Nothing had changed. I had the need to jump and give him a zap, Nothing was wrong with you, Atkins, you’re amazing, the best guy I’ve ever met! But I stood still with the lump in my throat.

“Nothing, dude. Let’s go back to your history essay, you need to distract your mind”

I listened as he agreed to the idea and I moved from shelf to the place where they didn’t see me. I put my hand to my chest and inhaled deep breaths. Why did i feel like crying? Maybe because Jeff didn’t notice the way I did, what could be wrong with him? He was a committed boy, especially now that his position in the team depended on his qualifications, attentive, pleasant, he isn’t of those who believed in rumors … and above all, he was an excellent friend of Clay and mine. How could there be anything wrong with that? Why cann’t you see yourself as I see you? I bit my lip.

“I saw you” Jessica came out of nowhere and gave me the shock of my life. She started laughing “Spying on people’s conversations? That’s too much for you”

I rolled my eyes.

"I guess I couldn’t help it,” I murmured.

“I heard them, too. I’ve never seen Jeff that way; he always has a smile on his face."I nodded to the cheerleader’s words. Suddenly, she started to laugh "Don’t you realize, Y/N?” I looked at her strangely “He’s in love with you! The whole institute knows this, obviously everyone, except you”

“We are good friends”

“So? That doesn’t take away the feelings, the question here is, Are you in love with him? ”

I was silent, I opened my mouth to answer her but I couldn’t, Why couldn’t I? I should deny it, but why didn’t i? Jessica Davis smiled.

“Do I confess something?” I waited quietly. “The way you look at Jeff, is the same way I look at Justin. Think about it. "She winked at me before leaving.

If my best friend’s words had left me frozen, Jessica’s words hit me. I looked over my shoulder toward the boys’ table, was I in love with my best friend? As I would know, I had never fallen in love with anyone in my life.

I ran as if my life depended on it to the baseball field, simply because my friend’s fool had forgotten his bat in the car and I as a good person i was, and because I knew the combination of his locker to get the keys, I did him the favor. Anyway, at home I was expecting some of those Mom’s smooth naturist, I wasn’t very excited to return soon. Before giving me sight in front of the team, I heard the boys howling and booing. I stopped and looked out, Jeff was in front of them, pretending to have difficulty raising the zipper of his sweatshirt. As I perceived quickly, they were making fun of him.

"Give it up at once, Atkins.” One of them said. I frowned. “You’re losing your good reputation for just one girl”

Not again, please. I pressed the bat in my hands.

“Let go and pass her, I assure you that I get an appointment with her long before you,” another of his classmates boasted. I was getting angry.

How could it be that they messed with him for some nonsense? I was nothing special, why did they all talk as if I were some sort of trophy? I looked at Jeff, he was still focused on his feigned task, but the gesture on his lips told me that he was having a bad time, so I got sick, it couldn’t be that my fear of losing him by spoiling everything with a label, So much harm to him. My eyes filled with tears, but I didn’t cry, instead, I smiled and walked resolutely towards them.

“Eh!” Shouted one of them with joy.

I didn’t look at any of them, my eyes were on my best friend’s, wanting to pretend he was more than okay. I didn’t stop until I felt my lips against his. I dropped the bat to our side and wrapped my fingers in his hair pulling him closer to me. His response, in the first place, was that his mouth was sealed by surprise, when he caught what was happening, he joined the same rhythm as me, bringing his hands to my waist. I didn’t part until the shouts of joy of his companions became present.

“Damn!” I recognized the voice of the one who at the beginning bet that I would go out with him.

I looked into Jeff’s eyes and smiled broadly. This kiss, which at first wanted to taste something, simply felt good. I began to feel that I was complete, even though I thought I had been before.

“I thought better, why wait until Saturday? Let’s have a date now.” My best friend’s eyes shone, I felt an extreme happiness inside, not for him, for me. “Oh, better, did you tell me that your parents are not going to be home all day? How about a bit of Netflix and chill? ”

His friends laughed, he too, but a little more shy.

“Come on.” He took my hand firmly.

“Boys” I gave a single glance at their companions, they began to cheer and push, like vile apes.

I laughed and looked back. When we lost sight of the team, Jeff stopped and looked at me even in shock.

“You were serious?”

“About the kiss or Netflix and chill?” I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Both of them”

“Now I know that I’m sure of the kiss” I bit my lip “Of the other, of course I was serious, a little more seriously in the chill part”

Jeff’s smile was the biggest i had ever seen. My heart skipped a beat.

“Then I drive. Later we’ll get back for your car”

basic japanese high school schedule for you, fic writers

  • students attend class from monday thru saturday, with saturday being a half day. sundays are off
  • the high school day usually runs from 8:30am to 3pm, but many students stay after for after school clubs or attend cram school in the evening
  • the school year runs from april to march with a summer break come the end of july. first term is from april to july, second term is from september to december, and third term runs from january to march
  • your favorite high school anime doesn’t have separate classrooms for no reason. japanese students don’t rotate classes like american students do; instead, they have a fixed classroom and class number (i.e., 3-A), and the teachers do the rotating
  • they also don’t have the same classes every day
  • they do still have homeroom teachers; however, “homeroom” is more of a class meeting at the end of the day rather than at the beginning
  • the students are required to help clean the school at the end of the school day before clubs start
  • school uniforms are a thing for high schoolers. dress code used to be much stricter but recently they’ve allowed more basic alterations to the uniform
  • please stop writing them like american schools you’re embarrassing yourself
Teacher (M)

Plot: Maybe asking your Korean teacher for help wasn’t such a bad idea. Good grades weren’t the only thing you were going to achieve from that.

Pairing: Teacher! Jung Hoseok x Student! reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Oral (receiving), Moaning denial, just full-on hardcore Jung Hoseok the sexy beast

Note: This is probably the first time I’m actually posting smut. It took me quite a while to write, considering it was very long, and I need to be in a certain mood for it. Thank you to my friend for giving me this idea. Please forgive me if there are any errors, english isn’t my first language. 3657 Words

P.S. You are 19 in this, and Hoseok is 25. I do not support all that underage sex stuff. Everything here is legal (wrong – please don’t fuck your teacher no matter how hot he is – but legal).

Korean Literature was probably your least favorite subject. You hated just everything about it – well – excluding the teacher. He always greeted you with a smile, asked you if you wanted help. You were the only foreigner in the class, after all. He gave you so much special attention, and you wouldn’t mind it at all. Unfortunately, that didn’t change your view on the subject. No matter how hard you tried, you always got a low grade.

“Okay students, remember we have a test on the new poem this Friday,” His voice echoed through your ears, breaking you out of your trance.

There was a solemn look on your face, while you stared out the window. Your eyes stayed on the uniformed kids flooding out of the school gates, while your nail dug under the staple holding your latest spelling test together.

5 out of 10. It was better than the last one.

No matter how bad it got, you always had this urge to try. You always wanted to keep studying for a higher score, but you just never seemed to understand everything that was thrown at you. It was like everything registered into your brain, but it never stayed – it disappeared, unlike your determination to do well.

As your eyes flickered over to the teacher, a nervous feeling settled in your chest. You now stayed after school for that exact reason. A few days ago, Hoseok had offered to help tutor you for an hour everyday until the test. It had been at least a week since he started, and you could safely say that you were getting better.

“Are you ready to start?” 

“Yeah.”

Keep reading

Watch Me Babygirl [pt.9]

Summary: Jungkook is your brother’s annoying best friend. You can’t stand him but he just can’t resist teasing you. How far will he actually go?

Warnings: language, light smut

[pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3] [pt.4] [pt.5] [pt.6] [pt.7] [previous part] [next part] [pt.11]


“My mom wants me to become more involved at the school,” you sighed, walking with Taehyung to P.E.

The last few days your mom had been hinting that she wanted you to become involved, “like your brother”. You’d done your best to act clueless in order to get her to drop the subject, but she’d finally confronted you and outright told you that she wanted you to become more involved.

Keep reading

agirlcalledfrost  asked:

OH OH OH PLEASE TELL US A BOARDING SCHOOL STORY PRETTY PLEASE

so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!

  • spoiler alert: yes they can? THEY ALWAYS CAN.
  • 200 years of american high school and teenagers still think that there is a cap limit on kids in detention and that you can leave after 15 minutes if the teacher doesn’t show up.

anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”

  • she didn’t say scab because she’s not from the 1920s and we aren’t newsies, though this story would be way more interesting if we were
  • what she said was “YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!”
  • except not yolo because it was 2009 and drake hadn’t been invented yet except as a dear sweet boy in a wheelchair.

we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.

  • I’M NOT ASHAMED, but in that way where like i kind of AM ashamed so i’m really aggressively NOT ashamed? 

so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”

“hell no,” i said. “YOLO. they can’t punish all of us.”

elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.

  • WHAT KIND OF BAGELS?
  • FUCKIN
  • HELLA.

off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.” 

of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE. 

but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.

at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.

all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE,“ and elle said, "did you hear that?”

“hear what?”

that!”

‘that’ was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU’RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.

our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”

i held my breath. 

  • i should add here that i seemed to be operating on like a scooby-doo level of logic where basically i thought that she was somehow NOT ALLOWED to investigate?
  • like, if she can’t see me, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY that she could prove i’m in here, right?
  • she’ll just poke her head in and be like oH GOSH NO KIDS HERE and leave!!

you can see the flaw in my logic.

mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”

  • there’s no WAY she guesses i’m in the closet!!!

“mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet.”

  • NO YOU DON’T
  • I AM SCHRÖDINGER’S SENIOR

“mollyhall—”

there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.

i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.

i said, “where’s ginna?”

  • YOU KNOW WHERE GINNA WAS.

“um,” said elle, “she’s in the—”

  • GINNA NO

ginna yes.

i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:

  • oh no.
  • what have i done?
  • this was a mistake. 
  • i regret a series of decisions that i have made.
  • is there a way out of this?
  • are those oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • why are there oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • mollyhall, you HAVE a food cupboard, what good is a food cupboard if you don’t—
  • oh, crap.

she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.

ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”

Canoodling - Jughead Jones

So after watching episode 2 of Riverdale I was wondering if I could have a Jughead imagine? Where you’re secretly dating because you’re considered popular and basically kiss him in front of “the popular” people to stop them from thinking Jughead isn’t getting laid? Thanks!

imagine please? defending jughead when reggie teases him, probably?

Originally posted by mieczyslwstilinski


I kind of combined the two of these things…I hope you two are okay with that…I really enjoyed writing it.  I kinda changed the order of events, in the episode, a bit and I hope that’s okay. I don’t even know what that ending is…

You were walking down the halls of Riverdale High School when you felt a tug on your hand and was pulled inside the storage closet. The door shut behind you quickly, but not before there was still enough light to see the outline of an all too familiar hat.

“We really must stop meeting like this.” Despite the darkness, you could almost see the glint in Jughead’s smile as he said the line. You pulled on the light string hanging from the ceiling and found yourself nearly chest to chest with your boyfriend. “You dork,” you said while rolling your eyes. He smiled at you and despite the recent light of events, you felt happy. Jughead grabbed your hand in both of his, running his fingers over your knuckles. “Do you wanna stay after school for the game?” His gaze lifted from your hands to your eyes and you saw them sparkle. “Of course. How’d everything go with Archie?” He shrugged in response, “Good, hopefully it’ll get better after the game.” You nodded, leaning upwards to pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to be late,” you started to pull away, “I’ll see you after school in the lounge, Okay?” He gave your hand one last squeeze, “See ya later, Y/N.” You shot him another smile and quickly darted out of the closet. When back in the hallway, you looked around and sighed in relief that nobody saw you sneak out of hiding. It wasn’t because you were ashamed of dating Jughead, granted you were somewhat popular amongst your peers; it was because you and Jughead both found value in privacy. It was nobody else’s business what you got up to in your freetime and Jughead simply didn’t care about your peers to tell anyone that you two were dating. It was troublesome sneaking around, but moments like those where it was just you two alone, even briefly, were the moments you looked forward to the most.


When the final bell rang, you made your way towards the lounge. You figured that Jughead would already be there, in an attempt to find a spot before it filled up with cheerleaders and loud jocks. Your guess was correct because, when you walked in, your eyes landed on him. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed on his chest, and scowling at the people before him. When he saw you, he gave you a quick smile that you returned. In order to avoid suspicion, you walked over to greet a few of the jocks and fell into conversation with Veronica.

You almost were having a good time when Reggie, a cocky football player, started to talk about Jason Blossom’s murder, instantly killing the mood. “If someone here did kill him, it couldn’t have been a jock. No, it would be the lonely, sad internet troll, that’s too busy typing manifestos to get laid.” You looked up and saw Reggie staring at Jughead as if in question. “Like Jughead.” The others started laughing, except for you and Archie. Anger burned in your heart, but you couldn’t defend your boyfriend with making it obvious. Then again, if you weren’t going to stand up for him, why were you dating him? You stood up with purpose, walking towards your boyfriend. He raised his eyebrows but you simply leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. Howls and whistles were let out by half the people in the lounge. You pulled back, because if you didn’t, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to stop. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, really Y/N, he’s why you wouldn’t date me?” Reggie yelled and you spun on your heels to face the football player. “Damn right he’s why,” you yelled back, “he’s not a dick that picks on others like yourself!” Everybody hollered and ‘oohed’ at your words. Then Veronica finally spoke up,  “So it looks like he’s getting laid after all,” you let out a laugh and grabbed Jughead’s hand in yours.

“But that doesn’t change anything! He still probably killed him.” Reggie shouted, trying to regain his high-ground. “Did you, ya know, do anything to the body? Like, after?” he asked, pressing Jughead further. You felt a sense of pride when Jughead answered, “It’s called necrophilia Reggie, can you spell it?” A smile crept up on your features, as you turned to Jughead. Suddenly, Reggie darted towards him, but Archie lunged forward in defense. “Shut the Hell up, Reggie.” Archie hissed, but Reggie wasn’t having it. Soon a fight broke out and it ended with Archie getting punched in the face, along with a teacher escorting Reggie out of the room.

You and Jughead decided it was probably best to get out of the school, so you started to make your way to his place. The walk was quiet, with neither of you willing to talk about what had happened yet. Before you knew it, you both turned into the driveway to his house  and walked inside. You both set your bags down and Jughead made a beeline to the kitchen. “Where are your parents?” You asked as you started to take off your shoes. “I found a note that said they were out shopping.” Jughead yelled across the house. You walked into the kitchen where Jughead was head-first in the refrigerator. You let out a giggle at the site, causing Jughead to face you. “What’s so funny?” You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and you lifted yourself to sit on the countertop, “You.” He walked towards you, standing in between your legs. He stared at you as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and brought him closer. He leaned forward and brought his lips to yours, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw. Your hand pulled his hat off his head and with the other, your fingers buried themselves in his hair. You leaned back slightly pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“You want this back?” You asked, teasingly holding his hat by your fingertip. He smiled, leaning in once more, capturing your lips in another playful kiss. When you were distracted, he took the opportunity to snag his hat back. “Hey,” you said, pulling away from him. He let out a smug chuckle. “Thanks for that,” Jughead said, turning back to the search for food in the cabinets. “For what?” You asked, hopping down from the counter. He turned and gave you a pointed look, “Putting Reggie in his place.”

“He needed to be proved wrong.” He smiled at you, “So you were simply proving him wrong?” You nodded and he stepped closer to you. His hands rested on your hips, pulling you closer, “So you’re okay with canoodling at school now?” You let out a small laugh, “Canoodling? No, but acting like a couple, of course.” His green eyes sparkled at your answer, and he pressed a kiss to your lips. When you backed away you smiled, “Are you going to write this in your novel?” He smiled back with mischief gleaming in his eyes, “Maybe I will.”

Touché // j.j.

You can’t pin point when. Somewhere between the steady typing and the flipping of pages, between the constant supply of french fries and chocolate milkshakes, between the occasional eye contact and the brief smiles. Somewhere between the hours of three and seven o'clock, you fell.

To be specific, you fell in love with Jughead Jones, Riverdale’s resident tall dark and handsome, at least in your opinion.

It started one afternoon when Pop’s was busier than usual, every booth and table full except one.

“Do you…do you mind if I sit?” You ask, rocking slightly on the balls of your feet. “Everywhere else is full.”

You expect him to say no; he is, after all, Jughead Jones, and this is, after all, Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world and everyone at least knew of everyone else, and you definitely know of Jughead and his preference to being alone, especially when he’s writing.

Jughead ceases his typing, locking eyes with you. He glances around the diner, almost surprised at how many people were in it.

“I’m not the best conversationalist,” he says, looking back at you, “I can’t promise anything good.”

This surprises you, you expected a flat out no or for him to even just ignore you.

“I’m not looking for conversation,” you say, shrugging, “just somewhere to sit and read my book while enjoying a milkshake.”

“Depends,” he smirks, folding his hands in front of his laptop, “what flavor milkshake?”

“The best one of course,” you smile back, “chocolate.”

Jughead smiles, actually smiles, and nods.

“Yeah, yeah you can sit,” he says.

You thank him, sliding into the booth and setting your bag next to you. You pull out your book, thanking the waiter as he set down your milkshake.

“Oh, I’m Y/N by the way,” you say, stirring the drink a bit.

“I know.”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side.

“You know who I am?”

You remind yourself again that this is Riverdale, probably the smallest town in the world, where everyone knows everyone.

“I know more than you think,” he smiles.

“You take this dark and mysterious thing seriously don’t you?”

“I thought you weren’t looking for conversation?” He raises an eyebrow, half a smirk on his face.

“Touché,” you say, opening your book and settling into the plush seating, sipping occasionally at your milkshake.

This continues for days. Regardless of whether Pop’s is bursting at the seems or it’s just you and him, you always sit together. The two of you sit in that booth, you with a book in one hand and a milkshake in another and Jughead with his laptop on the table and fries next to it.

“You know,” Jughead says one day, fingers still whizzing across the keyboard, “you can sit somewhere else if you want.”

“And ruin the work we’ve been doing?” You smile, “I’m good.”

He stops typing, you feel his eyes on you.

“And what work are we doing exactly?”

“Bonding, Jug,” you say, turning the page.

“Is this what bonding is?”

You look up at him, shrugging.

“What would you call it?”

“Touché.”

Weeks pass, the time you spend at Pop’s growing from a one or two hours into several, your time together stretching into early dusk.

“Hey Jug?” You ask quietly one day, closing your book for once.

He notices, he stops typing, he even half way closes the top of his computer.

“What’s up?”

“How’d you know who I was?” You ask, stirring your milkshake. “That first day…you said you knew who I was before I told you. How?”

“This is Riverdale,” he says, “I think it’s physically impossible to not know someone in this town.”

Jughead opens his mouth to continue, then closes it. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I notice things, I notice people,” he resumes finally, “I notice when people are different and you’re different. A good different, but different.”

With that, he raises the lid of his laptop, eyes focusing back on the screen.

“You noticed me?”

He looks back up at you, a smile on his face.

“Course I did.”

When you get to Pop’s one day about a week later, Jughead’s not there, Archie is.

“Oh um…hi,” you say, stopping short in front of the booth.

“Hey, Y/N right?” He asks, motioning for you to sit.

You do.

“Yeah, that’s um…” you shift your weight slightly, feeling uncomfortable, “that’s me.”

“Sorry, this must be awkward,” Archie says with a smile, “I’m Archie.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Archie’s eyebrows scrunch up slightly in confusion.

“Sorry, that sounded weird,” you rush, “I just mean, you’re a sophomore on varsity football, the whole school knows who you are.”

Archie smiles a bit, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he shrugs, “anyway, Jughead sent me.”

You feel your shoulders relax involuntarily, leaning back into the seat.

“Okay.”

“He had to stay after school, make up a test or something,” Archie explains, “he told me to come tell you that he’d be here though, just a bit late.”

You smile.

“Thanks Archie,” you nod, “that’s really nice.”

“Anytime,” the boy replies, smiling, “look uh…this may sound super weird but um…you and Jughead…is that anything more th-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “no we’re…we’re just friends. At least…I think we’re friends. We just…we sit together and we do our own thing. That’s all.”

“I know Jughead, that’s definitely a friendship,” he smiles, “okay, I gotta head back to practice before I’m missed but yeah, he’ll be here.”

With another smile he scoots out of the booth.

“Archie,” you stop him, looking up at his face, “look um…god this is going to sound crazy but…is Jughead…is he seeing anyone o-or som-”

“No,” Archie cuts you off with another smile on his face, “he was, for a bit but…not anymore. Do you like him?”

You’re surprised by his bluntness, your eyes widening a bit.

“I uh…n-no I was just curious,” you shake your head, pulling your book out of your bag, “you better get to practice, don’t want coach to bench you.”

Archie smiles again, always with the smiling, and walks out of the door just as Jughead walks in.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he says, sitting down across from you.

“I didn’t know we had a set schedule,” you smirk, tilting your head slightly, “nice of you to send your friend though.”

Jughead looks at you, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“Didn’t want you to think I stood you up,” he says, pulling out his laptop.  

“Don’t you have to be on a date to get stood up?” You ask, sipping at your milkshake as Pop places a basket of fries in front of Jughead.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he replies, shrugging.

“So are you telling me that these are dates?”

This time you surprise yourself with your own bluntness, and Jughead as well. He recovers quickly though, the shock on his face only evident for a few brief moments.

“You tell me.”

There it is, his smile, his actual smile. Not a smirk, not some no effort half smile, an actual, full blown, Jughead smile.

Looking back on it, you think that’s when you first knew, when you first realized that you were falling for him.

The rest of the night is spent in silence, well, besides the sound of Jughead’s typing and your book pages begin turned.

You arrive at Pop’s the next day to see Jughead already sitting at the booth, typing furiously. That didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you, however, is the chocolate milkshake already sitting on the table in front of your side of the booth.

“I didn’t see you at school today,” you say, sitting down, “did you skip?”

“Yeah, yeah I um…” he pauses, finishing the sentence he’s typing before looking at you, “I got here this morning because I forgot one of my notebooks and I sat down to finish this paragraph I was on and uh…next thing I knew it was one o'clock in the afternoon so I…figured I’d just stay here.”

“Archie asked me if I knew where you were,” you say, “he came up to me during lunch and asked if I knew if you were sick or not.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth,” you reply, “that I didn’t know.”

Jughead nods, looking back down at his computer screen.

“Jug?” You ask, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

He continues to type, oblivious to your calls of his name.

“Juggie!” You exclaim, finally drawing his attention.

“Sorry, got caught up in the story,” he shakes his head, “what’s up?”

“What’s going on with you?” You ask, sliding your book off to the side. “You seem…I dunno, off.”

“Sorry just um…a lot of stuff on my mind I guess,” he says, shrugging.

“About Jason or…other things?” You ask.

“It’s nothing important.”

“Juggie,” you say softly, sliding your hand across the table to touch his arm, “if it’s bothering you this much, it’s important. You can talk to me, always.”

“We’re friends right?” He asks, closing his computer all the way.

“Yeah, yeah course we are Jug,” you nod, “please, tell me what’s going on.”

And he does, he tells you everything. About his parents splitting up, about his dad being part of the Serpents, about his mom taking his sister and leaving, about living at the drive in, about living at the school, everything. And you let him talk, you let him go on for as long as he needs with no interruption, just listening.

“Sorry if that’s a lot but um…I needed to get that stuff off my chest,” he finishes, taking a deep breath, “thanks though.”

“Come stay with me,” the words are out of your mouth before you even think them through, but you don’t take them back, “seriously Jug, my dad’s away on business and my mom won’t care, we’ve got room.”

“No Y/N I can’t expect that from you I do-”

“Juggie, you’re my best friend,” you say, cheeks burning slightly, “please, let me do this for you.”

Jughead looks down, staring your hand touching his, both of your fingers practically intertwined on top of the table.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” He asks after a minute or two silence, looking around the diner. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“I’m absolutely positive it’s okay,” you reply, catching his gaze, “but I’m not going to force you.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he says, nodding, “I’d really like to not live under the stairs like Harry Potter.”

You were right, your mom doesn’t care, she even convinces your dad that it’s okay for Jughead to stay with you, and after three weeks of it, you’re convinced it is the single best idea you’ve ever had.

The two of you still spend most of your time at Pop’s, something about the neon lights and plush seating and the constant supply of chocolate milkshakes makes you feel more at home than you do at your actual house. Or maybe Jughead does. Maybe Jughead makes you feel like you’re home.

“Do you ever wonder how some people end up with the worst luck?” He asks one day, eyes never leaving his computer screen as he chews on this thumb nail.

The two of you are going on four hours at Pop’s that day, and you notice that Jughead has barely written anything.

“Are we talking about Jason?” You ask gently, closing the book you were reading and placing it on the table.

“We’re talking about everyone,” he says cryptically, “how some people are born with everything they could ever want available on a silver platter and others are born with nothing, but somehow the golden boy ends up with the worst kind of luck.”

Jughead rarely ever spoke directly about Jason Blossom, you knew by now how to read between the lines of his novel-ish tone of voice.

“I think that it doesn’t matter what you’re born into,” you reply, “I think what matters is the choices we decide to make throughout our lives, and that that’s how we end up with good or bad luck, by the choices we make and by how we live our lives.”

“Jason never had to make a choice though,” Jughead exclaims, closing his laptop and sliding it out of the way, “that’s the thing, he never in his life had to make one choice for himself and somehow he still ended up murdered.”

His bluntness surprises you, this being one of a few times he directly tells you he’s talking about Jason.

“He did make choices, Jug,” you explain calmly, “everyday, just like you and me. He made the choice to let his parents give him whatever he wanted, he made the choice to follow that stupid book Chuck made up, he made the choice to be with Polly regardless of what his parents said, he made the choice to try and fake his own death so he could be with her without fear of them, he made hard choices, some of them more tough than you and I will ever make in our entire lives.”

Jughead stares at you, and for a minute you think he’s going to get up and leave.

But then he grabs his computer, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath and he begins to type furiously.

That night you’re laying on your bed, Jughead in the guest room across the hall and you can’t help but feel like he’s a million miles away.

You can’t sleep. Grabbing your phone, you squint at the brightness before you’re able to turn it down, looking at the clock.

2:37 am

“He’s probably asleep,” you whisper to yourself as you unlock the device, fingers moving almost on autopilot to Jughead’s message thread.

Can’t sleep, you awake?

You lay the phone on your stomach, staring up at the dark ceiling and willing your body to sleep. The vibration of the device pulls you out of your thoughts.

You okay?

You smile, two simple words causing happiness to bubble up in your stomach.

Yeah, just can’t seem to sleep.

You want to come talk?

If you don’t mind.

You’re always able to come talk to me.

You don’t reply, instead you get up out of your bed, quietly opening your door and then closing it behind you. You take three quick steps across the hallway, opening and closing Jughead’s door as quietly as you did your own.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing in front of the door.

Jughead props himself up on his elbows, the first thing you notice is the lack of a grey beanie upon his head.

“Hey,” he says back in the same tone, “you okay?”

Those two words again, this time sounding even better as you can hear him say it in his own voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, pushing some hair behind your ear nervously.

Why are you nervous? You ask yourself as Jughead motions for you to come join him. It’s only Juggie.

You slide under the covers, but only because the room is cold, and you’re next to him, but only because it’s his room, and his arm is around your shoulders, but only because he’s a good friend and he wants to comfort you.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asks, rubbing his eye with one hand.

“Did I wake you up?” You ask.

“No I was working on my book,” he explains, pointing at the computer on the bedside table, “don’t change the subject.”

“I dunno…overthinking I guess,” you reply, shrugging a bit.

“About what?”

“Everything I suppose,” you say, “about how if Pop’s wasn’t full that one day or if I had decided not to go then we probably wouldn’t have ever met. About how if I hadn’t continued to sit there we probably wouldn’t have become best friends, about what Archie sa-”

“Archie?” Jughead cuts you off. “What about Archie?”

You curse yourself silently. You didn’t mean to say anything about Archie.

“Nothing, nothing,” you reply quickly, but the look on Jughead’s face told you that he wasn’t going to let it go, “okay um…back that one day when you sent him to Pop’s to tell me that you were going to be late uh…he said that you had been seeing someone but that you weren’t anymore and I was…I guess I was just thinking about who it could’ve been.”

He’s silent, more silent than you’ve ever experienced with the many months of knowing him. Minutes pass, they feel like hours. Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“Juggie?” You whisper.

“Sorry I um…” he shakes his head, raven colored hair flying everywhere, “why were…why were you thinking about that?”

“Curious, I guess,” you explain, “sorry if that seems intrusive or weird or whatever bu-”

“No no it’s…it’s okay,” Jughead replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulders a bit tighter, “it…it was Betty. We had a thing for a few weeks but in the end we decided we were better off as friends.”

“A few weeks?”

“Before I met you, we stopped about two days before that day at Pop’s”

“And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You and Betty, are you better off as friends?”

“Definitely.”

You nod, falling into silence once again.

This time Jughead breaks it.

“Look I’m not…I’m not good at this whole feelings thing,” he says, “Betty was the first girl I ever really had those types of emotions for but it wasn’t…it wasn’t what I’m supposed to feel. Or rather what I want to feel.”

“Do you know what you want to feel?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at his face.

He looks almost angelic in the pale light streaming through the semi-closed blinds.

“Yes.”

“Do you know anyone that makes you feel like that?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes quick, almost too quick.

“Who?”

Another pause.

“I can’t say.”

Your stomach drops on slightly, but enough for you to feel it nonetheless.

“Oh.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he rushes, running one of his hands through his hair, “it’s just that I don’t really know how to.”

“You’re a writer, Jug,” you say, “I know you’ll figure out how to tell her. You’re good with words.”

“Not when it comes to these kinds of words,” he laughs lightly, “I don’t want to mess up.”

“Don’t psych yourself out,” you encourage, regardless of the weight on your heart, “maybe you don’t need your words this time, maybe actions is the way to go. I believe in you, I know you’ll figure it out.”

Jughead finally looks at you, dark hair falling in front of his face as it’s still free of the infamous crown beanie.

“Actions?” He repeats.

“Yeah, you know what they say,” you smile, “actions speak louder than words.”

He blinks a few times, it’s almost like you can see the thought processing through his brain.

And then suddenly his hands are cupping your face and his lips are on top of yours, your eyes closing as if they had minds of their own. You’re shocked, who wouldn’t be, but it only takes a fraction of a moment for your mind to kick into gear and then your kissing him back, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck.

If I’m dreaming I hope I never ever wake up.

He pulls away too soon for your liking, both your chests rising and falling little faster than usual.

“That thing you said about actions,” he says breathlessly, “I believe it.”

You smile wide, Jughead pressing his forehead against yours.

“You were talking about me?” You ask, still a bit shocked.

Jughead nods a few times, a smile on his face as well.

“I like you, Y/N,” he finally says, “I know that’s not poetic or artistic or anything like that but I just…I don’t have any other words. I really like you.”

You think your face is going to split in half by the giant smile you can’t keep off your face.

“Juggie,” you bite your bottom lip lightly, shaking your head, “god I can’t even tell you how much I’ve been wanting you to say that.”

Jughead’s smile widens and you swear the room brightness a bit.

“I’m really glad you couldn’t sleep tonight,” he whispers, laughing quietly.

“Me too,” you smile even wider, if that’s possible, “Juggie I’m…I’m really really happy right now.”

“God I am too,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “do you maybe want to have dinner with my friends tomorrow? I know they’re going out after the game, I can finally introduce you, properly too.”

“Ooh, dinner with the friends,” you say sarcastically, “I don’t know, you think our relationship is ready for that? We’ve only been together all of five minutes.”

Jughead laughs loudly and you shush him, the two of you falling silent to make sure your parents were still asleep.

“My dad will kill you if you wake him up and he finds us like this,” you whisper, shaking your head, “but in all seriousness, do you think it’ll be awkward for Betty? I don’t want to cause any trouble or anything I know you guys ar-”

“Y/N,” he stops your rambling, a soft smile on his face, “it’ll be fine. Betty and I are good, like I said, we’re better off as friends. Trust me, she’ll be okay. I wouldn’t bring either of you to meet each other if I didn’t think she’d be okay.”

“Okay, I’ll come to dinner with your friends,” you say, “on one condition.”

“Oh god, what?”

“I get to wear the infamous beanie,” you rush out, reaching over Jughead’s body and plucking the hat from on top of is computer.

“Y/N!” Jughead exclaims, trying to grab the hat back from you.

“Hold on hold on,” you say, pushing his hand away.

You put the beanie on your head, smoothing your hair out under it and looking back up at him.

Jughead stops struggling, half a smile on his face.

“Well you do look adorable,” he says, brushing a stray piece of hair off your cheek.

“I wear the beanie tomorrow,” you ask with raised eyebrows.

“You can wear it to dinner,” he compromises, tilting his head to the side.

“Touché.”

Jughead keeps his word, and when the two of you leave your house that evening and head for Pop’s, he takes the beanie off his head and places it on yours, shaking out his hair. Jughead intertwines your fingers together, smiling at you and at how happy you look.

Jughead explains his friends to you, telling you a bit about each one of them as you both walk towards the diner.

“They’re probably going to say something,” he says, “about the beanie.”

“Have any of them ever seen you without it?” You question.

“Archie has a few times, Betty once or twice,” he explains, “but other than that, no.”

Jughead’s warnings were a bit understated. In fact, when the two of you walk into Pop’s and find his friends at a booth, it seems all conversation in the entire diner ceases.

“Jug,” one of the girls, Veronica, says, mouthing wordlessly for a few seconds, “you made it, we thought you weren’t going to come for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah we left a bit late,” Jughead shrugs, “guys um…this is Y/N. Y/N, this is…well this is everyone.”

Once the awkward formalities were out of the way and Pop had brought over everyone’s celebratory milkshakes (the football team won that night), everything felt normal.

You laugh at all the jokes, even tell some of your own. You feel like you’ve been part of this group for years, and you know Jughead can tell.

“Hey um…sorry guys I gotta take this,” Jughead says after he pulls out his phone.

“Juggie?” You ask. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah,” he replies, “it’s just…it’s my mom. I should take it.”

“Yeah, yeah of course go ahead,” Betty says, “we’ll keep her company,” she smiles at you.

Jughead thanks them, walking out the door to the diner with the phone up to his ear.

“So,” Veronica says, holding her head up with her hands, “you and Jughead.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh come on, don’t make her spell it out!” Kevin says, “he’s letting you wear his most prized possession for pete’s sake!”

You feel a blush spread across your cheeks, looking down at the half empty milkshake in front of you.

“I think you guys make a cute couple,” Betty says, licking some whipped cream off of her straw.

“Thanks Betty,” you reply, smiling again.

“This is going to sound awkward but uh…” Archie trails off, “has Jug told you anything about what’s going with his family an-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, “he has. About everything, including his dad and that stuff. He’s um…he’s staying at my house. Has been for a couple weeks.”

Veronica smirks, Betty elbows her in the ribs. Archie and Kevin rolls their eyes at the two girls.

“Hey, I think he’s talking about you,” Kevin says, nodding in Jughead’s direction.

The four of you look over at him, you watch as he talks into his phone with a huge smile on his face, running a hand through his hair to push it back every couple of seconds.

The night draws to a close all too soon, everyone heading back to their houses as you and Jughead walk hand in hand down the asphalt road.

“I think that went really well,” you say, smiling at him.

“I agree,” Jughead says, stopping you both from walking and standing in front of you.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he places his lips on yours, cupping your cheek with one hand while simultaneously tilting your head up. You feel him lift the beanie off of your head, but honestly you don’t really care. He pulls away with a smirk, fixing his hat back on his head.

“Archie,” you say, looking over Jughead’s shoulder.

“Really?” He asks with semi-wide eyes, “that’s what you’re thinking about in the middle of our moment?”

No, god you’re an idiot,” you shake your head, pointing over his shoulder, “Archie’s window, which happens to show Archie watching us right now.”

As soon as Jughead turns around Archie slides his curtains closed, causing you and Jughead to burst out in laughter.

“Did you kiss me just to steal your hat back?” You ask in a fake shocked tone.

“Possibly,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“Touché Jones, touché.”

alphaandhismate  asked:

Hey Rachel got a question for ya. Do you think Stiles would feel inadequate compared to all the buff sexy werewolves and push himself​ to the breaking point trying to look like he belongs? Cause I have this headcanon where he decides to work out to make himself look like he belongs beside the wolves but it doesn't work out to well and he winds up doing more harm than good. Which upsets Derek when he finds out (because he loves the idiot but he won't admit it)

Aw I can absolutely see this. Stiles, already prone to insecurity and the feeling of not being good enough, slowly being worn down by that itching knowledge in his skull of being that he’s not as strong as any of his friends, not as attractive as any of his friends, and sure as hell not as useful as any of them, right? Sure, he’s smart. He knows that. But what the hell use is that in battle? He can’t dive in front of a bullet to keep the others from hurting, can’t stand beside the others and fight at anything close to their level.

And no matter how much he smirks at enemies’ jibes and plays off as enjoying being the group’s token human (”means I get to leave all the heavy lifting to you guys, right?”) it’s a feeling that would keep building up over time, pushing at the back of his skull every time the pack insists he be left behind on a certain mission, that he should stay where he’s safe, or gets offhandedly told he’ll just slow the others down. Every time they go running out in the preserve and he gets to sit behind and watch the car. Every time he goes out with the group and finds himself wondering what he looks like in everyone else’s eyes: this circle of beautiful beyond belief, supernaturally perfect people and then… him.

He couldn’t share his worries with the others –– Scott would get that worried look in his eyes and insist Stiles is perfect the way he is. Lydia might not share the same speed and strength as the others but she’s always been supernaturally beautiful, and she’s got her own banshee tricks to help out in a fight. So he keeps it inside, bottles it up… and he starts to push himself. Stays after school lifting weights until his limbs are wrecked from it, goes out running until his legs are shaking under him. Thinking one more lift, one more mile, one step closer to belonging.

And it starts working, too. He’s able to keep up with the pack sometimes, on their more casual runs. He’s gaining muscle, losing any last hints of baby fat. But there are hollowed shadows under his eyes too and he’s not eating enough, probably, but that’s fine. It’s fine when he wrestles with Liam and ends up with a purpled bruise blooming out across his ribs from a too-hard tackle. It’s fine that he can’t really sleep anymore because his muscles are always burning. It’s fine because he’s started looking at pictures of the group after pack events and almost seeing a group of people who fit together, not a handful of perfect people around a lanky, awkward him. Who the hell wouldn’t sacrifice a little comfort and the ability to lift his arms above his head for that?

.-

Derek’s the one who notices first, because of course he is. Drops in through the bedroom window one night like the supernatural stalking creeper he used to be, and finds Stiles collapsed to an exhausted heap against the side of his bed. Too tired and too sore to have stripped off his sweat-stained shirt or make it the extra step to lay down on it. He forces a smile when he spots Derek, but it’s more pained than it should be. Wavers at the edges. Derek ignores his opening jibe, doesn’t comment on the way Stiles tries to push himself up on unsteady palms and falters, a spasm of motion that starts and dies just as fast. Just moves silent, sits down next to him on the floor at the foot of the bed. There’s a world of words in his silence, a disapproving air Stiles can feel deep in his bones, and he finds himself saying “I’m fine,” low and head ducked, like it’s a lie.

It’s not a lie. But it’s not exactly true either, is it?

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles’ face now, flicking down his damp shirt, over his faintly trembling limbs, and it’s like he’s seeing too much suddenly, seeing through walls Stiles is too tired to pull up. People aren’t supposed to see him at this point in the day; they’re supposed to see him in the morning when he has the energy to grin and bounce and keep up with the rest of them like it’s effortless. They’re not supposed to see the tired bruises under his eyes or the way he shakes from hours of trying to hold himself at a werewolf’s level.

He wets his lips, a flash of frustration burning bitter through him.

“Look, I’m not strong like you guys.” It’s not news. It’s been a constant refrain for the past two years of his life, ever since Scott was bit and turned into a superhero sports star girl magnet and left Stiles standing awkwardly in his dust. Stiles couldn’t ask for the bite, Scott wouldn’t understand. And he doesn’t think he wants it either, not really. He doesn’t want the claws or the anchors or the pulls to the moon. He just wants to be able to keep up with them. Wants to not be the funny one in a group of supermodels. Doesn’t want to be the weak one in a group of heroes. Doesn’t want to be the one holding them back.

He bites over a frustrated sound, frowns at Derek’s faintly pinched brows, manages to lift one bone-dead arm and snaps out even more harshly: “I’m not… hot.”

It’s not the whole issue, it barely touches the issue, but it’s too much already and he scowls after he says it, daring Derek to snort or mock him or roll his eyes and agree, obviously, but that searching look only seems to sink deeper and Derek murmurs, “You’re wrong.”

Which is just… it’s worse than laughing. Because Stiles could handle people dismissing him, mocking him. He’s used to that. What he can’t take is Derek fucking Hale feeling so goddamned bad about his patheticness that he’s reduced to lying to try and comfort him.

“Oh, right, sure. I’m hot. You guys are all freaking Greek gods with all the muscle and the… faces.” He snorts, falling back against an overworked spine that protests the pressure. “You can’t even talk. You’ve always been the hottest person ever. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the one no one ever wants.”

Derek’s eyes flick down Stiles again, reassessing, and Stiles winces over the realization that Derek’s trying to find something, anything likable on his wiry frame.

Don’t––” He starts, because he physically cannot handle that, but Derek’s saying “You’re wrong,” again, and it’s soft and warm in a way that doesn’t sound like pity.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself feel it. The “oh yeah?” he shoots back is sure and challenging, almost smug in its confidence because maybe he’s not beautiful beyond all reason like the man next to him, maybe he’s not strong and desirable and wanted but at least he’s smart enough to realize that.

Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns where he’s sitting, crowds in close with palms pressed to either side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is on the edge of rolling his eyes because does Derek seriously think he can intimidate Stiles into changing his mind about himself, but then “you’re wrong” falls out a third time, a too-warm growl of a whisper, and Derek closes the space between their lips.

Stiles loses his conviction in the contact.

Derek’s hands move over him while they kiss, dragging soothing tips and scolding pinches over his wrecked muscles in ways that leave him groaning, touches sinking you’re beautiful and you’re wanted under his skin in ways the best words probably never could. Hands trail down to play across Stiles’ fingers, silently praising the cleverness of them. Beard-rough lips drift up to kiss across his temple and a warmth of admiration seems to melt into him with each press. And Stiles can barely move, arms aching protest as he lifts them to thread into Derek’s hair, body quivering in ways that shift between exhaustion and want.

When Derek finally leans back Stiles whimpers, wanting more but too worn down to chase him. But Derek’s watching him from inches away in the dark room, and there’s no reflected flaws in those dark eyes now. Just you’re beautiful, you’re wanted. You’re important

Stiles runs light thumbs down Derek’s beard, lets out a light laugh he barely recognizes.

“Guess I believe you,”

(And from now on, on nights when the pack goes out running, Stiles and Derek find a more interesting way to occupy themselves by the cars.)

You’ll always have me ∾ montgomery de la cruz

Originally posted by despairingfever

posted 4/13/17

request? yes
Saw that you said you wrote for 13rw and I just had to request. Can you do an imagine where the reader and Montgomery are best friends and the reader is Justin’s little sister so when the mom’s boyfriend beats her she goes to Montgomery and he comforts her and more fluff? Thank you !

pairing(s): justin x sister!reader , montgomery x reader (platonic) 

warnings: plenty of cussing

words: 1032

a/n: i couldn’t find any other gifs so that was the best i could find, oops.
have a request? click here


Keep reading

things I associate with the types
  • ESTP: the earth beneath your fingernails after a long day, waking up feeling full of light and ready to get up, summer evenings, the press of a friend’s hand into yours, tan lines that pop on your skin, the chill of rainwater as it slides through your hair, feet sticking out of car windows, running around backyards as the sunlight fades
  • ESTJ: the jarring echo of a microphone when bumped, mowed grass, a newly immaculate room with everything accessible, the fresh smell of rental cars, neat calendars pinned above desks, new school supplies stacked up in your room, monopoly games, sliding into a perfectly made bed at the end of a long day, unpacking in a hotel room, taking yourself out for dinner
  • ESFP: throwing your arm around a friend, gaudy beaded bracelets put together by your little cousin, the quick pant of an excited dog, the smell of campfires, paint stuck in the crevices of your hand, taking neat notes for the kid who’s absent, an instagram full of pictures of you and your friends, screaming the lyrics to songs as you ride down the highway
  • ESFJ: staying after school to help a teacher clean up, biting your tongue to try to stop laughing during class, a sticky kiss from a child, kindergarten art rooms, listening patiently to stories you’ve heard before, staggering around in your mom’s high heels as a kid, walking around town with ice cream and friends, squeezing lemon juice into your hair
  • ENTP: having to do a group project by yourself, walking back and forth to calm your excitement, desks cluttered with papers, the sound of quick typing, the rush of relief after walking out of uncomfortable situations, lying to get a reaction out of someone, the sting of tears brought on by anger, the perfect comeback, mascara smeared down your face
  • ENTJ: protest signs, pinning magazine cut outs to your wall, walking to the front of a room to give a presentation, the click of high heels, tilting your chair back and crossing your arms to show your disapproval, the smell of paint, friendly debates with loud words and wide gestures, losing track of time and blinking tiredly at the clock, perfectly tailored suits left wrinkled on bedroom floors
  • ENFP: bulletin boards with inspiring quotes, humming along off-key beneath your breath, bare feet on hot sand, pinterest projects, curling ribbon with scissors, sewing your own clothes, improvised road trips, bubblegum pink lipstick, convincing a friend to buy themself that new outfit, silly nicknames, candy wrappers littered on the floor, compliments from strangers in public restrooms, good morning texts
  • ENFJ: cute notes left in people’s lockers, talking a friend through their self confidence issues, cleaning your room at two in the morning, dark thoughts that only slip into your mind late at night, the press of a kiss to your forehead, picking out your clothes the night before, convincing a friend to come dance with you, the hand on your shoulder
  • ISTP: taking apart pens and examining the individual parts, spilling out emotions that you’ve kept tightly wound inside, the smell of rubber tires on pavement, writing down your thoughts to better understand them, clenched fists, research papers laid out across a table, jumping off a rock wall and letting the cord catch you, polaroid cameras
  • ISTJ: setting yourself deadlines, slipping candy to a worried friend, puns, stretching after a long day, downing too much coffee so you can stay up to work, drawing tablets, buying Christmas gifts a month in advance, the smell of grass after a rain, sitting in comfortable silence with a good friend, before and after pictures, old family trinkets
  • ISFP: petitions passed around classrooms, a friend’s artwork hanging on your wall, the weight of a child on your hip, getting up early to see the sunrise, interior design, vinyl albums, sitting on rooftops with friends, detailed journals from years back stacked in your closet, the warmth of a cat curled up on your lap, sleepy kisses goodnight, the walk up on stage to collect an award
  • ISFJ: buying friends gifts for no occasion, old photo albums lining bookshelves, waking up knowing that today is not yesterday, holding a bun up with just a pencil, splattered paint on brick walls, doing homework on the way to school, bitten lips rather than angry words, tentative hugs, the smell of vanilla, hair falling in front of your face when you duck your head
  • INTP: dead languages, long winded speeches that change topics multiple times, sweater vests, chalk boards covered with writing, lost glasses that are on top of your head, botanical gardens, finals week, bouncing up and down on the balls on your feet as you rant, unbrushed hair, library fines, the glow of a laptop late at night
  • INTJ: packing for college, perfectly winged eyeliner, beakers overflowing with bubbles, schedule overloads, chess games that last until late into the night, the feeling of silk on bare skin, locking your door while working, texting while walking, leaning forwards into discussions with your elbows on the table, rapid-fire conversations, makeup lined up along the sink
  • INFP: community gardens, braiding flowers into a friend’s hair, giggles, playing guitar to an empty room, yellow daisies, sudden anger, reading by candlelight, unexpected hugs, empty forest paths, make believe, whispers that you know no one can hear, understanding nods during rants, lifting someone up and spinning them around, the smell of new paper, forgotten tea that’s turned cool
  • INFJ: hanging lightbulbs, thick books where the spine curls inwards, shoulders shaking forwards when you won’t let yourself cry, absent kisses laid on top of heads, lying beside a friend in bed and talking to the ceiling, dessert left at a friend’s door, watching the people below from city windows, little notes from friends kept for years, the key to your childhood diary
Coming Out

Characters: Uncle!Dean x Niece!Reader, Father!Sam x Daughter!Reader (Reader is a teenager, age not stated but arounbd 16 or 17)

Words: 1180

Summary: The reader talks to her uncle about figuring out her sexuality. Once she figures it out, she tells her dad that she’s bi-sexual. 

Warnings: talk about sexuality, crying, bi-sexuality 

Hey guys. This is a special story to me, very special. I wanted to write and post it this month because it’s Pride month, and it seems more than appropriate. I’ll talk more about it all at the end of the one shot, so enjoy. 

Keep reading

[Miraculous Ladybug]: Just Asking For Some Privacy

finally get to reveal my fic from the ML Ultimate Guess Who Game that @mlficwritersanon​ organized!! also, it’s in the top 10 of fics with most kudos which, wow, holy shit, thank you so much :)

i don’t write gen fics often so it was really heartwarming to see one get this much attention, so thank you all so much for those of you left kudos and comments (even though you didn’t know it was me :P) 

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: Just Asking For Some Privacy 
Pairings: Gen Fic: Marinette/Ladybug, Adrien/Chat Noir, Chloe/Queen Bee, Alya/Volpina
Summary: “No but she’s right. What the heck could the four of us possibly have to do that’s apparently so important that it needs to be done in private, in an abandoned locker room, and in the middle of an akuma attack?”

The latter half of Adrien’s sentence hung in between the four of them while they all stood in silence and narrowed their eyes at each other.

Now that Adrien mentioned it…that was a little weird.


Just Asking For Some Privacy


So here’s the thing.

Finding the perfect hiding spots for transforming and detransforming was easily the most difficult part about being a superhero. Hands down.

One minute you’re running into the girl’s bathroom on the fourth floor about to jump out the window and save the city, the next you’re hiding in the bathroom stall from a mob of older lycée girls touching up their makeup before their first period class, balancing precariously on a toilet, and getting frantic calls from your teammates about why you’re not there to help fight an akuma the literal size of the Eiffel Tower.

Then you have to show up to a fight and explain why your foot is drenched in toilet water all while maintaining the grace and dignity of Ladybug, a.k.a Team Leader, a.k.a. Should Probably Have Her Crap Together Better Than This. You’d think that after a year of being Ladybug this part of the job description would get easier, but apparently that’s just too much to ask for .

“You know it’s not as bad as you think,” Tikki whispered to Marinette as she walked to her next class. “At least you have a lot of free time in between classes and after school to get some privacy. Some Ladybug’s didn’t even have that.”

Marinette pouted. “I know you’re just trying to put things in perspective, but it’s still annoying. I had to transform underneath the reference desk in the library today. I cannot emphasize how impossible that felt in the moment.”

Tikki shrugged and dipped back into Marinette’s bag when she spotted students passing them in the halls. “Might be worth trying to find a new official transformation spot now that you’re in a new school for lycée.”

Keep reading

My Little Problem

Summary: Phil Lester is a great student council president. He’s got pretty much everything under control. Everything, that is, except a punk kid that keeps skipping class in favor of following Phil around.

Genre: High School AU, Student Council!Phil, Punk!Rebel!Dan, Fluff, First Confessions, Humor

Warnings: mentions of cigarette usage

A/N: Honestly? I enjoyed writing this. It’s just a little one shot to try and get rid of this writer’s block. I love high school AUs, and I saw a prompt for this I couldn’t ignore. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!



He just couldn’t seem to figure that boy out.

Phil closed his locker, and his thoughts must’ve been obvious on his face, because his friend Louise grinned at him.

“Is Howell still skipping class? I thought you’d’ve stamped that out by now,” she remarked, closing her own locker and following him down the hallway. “Although, it isn’t like you’re the first person to try. The last student council president, Mark Fischbach, tried to get him to go. That was the first time I think I’ve ever seen Mark get fed up.”

Phil rolled his eyes, adjusting the tie of his school uniform. “That may be, but I’m the president now. He’s the only guy that’s given me actual trouble. The teachers don’t even want to help me out; they’ve all given up on him.”

The pair rounded the corner, and Louise waved. “I’ve got French, so I’ll see you later. Lunch?”

Phil nodded and waved back before entering his own class, English Literature. He was particularly fond of this class, and was ready to tune out his problems for a little while.

However, halfway through class, he heard the familiar sound of someone plopping into the desk behind him. He sighed.

“I suppose you have a good reason for skipping your science class to come here?” Phil asked, turning around to come face-to-face with none other than Dan Howell.

Dan smirked. “I have my reasons.”

Phil sighed.

Dan Howell had been Phil’s little problem for the past three months. Ever since he’d been elected student council president, he’d been doing his best to maintain order and peace within the school.

That wasn’t to say Phil was a complete stickler for rules; he’d let people pass with a warning sometimes or overlook something if they were generally a good student.

But Dan Howell was the one problem that stubbornly refused to go away.

Dan was a punk boy with an attitude. He had no problem back-talking the teachers, skipping class, and generally only scraping by with the bare minimum. Phil had tried, and failed, on many occasions to force him to go to class. He’d even memorized the punk boy’s schedule.

Dan had seized the opportunity to start pestering Phil wherever he went. He followed him to his own classes, waited for him outside the school, and generally enjoyed being a part of Phil’s routine that he didn’t ask for.

“Well, you should be in science. Mr. Deyes won’t be too happy to see you somewhere you don’t belong.” Phil tried to sound authoritative, but it was an empty threat and they both knew it. All the teachers had given up punishing Dan, because he’d simply leave the school.

Dan smiled, unaffected, and Phil ignored the quickened pace of his heart. “But I don’t wanna be in science. I wanna be here.”

Phil sighed again, turning back around. “Fine. But you’re going to your next class, Dan.”

“Whatever you say, Prez,” Dan sang, and he was actually quiet for a little while.

Soon enough, however, Phil felt something touch his head and he rolled his eyes. Dan liked to play with Phil’s hair, earning a reaction from the other boy. But Phil was determined not to give him the satisfaction, and resolutely kept working on his paper.

As the time ticked by, Dan’s hand began to wander. He ran his fingers through Phil’s hair, then paused as it got close to his hairline. Slowly, the soft touch moved lower, to Phil’s neck, rubbing a bit of sensitive skin there.

Phil squeaked, as Dan had never pulled this one before, and whipped around. His face was red but he didn’t care. “W-What are you doing?”

Dan withdrew his hand, but that familiar unaffected smirk was still there. “What? It looked so soft. I bet no one’s ever touched there before.”

Phil pursed his lips, not about to reveal that he was right. “Don’t you have homework you could be working on?”

“Nah.” Dan leaned back. “I just wanted to see you.”

Phil blew out a breath just as the bell rang. He glanced at the clock. Lunchtime.

By the time he looked back at where Dan had been sitting, the other boy was up and moving. “See ya later, Prez,” Dan called behind his shoulder, winking.

“Fix your school uniform,” Phil called after him halfheartedly. His eyes lingered on Dan’s retreating form just a second too long before getting up and heading to the lunchroom.

~~~

Phil was walking out of the school.

He’d stayed after school with student council duties that day, so he was much later than normal. Everyone else had already headed home. He ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, adjusting his bag slung over one arm.

Phil paused at the gate, looking around. Usually, Dan would be standing there, just waiting for Phil so he could follow him home. Of course, there was no Dan today. He refused to acknowledge the twinge of disappointment in his chest, turning to keep walking.

However, he noticed the door to one of the clubhouses was left open, and decided to go close it quickly before heading home. As he approached the door, he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. His nose wrinkled and he groaned to himself. Now he’d have to kick out whoever was smoking on school property.

He stood in the doorway, flicking his eyes over the scene of three boys he didn’t know lounging in the room, taking puffs of the cigarettes.

“Guys,” he began, his tone resolute, “you know there’s no smoking allowed on school grounds.”

They looked at him, and their eyes grew steely as one of them pushed off the table they were leaning against. “If it isn’t little Phil Lester.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. Little? He was six-foot-two.

The boy took a step towards him. “Look, Lester. Why don’t you just let this slide, and we’ll pretend this never happened?”

He stood his ground. “Sorry, guys, but rules are rules. Go smoke off school property.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, and Phil felt a twinge of worry. Surely they wouldn’t get violent?

The leader had taken another step towards Phil when he heard a familiar voice behind him: “You heard the Prez. Get out.”

Phil nearly jumped in shock. That was Dan’s voice, but he sounded different. Rough and angry, with an undertone of a threat.

The leader backed off immediately, spotting the punk standing directly behind Phil. Dan’s hands rested on Phil’s shoulders. “Yeah, sure, Howell…we were just teasin’ him a little…”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Dan growled, and Phil’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d never heard Dan sound like this before.

The pair moved aside as the three others left, and Phil finally turned to face the other boy. “Why are you still here?”

Dan’s face was still dark, and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. He didn’t answer.

Phil softened a little as his pulse returned to normal, and he stepped towards Dan. “Hey, thanks for helping me out. I didn’t–”

“You always do that,” Dan interrupted him, glaring at the floor. “You always fucking go off and try to fix everything without thinking about it. Especially those guys…”

Phil frowned. He wasn’t really sure what Dan was trying to tell him, but an unease was crawling in his stomach. He didn’t like seeing Dan so agitated, but he wasn’t sure what to do to calm him down.

So he did the first thing that came to mind: he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

Dan tensed, but Phil just squeezed, saying: “I really appreciate your help. Sorry for causing you trouble.”

Dan laughed a little, and Phil suddenly felt strong arms incase him. “You causing trouble? You cause me trouble every single day, Prez.”

Phil huffed. “Me? What about you? I can’t even get you to go to class!”

He tried to pull back, but Dan’s grip tightened. “Another minute.”

Phil sighed, leaning into Dan and let the moment happen. He wondered if the punk could feel his rapid heartbeat. But he had to admit it was a calming moment, both of them seeming to regain a balance.

They pulled back, and Phil looked up. Dan’s eyes were warm, and for a second Phil thought he was going to say something, but then he smirked.

“See you tomorrow, Prez. Thanks for the loving embrace.”

Phil reddened. “Just go to class tomorrow!”

~~~

Phil hadn’t seen that familiar smirk all day, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend like it didn’t bother him.

His eyes would snap to the door every time someone entered, but it was never Dan. He was starting to get jumpy. Had something happened to him?

When lunch rolled around, Phil marched all over the school, searching. If Dan Howell was here, then by God, he was going to find him.

Eventually he did find him, but not in a place he expected.

He pushed open the door to the music practice room, only to hear the melancholy sound of someone playing the piano. He looked over, and his eyes widened in shock at the sight of a particular brown-haired troublemaker seated at the piano.

Dan continued playing, apparently lost in the music. Phil closed the door quietly and leaned against a nearby wall, listening. Dan was pretty damn good. He was slightly surprised at the melody Dan was playing; it was a quiet and almost mournful dirge.

The piano stopped suddenly, and Phil opened his eyes. Dan was sitting quietly, staring blankly at the keys.

“So this is where you run off to instead of class,” Phil finally spoke, snapping Dan out of his reverie. The punk whipped around to face him, startled, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

“You gonna turn me in, Prez? Write me a detention slip?” Dan teased, but both knew Phil wouldn’t do that.

Instead of answering, Phil padded over and stood next to the piano, his hands lightly skimming the keys. “I didn’t know you were so good at the piano, Dan.”

Dan followed Phil’s progress with his eyes. “I never meant for anyone to find out I liked it. I’m not that great.”

Phil withdrew his hand. “I beg to differ. You’re incredible.”

Dan was silent, staring at a key as though his life depended on it. He seemed to be struggling over something, and Phil was about to ask what was wrong when Dan stood abruptly, turning to face the other boy. His eyes were burning, and Phil blinked.

“Prez.”

Dan sounded fed up, and Phil was about to apologize when Dan continued.

“Do you have any idea how frustrated you make me?”

Dan had Phil crowded against the piano, staring at him intently. Phil swallowed, hoping his face wasn’t red. “Um…sorry?”

“I don’t like class. I don’t like school. I’m fine with barely getting by and eager to get out of this fucking place. But then one day, we get a new president.” Dan kept creeping closer. “And I’m skipping class like normal, when suddenly this guy with the bluest eyes and a lopsided smile and a pretty face lectures me about skipping. A guy I find I can’t ignore.”

Phil’s brain is short-circuiting. He coughed out: “Uh?”

“And then this guy has my whole world turned upside down. I’m suddenly following him to class. I like it when he lectures me about my uniform. I wait for him after school because I like talking to him. Then I start caring about this boy.”

Dan’s face was flushed, and Phil isn’t about to interrupt to say how cute he looked.

“I notice he does everything by himself and cares about others. He works hard but doesn’t use his status to his advantage. He’s kind to me even though I give him so much shit. I watch him every day and I find myself actually wanting to do the things he tells me. That fucking guy. The guy that ruined everything. D’you know who I’m talking about, Prez?”

Phil swallowed. Dan’s extremely close, and his head was buzzing. “Um. Well. I-I don’t know, but I can tell you something.”

Dan tilted his head, waiting.

“My life was going great until I suddenly had a reoccurring problem. There was this punk kid in my grade who kept skipping, who kept causing problems, who kept waiting for me after school…and then I realized maybe I liked having this problem…”

Dan’s smirking again, and Phil suddenly can’t help but to smile, too.

“Suddenly, I found someone I wanted to play the piano for,” Dan whispered, and then the gap between them closed and Phil’s mind is reeling. He can feel Dan’s lip ring on his mouth, the same lip ring he often tells Dan not to wear to school, and he suddenly gets the urge to tell Dan never to take it out again.

They broke apart, panting, and Dan’s smiling in satisfaction. “I knew you’d taste as sweet as you look.”

“Shut up,” Phil murmured, turning even pinker. “You’re still breaking school rules. You’re supposed to be in class.”

“So? You’re helping me break those rules, Prez,” Dan grinned, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into Phil’s neck. “Lemme see that spot I touched yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about your damn neck.”

“Listen,” Phil squeaked. “I have a name, you know. It’s Phil.”

Dan hummed against his neck, taking his sweet time. “Yup. But it’s so satisfying to see you get all worked up when I call you Prez.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “You certainly like to tease me.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Dan mumbled, finally pulling back to grin at the other boy. “But you like it.”

“Yeah,” Phil admitted. “I do.”

They took a moment to smile at each other, and Phil felt his fingers interlocking with Dan’s.

“But I’m still giving you detention for skipping class all day, Dan Howell.”

~~~

There’s a new power couple at the high school.

If you were acting up and got caught by Phil Lester, the student council president, it was an unspoken rule to just accept punishment. If you caused Phil any trouble, you’d have to answer to his boyfriend–Dan Howell.

Dan Howell was still the school’s most famous punk, but it was rare to see Phil at school without him. Some said he actually went to most of his classes now. What a feat.

As for Phil Lester, pretty much everyone liked him. He was a pleasant guy, funny and friendly with a heart of gold. You just had to be careful, as being too flirty would set off the hot guy always slung over Phil’s shoulders.

Some were daring enough to call Dan Howell whipped, but he’d shrug his shoulders as the Prez would neatly hand them a detention slip. Phil would claim it was for “rude and disruptive behavior,” but everyone knew that if you talked bad about Dan you’d hear from the student council.

Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, after school you may be able to hear the piano being played in one of the music rooms. You might even glimpse the famous Dan Howell playing it, with a smiling Phil seated next to him, leaning on his shoulder.

That’s just a rumor, though.

As if either would admit to breaking the rules or playing the piano.

Studying? I think not/// Ethan Cutkosky SMUT

Studying? I think not//Ethan Cutkosky SMUT

Word count: 2008

Warnings: full on smut


(Y/N)’s p.o.v

I anxiously bit my lip, today was the day Ethan was coming back from playlist.

He offered for me to go with him but I turned him down, I had to stay here and deal with school, it was currently midterm week and I needed to study.

I had recently finished my first five test, Writing, Reading, history and Science. I now had to take my Latin and math one, the two I knew I would fail.

I mean I’m not bad at math it’s just not my strong suit, and neither is Latin.

I texted Ethan and told him about it and he told me as soon as he unpacked he would come over and help me study. But little did I know he had other plans.

“Hey babe” Ethan said kissing the side of my head. I smiled.

“Hey” I mumbled while wrapping my arms around him, he was like a huge teddy bear.

“Alright, let’s get started” he said.

I pulled out my Latin binder, Latin worksheets, Latin translations, and Latin textbook.

Ethan rubbed the side of his head, “why didn’t you pick Spanish”

I rolled my eyes “I didn’t pick Spanish because I can’t make a decision until high school, I’m still in eighth grade remember?”

Ethan only sighed and got in a comfortable position on my bed.

“Let’s start with translating some sentences then we can work on Roman numerals and derivatives” Ethan said looking through my stuff. I nodded my head.

“Alright can you translate this sentence ‘ubi est nilus fluvius?’ ”

I smiled “easy, where is the Nile river”

Ethan smiled “correct, ok next sentence 'Africa et Europa in Rheni fluminis’”

“The Rhine river is not in Africa but Europe” i responded.

“Correct babygirl”

Ethan leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my lips. I giggled and pulled away.

“Come on lover boy, you said you would help me study, not make out with me”

“But I prefer this much more” he mumbled on my lips.

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. “Come on, the faster we get threw this, the more time we’ll have together to do what you want”

He only sighed and we continued practicing Translations.

“Ok, we’ve gone threw almost 90 translations, can we move onto Roman numerals and derivatives?” Ethan asked.

“Yup” he opened my binder and flipped to the second column and opened the rings to take out my derivative and Roman numerals worksheet.

“Ok, so when i say the number in Latin, say it in English and name one derivative, ok?” He explained.

I nodded, “seams simple enough”

“Alright, unum”

“The number is one and a derivative could be unison”

“Duo”

“The number is two and a derivative is duplex”

“Quinque”

“Five, quintet”

“Sex”

“Six, sextuplets”

We went on and stoped at thirty.

“Alright I think your in pretty good shape (y/n)”

I blushed, “thanks, now. Time for math”.

I reached over for my bag and pulled out the algebra textbook and my notebook.

“I don’t need as much help with math, I just need help with slope intersect form, and all the lines that have to do with slope and graphing”

Ethan’s p.o.v

I watched as she grabbed her backpack and took out her textbook and notebook, she looked so pretty.

Her hair was up in a high ponytail and some strands of hair had fallen out. She was wearing my oversized sweatshirt that I had left here a before I left for playlist. She had paired the sweatshirt with some shorts.

Her mouth was open and words were coming out but I couldn’t focus on them, I was too busy checking her out.

“Hellooo, earth the Ethan?” (y/n) said whiles snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“Mhhh, what as that?” I asked.

(y/n) rolled her eyes “I said, I don’t need as much help with math, I just need help with slop intersect form, and all the lines that have to do with slope and graphing” she repeated.

I nodded “ok, let’s get started”

I took her textbook and opened it to a bookmarked page that was highlighted with different colors and little notes on the margin.

I then opened up her notebook to the first page and see a bunch of notes. Something’s were highlighted and there were notes on the side just like her textbook.

“Why do you highlight things and write notes everywhere?”

“The highlighters all have their own meaning. Yellow means I totally understand what I’m learning, pink means I I’m completely lost, and orange means I somewhat get it. The notes are supposed to help me when we take open book quizzes” she said sheepishly.

“I got the idea from teen wolf, remember? You were there. We were cuddling on my bed while catching up on the series because I wanted to and you agreed to it for some odd reason, stiles was helping malia study and he asked her why she highlighted things” she continued on.

I nodded my head remembering. “Does it help you?”

“Yeah, it works out perfectly. I stay after school and get help with the stuff that are pink”

I sighed. “Ok, well les get to work”

I skimmed threw her textbook and saw some practice Problems that she had highlighted pink.

“Ok (y/n) what are the two slope equations that you have to know?”

“Umm, y=mx+b and y1-y=m(x-x1)?”

“You partially got it right the second formula is y-y1=m(x-x1)”

She nodded and i looked at her notebook and asked her.

“How do you find slope?”

“You have to have your y and x axis graphed then you do y2-y1 over x2-x1 and you have your slope”

I nodded “you got it right, let’s try a problem”

“Ok”

“Passes through (-2,5) and (3,9)”

“Ok so first you have to find the slope so you do y2-y1 over x2-x1 and you get 4/5 as your slope, then you fill in the numbers and it will be y-5=4/5(x-(-2))”

I smiled “yup, your so smart baby girl” I cooed.

She only blushed and looked down I chuckled at her.

“Ok time for graphing, state the x and y intercepts for the function, then graph the function”

(y/n) reached over and grabbed her graphing book.

“The function is 2x - 3y = 6, solve it”

(y/n) waisted no time. She quickly jotted down the function and stared plugging in numbers for each side to find x and y. When she did she bit down on her pencil and furrowed her eyebrows obviously confused. She then erased half of her work and plugged in zero to see where that would get her, after she did that she found the intercepts and graphed the function.

She handed me the notebook and I looked down at her work, it was messy but clean and the same time. I checked the work and handed it back and nodded my head.

We continued to study until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“(y/n) we’ve went over everything, your so smart you need to have faith in yourself babygirl”

She nodded and rubbed her eyes.

“Now, time to have fun” i smirked.

I started to take all of her books, papers, and binders off of her bed so that it was just me and her.

I gently pushed her so she was laying down on the bed and started leaving wet butterfly kisses from up her neck to her lips.

She tangled her hands in my hair and kissed me harder. She wrapped her legs around my waist.


We continued kissing for a while before I pulled away to take off my shirt and 'her’ sweatshirt.

I looked at her and saw that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I let out a low growl and mumbled 'fuck’.

She blushed and covered her chest.

“Don’t babygirl, your beautiful” I said while unraveling her arms from her chest.

I leaned down and left love bites on her collarbone. I didn’t leave a lot, I knew she didn’t like it when I left them out in the open, she would get in trouble for it.

I took her right breast into my hand and sucked on it. I bit down on her nipple and it turned into a hard bud. I did this to the other breast.

I then moved down and teasingly started to pull off her shorts. She whined at my slow pace and took matters into her own hands and ripped off her shorts

I smirked. Only I had this effect on her.

I sucked in a harsh breath when I saw her white lace underwear. I could feel myself hardening even more.

I took off her underwear and placed my head in between her legs and placed wet kisses on the inside of her thighs.

I stopped when my lips met her heat. I inhaled and kissed her clit. She moaned my name and fisted the sheets.

I then stuck my tongue inside her and moved it around a little. I then brought up my hand and stuck in my index finger.

“Ethan” (y/n) moaned. She grabbed my hair and pushed my head in deeper. I grabbed her hands and placed them back down. And started going faster making (y/n) squirm, moan, and play with my hair.

“Ethan, I-I-I’m going to-”

“I got you babygirl” my pace fastened and (y/n) arched her back and came in my mouth and hand. I swallowed it all and licked her clean. I then sucked off the rest of her juices that was on my hand.

I stood and took off my pants and boxers my member sprung up and hit my stomach. (y/n) got up and sat on the edge of her bed and took my length into her hands.

She licked the tip and slowly slid it into her mouth. What she couldn’t fit in her mouth she wrapped her fingers around and massaged.

“Mhhh, babygirl right there I said while wrapping her hair around my hands and pushing my length farther into her mouth.

She started bobbing her head up and down. I moaned and released into her mouth.

She swallowed it all and I picked her up and placed her on the bed and positioned myself at her entrance.

"Ready babygirl?” She nodded her head in respons. I slowly slid myself in and waited for her to get used to my size. When she did I started going faster.

“Mghhh, Ethan fatserrr” I oblige and went faster slamming in and out of her.

“Princess I’m going to come”

“Me too”

“On the count of three, ok?”

“Ok”

I got in a few more thrust before I pulled out and came on her stomach.

I got off of her bed and went into her bathroom and got some paper napkins and went back to her room to wipe off the seamen that was on her stomach.

“I love you” I cooed before kissing her lips

“I love you t-”

“(y/n), honey are you home?”

(y/n) and I looked at each other at he sound of her moms voice. We shot up and quickly put on our cloths.

I opened her window and she sprayed some of her perfume. We jumped on her bed and I grabbed some flashcards from the floor and fixed my hair.

“What’s osmosis?” I questioned just as her mom opened her door.

“(y/n) what have I told you about closing the door when you have Ethan over? This door is to stay open. Okay?” Her mom said.

(y/n) smiled and nodded “alright mom”

“Hello Ethan”

I smiled and waved “hey Mrs. (y/l/n)”

Her mom smiled and walked out he door. (y/n) and I let out sighs and fell back on her bed.

“That was close” I mumbled.

Updated Masterlist

#1 He gets jealous of another boy

#2 He wants to watch you touch yourself

#3 He watches you read

#4 Dirty talk

#5 He misses you on tour

#6 Wet dreams

#7 Celebrity crushes

#8 Play fighting

#9 He wants to have a threesome with another boy

#10 He finds out you’ve faked an orgasm

#11 Eavesdropping

#12 Birthday Sex

#13 Prince AU

#14 You refuse to accept a gift from him

#15 Hospitals

#16 You’re clumsy

#17 His kink

#18 He’s your teacher but you’re dating

#19 He’s your teacher but you’re dating (Part two)

#20 Romantic thing he always does

#21 How he kisses you (Visual)

#22 Vampire AU

#23 He mentions marriage

#24 Cuddling (Visual)

#25 Nicknames

#26 Thanksgiving

#27 Daddy’s little girl

#28 “Slow down.”

#29 Heart by Heart (Song Preference)

#30 Mistletoe

#31 His Christmas gift to you

#32“Faster.”

#33 You can see Shadowhunters

#34 You catch him masturbating

#35 Victoria Secret Angel

#36 You find a huge insect and he ends up killing it/calling the boys for help

#37 Twitter Issues

#38 He thinks that you’re cheating on him

#39 How he eats you out (Visual)

#40 Spending a day with him

#41 You’re sick

#42 Greedy

#43 You’re an actress and you have to kiss someone else

#44 He asks you to stay after a one night stand

#45 First “I Love You”

#46 Valentine’s Day

#47 His favorite position (Visual)

#48 You send him a naughty picture (Visual)

#49 She looks so perfect (Song Preference)

#50 He cuts your hair

#51 You overhear him talking about proposing to you

#52 Interruptions

#53 “Stop…”

#54 You’re home late and he gets worried

#55 Promises

#56 He tweets a photo of you at the beach (Visual)

#57 He uses a pick up line on you

#58 Boxer AU

#59 Tattoo Soulmate AU

#60 His perfect girl

#61 “I miss you”

#62 He tweets a photo of how he proposed to you (Visual)

#63 Momma’s boy

#64 After a fight

#65 Rude (Song Preference)

#66 Whipped

#67 You’re quiet during sex and it frustrates him

#68 “Tell me…”

#69 Another boy tweets a picture of you two asleep (Visual)

#70 You find a love letter he wrote to you

#71 You leave marks on him and the other boys notice (Visual)

#72 You run into his ex who’s a bitch/crazy now

#73 You tweet a picture of him asleep and he replies (Visual)

#74 Bad boy AU

#75 Couple tattoos (Visual)

#76 Home

#77 One of you tweet a picture of your kid and you/him replies (Visual)

#78 He tells you a lame joke

#79 Winter

#80 Masquerade ball

#81 Hugs

#82 Night Changes dates

#83 Stockholm Syndrome/Lima Syndrome

#84 Whispers

#85 “It’s me.”

#86 Tenerife Sea (Song preference)

#87 He picks you up after a bad date

#88 Another boy babysits your child and tweets a picture of it and someone else replies

#89 College AU

#90 Other Soulmate AU’s

Unlisted (if there are any)

Punk series:

  1. His appearance
  2. How you meet
  3. “Don’t fucking touch her.”
  4. A little bit of truth
  5. Disappearance
  6. He agrees to go on a “date” with you
  7. First “Date”
  8. He sneaks into your room
  9. He asks you to be his girlfriend
  10. He gets into a fight
  11. First “I love you”
  12. Your father finds out you’re dating
  13. You sneak out to see him
  14. “Run away with me.”
  15. He reveals something about his past
  16. Sexual Encounters
  17. He tries to train you/workout with you
  18. You return home
  19. The Aftermath
  20. (coming soon)

Teacher series:

  1. How you meet
  2. “You’re a teacher?”
  3. Staying after school with him
  4. He overhears you talking about him
  5. He has a talk with you
  6. He stops another student from bullying/harassing you
  7. You think he’s going to kiss you
  8. You see him outside of school
  9. (coming soon)

Imagines:

Lunch Date (Harry)

Hendall Setup (Harry)

Teach me (Harry) (Part 2)

Phone Sex (Harry)

Not a teenager anymore (Harry)

Protector (Harry) (Part 2) (Part 3)

The New Assistant (Harry)

“Am I pretty enough now?” (Harry)

Tell me (Harry) (Visual)

Brother’s Best Friend (Harry)

A “date” with Nadine (Harry)

It makes your lips so kissable (Harry)

Cuddly drunk Harry (Harry)

Horny during a concert (Harry)

Sugar Daddy (Harry)

First Impressions (Harry + Niall)

One Time Thing (Narry Threesome)

Knee issues (Niall)

Surprise? (Niall)

Blackouts (Niall)

Sharing the news (Niall)

Honeymoon (Niall) (Visual)

Snow Storms (Liam)

Sneaking out (Liam)

Sugar Daddy (Liam)

Smiles (Liam)

Little white lies (Liam + Ashton) (Part 2)

Childhood room (Louis)

Movie night (Louis)

Lucky (Louis)

The 7 seconds challenge (Louis)

Needy drunk (Louis)

“Best friends don’t make out” (Louis

Good Luck Charm (Zayn)

Happy family (Zayn)

Casual Proposal (Zayn)

Breaking of the Zerrie engagement (Zayn)

Protective fights (Zayn)

Dream come true (Zayn)

Picking a name (Zayn)

Desperate for a change (Zayn)

Au Imagines:

Best Friend!Liam

Bad boy!Liam

Daddy!Harry

Demon!Harry and Angel!Y/n (Part 2)

Tattoo Artist!Zayn (Part 2)

Art Student!Zayn

CEO!Niall

Math Student!Niall

Movie Star!Louis

Blurbs:

How Louis would be on your wedding Day

How Zayn would comfort you

Romantic things Harry does for you

Niall and you being mobbed

What Harry’s skills would be in bed

What Niall would be like in bed

What Harry would be like in bed

What Harry would be like if you were pregnant

What Niall would be like in bed

Clingy Zayn

What Niall would be like if you were pregnant

Lazy days with them

What Harry would be like if had big boobs

Wedding dresses with Harry

A Morning with Liam

You sit on Niall’s lap and turn him on by mistake

Louis while you’re cooking

You fall asleep on Louis

Dom/Sub relationship with Harry

Zayn asking you out on a date

Jealous Niall

Harry as a boyfriend

Au memes:

Finals are approaching and you need to study but Zayn would much rather do other things…

The other boys absolutely love to tease Harry about your relationship together whenever Harry talks about you.

Harry sends you some snapchats while he’s off on tour.

Liam explains how he met his girlfriend, y/n, and it seems that Harry played matchmaker in their relationship…

You’re dating Niall and you can’t help but send snapchats of him to your friends.

You get sick and can’t join Louis as he returns home but he keeps you updated through snapchats.

Fic Rec

Blurb Nights:

Soulmate!1D

Father/Husband!1D

More coming soon!

Yesterday, one of my discussions sessions was talking about the fear associated with wanting to be a math major, but not thinking of themselves as ‘math people.’ 

I told them I was never ‘math people,’ that I learned trig at age 23, calculus at 24, higher math at 25, and started graduate math at 26. Being ‘math people’ is a decision, and it’s never too late to decide to be just that. 

…Then they asked me what I did before age 23, and I told them about my law career…

…They expressed surprise that I had walked away from a very well-paying career to go back to school, then stayed in school after finishing my program. 

…And…

…I might have gotten too real. I say it all the time on here, but I said it to them:

There is nothing more important to me in this whole world than their understanding of mathematics. It is the reason I exist. It is everything to me that they will, in this lifetime, witness mathematics as I have come to know it. It is my life’s work that they meet this beautiful, indescribable thing that I love with all I am and everything I will ever be. I quit my career to dedicate all my time to it, traded my house for a one room efficiency so I could afford tuition and books, lost my marriage because my spouse didn’t support my decision to do this, and it was still a steal of a deal because what I got in return is the most valuable, important thing I could ever possibly do with my life. I’d live in a gutter and eat sticks and leaves and think myself a king as long as I could teach calculus all day and work on research all night. As long as I felt like I was doing a good job and my students were building a better understanding of mathematics, as long as I was ever refining my understanding of the inner workings of this incomparable abstract creature called mathematics, I would feel like a millionaire. 

I told them also that they already are math people. We talk about math all day, and we teach each other in the process. They bring new problems that I had never considered before, challenge me to think in different ways, and (for crissake) help me improve my shitty arithmetic abilities by keeping me in consistent practice. They make me a better mathematician, and it my greatest privilege and joy to think that I help make them better mathematicians, too. 

…Anyway, there were some interesting expressions on faces in that room, so they might think I’m a lil’ cray. But I don’t regret that, because I like to think it was obvious already (both that I am cray, and that I care a LOT about their learning calculus). My students deserve educators who feel that their learning of the subject matter is the most important thing in the entire universe, because it is.