the hands never left his pockets

Secret Revealed

prompt: Combination of: · Okay now I really need to see Batmom and Batman fighting at a league meeting and someone(maybe Question?) calling out their bs, and An imagine where the justice league guy members shamelessly flirts with batmom just to rile batman up and he snaps when superman does it? He’s all like wrapping his arms around her waist and says : my wife not yours mine" and ·Can I have one on what would happen if Green Arrow sees Batmom for the first time and not knowing who she is turns to Jason -who had been standing next to him- and ask if Batmom is single?

AN: Cute and fluffy!

Words: 845


       Clark sits down in the seat next to yours and smiles, before reaching out to take your hand. You raise one eyebrow in question but don’t pull your hand back just yet. “So, I was thinking we could have dinner tonight. I know this restaurant by the sea, really nice place.”

          You bite back a laugh before looking over your shoulder to find Bruce standing just a few feet away, his eyes focused on you and Clark. He’s not the only one though, the rest of the league are staring as well.

          You lean in close and ask, “What did my husband do to tick you off this time, Kent?”

          Clark just smiles and says, “I have to write the wedding announcements for the next month because I disagreed with him over something. Plus, this also payback for all those fake fights I’ve had to endure over the years.”

          “How about I get you back on sports and I turn you down gently?”

          He grins, “I’ll take what I can get.”

          You lean back in your chair and say, “Sorry Superman, I’ve got plans.”

          “That doesn’t answer the question Hell Cat.” You turn to face Ollie, who’s grinning at you.

          You raise an eyebrow in question “And what answer are you looking for?”

          “That yes you’re single, and that yes you’re free Friday night, because I know this unbelievable little restaurant in Milan.”

          Your eyes flash to Bruce. His teeth are clenched and the look in his eyes is enough to make Jason back slowly away.

          You frown, “Sorry, I’m busy that night too.” Your eyes slide to Clark who’s trying so hard not to laugh.

          “So who’s taken up all your free nights Hell Cat?” You turn to Hal, who is leaning against the wall. “Cause when I asked you out last month, you were busy then too.”

          You take a deep breath and say, “Well you see boys, I’m married with two kids, so that doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.”

          There’s a moment of silence before the men burst out in laughter. The few women in the room however are studying you closely. Huntress in particular has a knowing glint in her eye.

          The laughter is still going on when Question sneaks into the room. More often than not, the man would have gone unnoticed. He’s good at sneaking around, you’ll give him that. Helena’s grin just widens before she calls out, “Question.” The man just stops and turns towards his girlfriend. His hands are in his pocket, but he’s giving her his full attention. “Truth or Lie, Hell Cat over there is married with two kids.”

          The answer comes immediately “Truth. Hell Cat is married to the Batman. They have two adopted children, Nightwing formerly known as Robin, and the current Robin. They’ve kept their relationship hidden among the League for the past eight years, simply because they found it fun to mess with people’s minds. If someone were to look close however, they’d notice that the fights they put on never lasted more than twenty minutes, and they always left together. Their children find it infuriating.”

          There’s this stunned silence before Jason cries out, “Finally!” Then spins on his toes to face Green Arrow, “My mother is not single, stay the hell away from her!”

          You ignore the surprised faces of the Leaguers in favor of Question. “When did you figure it out?”

          “My second week. I noticed that your fights, while entertaining, never subtracted from the quality of a meeting, meaning it never interfered with something that needed to be done. In the case of a crisis there would be not contention on either of your parts, even if the two of you had argued about it previously. My theory was confirmed when I spotted the two of you making out in a dark corner.”

          You hear Jason groan, “Oh come on! I’m supposed to be the teenager here, not you two.” Then he turns around to leave the room and says, “If you need me, I’ll be on the phone with Nightwing telling him that everything has finally been exposed.”

          You smile as your eyes slide to the women in the room, mainly Shayera and Vixen, who are grinning at you. You grin before asking, “Yes?”

          Shayera grins, “You’ve been holding out on us.”

          Vixen nods, “All those girl’s nights out over the years, and you never told a story.”

          “Not every day a girl kisses the Batman. Spill.”

          You smirk and say, “That’s private,” before mouthing the words ‘next girl’s night out.” That seems to satisfy them.

          Standing up you stretch and walk over to Bruce. “Let’s grab our traumatized son and go home now.”

          “Grab Jason, I’ll be there in a minute.”

          You shrug and walk out of the room. Bruce turns to Clark who’s still smiling before he says, “You can have your sports section back, but you’re covering nothing but golf, chess, and badminton for the next three months.” Clark’s smile fades and all Bruce says is, “My wife, not yours.”

My darling @blacktofade‘s birthday was, uh, two months ago, so here I am, ten years late with her birthday present. ILU BB!! If this lil au seems like it should be a full-length fic, that’s because it desperately tried to be, and I had to keep chopping at it to keep it under control, like some kind of rouge hedge on meth. (Now on AO3!)

In the hours after the fight, Stiles drives and drives and drives. At first it’s late, and then it’s so late that it’s early, but he keeps on driving, fueled by anger, mostly in silence, though somewhere around the middle of Pennsylvania he thaws enough to put on some music. He stops at a rest stop just past the Ohio border to get a breakfast sandwich, and as he sits at a dirty table and eats, he thinks: shit.

Doubt begins creeping into his thoughts; maybe he’d been too hasty. Maybe he should have given Jay a chance to explain - but no, no, fuck that. He’d always made it really fucking clear that if their relationship ever got to the point where cheating seemed like a good option, he’d rather just be broken up with and yet look what fucking happened. Stiles scoffs scornfully, chucking the wrapper to his sandwich in a nearby trash can. Two and a half years down the drain.

Refreshed by a new wave of anger, Stiles heads back to his car and gets back on the highway. He manages to wrangle his phone from his pocket and, ignoring the multiple text and missed call notifications, he calls his dad, who picks up with a sigh.

“You know what time it is?” his dad asks, and Stiles looks at his dash guiltily. He’s been so worked up that he forgot about the time difference - or the fact that even on the east coast, it’s early, the sun barely above the horizon.

“Sorry,” Stiles says with a wince. “I’ll call back later.”

“It’s fine,” Dad says with another sigh. “I just got home from an overnight shift. Everything all right? You’re not usually up before ten.”

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes his mouth, startled by the raw ache in his eyes.

“Stiles?” his dad presses, somehow gentle and sharp at the same time; Stiles is worrying him.

“I’m - ” Stiles clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Um. How would you feel about me moving home for a while?”

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“Blue Flames” - One Shot

Please do not post this anywhere else without my permission. 

Rating: M (Smut) 

Preview: 

You hated going to these functions for Harry sometimes because you didn’t really know how to talk to the rich and famous, much less make a good impression and talk up your boyfriend to these said rich people who were going to make Harry more of a star than he already is. It was much easier earlier on in the relationship to attend to things like this because you knew of three other guys who would be there as a crutch if Harry was off in a serious conversation with a producer or someone who could help him go solo.

           Tonight was so much more different, as Harry was auditioning to land a major movie role and he was extremely excited, but extremely nervous about not getting the part. Knowing that you are HIS crutch made your heart swell a little more, but knowing that you would have to talk to a room full of completely different people, even a completely different scene with no one to fall back on was starting to make the nerves in your stomach race so hard that you felt nauseous. But nevertheless you put on your black dress that fell to the floor in your giant closet that the two of you shared when Harry asked you to move in to his house in LA.

           “Babe?” You heard Harry somewhere in the bedroom, his voice darting a bit forward at the last letter of the word, knowing that he was rounding the corner to the closet. He stood in the doorframe looking down at his hands that were holding two different necklaces, both long; one was gold and the other silver, both holding pendants at the very bottom. The silver pendant adorned his plain silver but slightly larger cross, and the gold chain held one small coin pendant at the bottom and the other chain above it was a small gold cross.

           Harry stuck out his hands that his somewhat more inexpensive pieces dangled from, raising both eyebrows at you. You squinted and your eyes raked over his long and lean torso, a black silk button down (which was almost all the way un-buttoned) was carefully and neatly tucked into the long black and white pinstripe pants over his black and so shiny you could see yourself in them boots. You licked your lips just slightly at the sheer sight of him, and his tongue grazed the inside of his cheek as he rolled his eyes.

           “Don’ have time for that, love,” he grinned his little smirk that made his dimple flash, and you wondered how you weren’t jumping on him right then and there.

           “Shutup. Not like you don’t do it to me,” you crossed your arms and glared at him, shifting all your weight to one hip. He immediately saw your body change and his eyes flew down to your chest that was pushed up by your arms just enough. You rolled your eyes this time, and poked two fingers hard into his shoulder.

           “This one,” you pointed to the silver cross and helped him get it over his head quickly, as he has seemed to freeze momentarily.

           “Thanks. Kiss,” his lips puckered out and you looked at him for a moment and paused, his lips starting to turn into a frown when you leaned forward quickly and pecked at them, his smile was triumphant.

           “You ready, love?” He asked, shrugging on his very tailored black velour jacket that fell at his hips, nudging his long hair from in-between his shirt and the jacket to fall out easily, adjusting the collar and his hair, again.

           “Mmm, just let me get my coat,” you said to him and turned to the white pea-coat hanging on the rack that you hung carefully as if not to spill or even breathe on it before his big night. Just then the moment hit you hard, you knew that it was extra important and wondered how you even agreed to this. It might have been the way Harry was standing in the doorframe looking hot as hell, or it might have been the way he ate you out as a plea and a bribe so feverishly just last night that you thought you went to actual heaven because of all the white and the stars (twice); either way, you were nervous and he was, too.

           “Harry,” you said just barely audible, tears prickling at your eyes.

Harry turned to face you and saw your body frame slumped, almost eaten by the pea coat around your arms and your lips were pouting as to say please, don’t make me do this. He strode over to you and in one simple step of his long legs and he was holding you tightly by the waist with one strong arm, the other swiping his padded thumb over your cheek. You felt his breath linger over your forehead as he kissed the temple, and then dipped his eyes to look at you, searching your face momentarily.

“I won’ leave your side, promise,” he grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours and tugged slightly, his eyes never left yours as you gave up in defeat and nodded, following him out of the house.  

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mutantgurls  asked:

71 Klance pls

Keith waits anxiously for the blue and yellow lions to return. Coran had assured them that this space mall visit would be seamless, but Keith still worried. Last time they had just gone for some glass plates, and ended up stealing a cow and getting chased my the mall police. But Hunk and Lance had promised to stay together and keep Coran in line this time. Hunk wouldn’t go anywhere near the food court and Lance vowed not to swim in any fountains.

Keith was still skeptical. 

“Incoming”, Shiro sees the lions pick up on the castle’s sensors. The hangar doors whir and keith is bounding towards the entrance as the doors slide open. Hunk, Lance and Coran stride into the control room with victorious smiles.

“No problems this time?” Allura swivels on her chair.

“Absolutely none. I told you guys, we got this.” Lance brushes his sleeves and strikes a cocky pose with a smirk. Keith rolls his eyes. Why was he worried about this jerk?

“Here are those circuit routers you wanted, Pidge.” Hunk walks over and plonks the small equipment in Pidge’s lap. She looks up with a thankful smile. Her glasses glint in the artificial lighting.

“Excellent. I’m really excited about rover 2.0″ She enthusiastically unwraps them.

“I’ve got those new crystals for your control panel, princess!” Coran rushes over to Allura. His long legs carry him to her at alarming speed. He pulls out a clump of green crystals and slams them on the dashboard.

“Thank you, Coran. though you’ll have to help me install them.”

“Of course, of course! Also….” Coran’s moustache twitches with his knowing grin. He rummages in his pockets until he pulls out a delicate silver chain dotted with purple gems.

“I believe you requested something sparkly.” He begins to attach the bracelet around Allura’s wrist. She beams and holds up her hand to the light.

“Oh Coran! It’s wonderful!” 

“Nothing but the best for my favourite princess!” Coran proclaims. His bravado is knocked out of him when Allura sweeps him into a bruising hug. 

“Oh, that reminds me…” 

Keith’s focus is pulled away from the sweet scene at the sound of Lance’s hushed voice. It’s just the two of them left standing by the entrance now. Keith turns to see Lance digging in his own pocket. His thin brows are scrunched in concentration and he bits his bottom lip. His hands pat down his legs, chest and sides, until he feels whatever he’s searching for in his jacket pocket. He smiles.

“Here, I got something for you.” His voice is still quiet so only keith can feel. Keith steps in close. Something? For him? He tries to think of if he asked for anything. Maybe it’s a joke gift. Like scissors to cut his mullet or something. They’d both laugh at that. That’s what friends did right?

Instead, Lance pulls out a small metal object. He presses a button and a blade flicks out. He rotates his wrist in the light, which creates pearlescent rainbows along the knife’s metal surface. keith’s eyes widen.

“It’s made with some cool alien rendering technology. Coran will talk your ear off about it if you really want to know. I just thought it was pretty.” Lance huffs out a laugh. he tosses it to keith, who deftly catches it.

Keith admires the blade, the weight in the palm of his hand. It is very pretty, and compact so he can keep it hidden on him at all times.

“This is for me?” He exhales. 

“Yeah.” Lance steps close. He points to a mark on the handle. “I think that’s like a secret toothpick or something.” He laughs. Keith gently snaps the knife closed. His stomach flutters.

“…Why?” He asks again in disbelief. “Why did you get this for me?”

Keith… has rarely gotten presents before. If he was lucky, Shiro would be around on his birthday and would try his best to give him something before he left for christmas, but those were the only moments Keith could remember celebrating those occasions. Christmases were spent with family… which he never had. And birthdays were usually shared with friends… but those were also in short supply.

Keith can list all the gifts he’s ever received on one hand. 

“No reason,” Lance lazily shrugs with his hands deep in his pockets. His smile is lazy, and he hums some melody as he saunters off to his room. 

Keith bites his lip and smiles to himself. 


He sleeps with it underneath his pillow. 

Extra Sugar

Originally posted by somethingincrediblyright

Requested: By myself honestly, but this is also my (pretty late) fic for Day 1 of the Hamilton Write-A-Thon, hosted by @hamwriters (thank you!!)

Pairings: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Summary: The Reader works in a coffee shop, and she feels a bit territorial about her favorite customer  {Coffee Shop AU}

Warnings: I don’t think so

Word Count: 1,285

A/N: I hope that you guys like this, I was super unsure about it until @secretschuylersister was the sweetest person ever and read it for me. Sorry that this is being posted so late, I was traveling yesterday. 

Your customer was back.

Saying that felt unfair, but you couldn’t help but smile every time he came back. Most of the time, he looked even more worse for wear than he had the last time. His hair was constantly disheveled, the bags under his eyes were worrying, and it looked like he owned one sweatshirt that he might have lived in. And somehow, he seemed genuinely happy to be there.

And when you were working with Corrine, he was one of the few people that was able to pull you out of the sour mood that you inevitably fell into after working with her for more than a few hours. You had opened that day, all by yourself. It wasn’t like you were scheduled that way, either. A few minutes after the morning rush, Corrine waltzed in. She looked well rested and pleasant. It took everything that you had in you not to choke her out.

Lin was making his way up to the counter, and you had already started his two shots of espresso.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you with anything?” You glanced behind you to see Corrine actually attempting to help a customer. But something felt off. She was leaning too far over the counter, and her voice sounded more like a purr than a barista helping a customer.

You mouthed his order to yourself as he responded. “Vanilla latte with a double shot, please.”

“Of course, I’ll just get that started for you.” Corrine said, tapping a few buttons on the register before rushing over to where you were putting the finishing touches on his drink.

“I’ll get this one.” She said, making it sound like she was doing you a favor by taking credit for your work. You watched her in disbelief as she handed Lin the cup, holding onto his hand for a few more seconds than really necessary and then stood watching him make his way out of the shop.

You sighed to yourself, thinking that at least she wasn’t going to show up this early two days in a row.

You were sadly mistaken when you arrived to work the next morning to find Corrine behind the counter. Not only had she beaten you there, but she was sitting behind the counter doing no actual work.

“Hey!” She called, head snapping up from her phone when she heard the door open.

You chose to simply smile in return, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

“So tell me, who was that man who’s order you knew by heart yesterday?” You held your breath, hoping to allow yourself at least a few seconds to calm down. “Because he is going to ask me out if it’s the last thing he does.”

You fought to keep the confused expression off of your face. Somehow, you felt more hurt than annoyed. Usually you rolled your eyes at Corrine’s antics, but this time felt different.

Oh God. You liked him. And somehow you had managed to be completely oblivious until Corrine wanted him. Typical.

“I don’t know much about him.” You said, taking off your coat and tying your apron around your waist. “His name is Lin-Manuel and he likes extra sugar in his coffee, even if he is a little bit embarrassed to ask for it.” You realized Corrine was barely even paying attention to you anymore, so you chose to stop talking, allowing silence to fill the room again.

“Well then, I guess that I will just have to take it upon myself to do some investigating.” Corrine said, tapping away at her phone.

You struggled through the morning rush, Corrine lounging in the back room while you somehow managed to spill not one but two cups of coffee on yourself.

By the time that Lin walked through the door, you were looking a bit worse for wear. “Hello!” you called, still feeling a sense of relief when he walked through the door. He fixed you with his blinding smile before making his way to the counter. “Vanilla latter with a double shot, right?”

His eyebrows drew together, confusion clouding his features. “You know my order?”

The blush was nearly instantaneous. “It is kind of my job to know your order.”

“Most people don’t bother, I guess.” He shrugged, and you were more than happy to let the subject drop.

Before you could say anything else, Corrine sat a cup of coffee in front of him. “It’s on the house.” She said, winking at him. You noticed a phone number scrolled along the side. Your heart suddenly felt a bit less fluttery, the butterflies abandoning their home in your stomach.

“Oh, well thanks!” He said, fixing her with a grin before grabbing the coffee and heading out of the shop.

“I think that my work here is done.” Corrine laughed, slipping on a coat and throwing her bag over her shoulder.

“You are scheduled for another four hours today.” You said meekly, gesturing to the cork board where the owner posted your schedules.

“I have to get ready for my date with Lin tonight.” She was talking to you like she was explaining a perfectly simple concept to a child.

“He already asked you out?” You were fighting not to feel defeated, but the doubt was swallowing you whole.

“No, but I’m sure that he will now that he has my number.” And just like that, she was gone.

Even though you were left alone for the foreseeable future, the morning rush was over and it would be nice to have some time to yourself. You had just begun to gather up the dishes left over from that morning when the bell over the door rang.

He was back.

You struggled to find words as he approached the counter, but they were all getting caught in your throat.

“I’m really sorry, I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but this is the worst cup of coffee that I have ever had in my entire life.” Lin said, chuckling. He sat the latte on the counter, shoving his hands in his pockets sheepishly.

“I can honestly say that I have never seen Corrine make a latte in the entire time that I have worked here, so that doesn’t sound very farfetched to me.” You tossed the cup into the trash can, starting two new shots of espresso for him.

“So that was her number on the cup then?” He asked. You might have just been projecting, but it almost sounded like he was disappointed.

“Yeah… sorry if she made you uncomfortable. Corrine can be a bit entitled at times.” You poured the espresso in the cup and gathered up all of the materials that you would need to steam his milk.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable with her giving me her number, but I might have been hoping that a different girl had written her’s down as well.”

“I- I think that we might be able to work something out.” Your heart was going insane, but you felt like you were going to float away. You added the vanilla and some extra sugar to his latte, scrolling your name and your phone number on the side of the cup.

“I’ll see you later.” Lin said, accepting the latte and taking a large sip.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” You called after him.

“I have confidence.” He laughed, giving you one last smile before pushing the door open.

You got a text message a few minutes later. It was from an unknown number, but you knew exactly who had sent it.

From: Unknown Number

Can I pick you up around seven? I promise we can go for something other than coffee! :D

anonymous asked:

jughead is in prison and meets betty through a penpal programme

“Jones. Mail time.”

Jughead jones looked up from his bunk, peering over his worn out edition of “Howl”. He never got mail, not anymore. People had stopped trying, friends had given up, family never cared. Nobody loves a criminal.

Rykers island was one of the worst federal state penitentiaries in all of New York and Jughead Jones was one of their most frequent inmates. The dark haired 25 year old had been in and out of prison since they day he turned eighteen, being a part of the Notorious Southside gang “The Serpents” jail was something written in the stars, he was currently finishing up a three year stint for drug distribution. Unlike his gang mates, he wasn’t proud. He didn’t want this life, didn’t even choose it, he was born into it, molded by his father from the time he was five years old.

That brought him back to the current situation, no one would write him letters, he’d told his sister he didn’t want her having any part of the jail system and his gang members were either alongside him in jail or merely didn’t care. His mother had left him when he was younger and his father had a gang to run.

“You sure it’s for me John?” Jughead entered the mail room, his hands shoved in his pockets as the older guard handed him a tiny white envelope with a floral stamp in the right hand corner, the hand writing distinctly feminine.

“Sure is Jughead, never smelt a letter so pretty, you got someone sweet on you at home?” The seventy Year old southern man grinned as Jughead blushed and shoved the letter into his grey body suit.

“Nah. Probably spam.” He threw a lazy wave and practically sprinted back to his bunk, dropping back onto the bed and removing the letter from his pocket.

“Smells good, don’t know what that old mans talking about.” Jughead mumbled, pausing a moment before looking around quickly and shoving the envelope under his nose. Well damn, it did smell good.

Peaches and vanilla, kind of like the smoothies they had at the gas stations back home. He scanned over the handwriting, his eyes landing in the name written in the corner.

Betty Cooper
134 Elm Street
Riverdale OH

Who the hell was Betty Cooper and why was she writing him a letter? He sighed deeply, nothing good could come from a letter, more bad news, maybe his father had kicked the bucket finally and this was one of his many women letting Jughead know.

Jughead tore the letter open, slicing through it like a pro.


“Dear Jughead Jones,
Hello! My name is Betty Cooper and I’m from Riverdale Ohio. I know that this is very strange, to be receiving a letter from an absolute stranger! I should start off by saying I recieved your name from a pen pal program my school is doing for the fall semester. I should also start off by saying I am 24 years old and not a student, I teach first grade. Now, I have to admit I was very hesitant to allow my students to do this penpal program, I mean first graders writing to felons? It’s a bit odd don’t you think? Never the less my boss insisted so here we are! I do not know anything about you, much as you do not know anything about me! I hope to change that though, I do hope you answer me. I should tell you a bit about myself. I grew up in Riverdale and went to community college where I got my teaching certification, I love my job but it is only part time. I also own a bakery in town, most of my efforts go to perfecting my cakes and cookies! Perhaps I can send you some? If you like sweets that is. Oh I really hope you do. I do not have any animals but I’m in the market to get a dog! I just bought my very first house! (Very exciting) well that’s all I can think of for this letter, please write back about yourself! I hope to hear from you very soon Jughead Jones. Stay safe and be loved
- Betty Cooper”

Jughead traced the words on the paper, his fingers looping over her swirly cursive, she was eccentric and quirky and he could almost feel the sunshine she put out into the world. He found himself wanting to know more about her, it was an odd feeling… to care for someone. He wouldn’t write back, he couldn’t write back. What would he say? Hi, this is Jughead, I rob banks and sell drugs. Dropping the letter over his face Jughead sighed.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

He placed the letter on his bedside table.
He would keep it but he wouldn’t write back.

Two hours later Jughead was covered in crumpled paper as he held up a page long letter and shoved it into an envelope.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?
*****

Hey I kinda really like this. Possible multichapter?

Deception is Key

To @clouds-crying-rain. Sorry it took too long, (shit happened) :D

based on this lovely prompt. 

Enjoy!


“Don’t you get it, Shiro?” Lance gripped the small screw in his hand, the pain giving him the focus he badly needed. “We don’t have a chance against the Galra. They outnumber us by millions. D’you think we can fight every fight, win every battle without any permanent casualties?”

“Don’t say that, Lance. I know you don’t believe that. Voltron is strong, we are strong as long as we work together as a team, we can defeat them.” Shiro took a step forward but the Galran soldier held him back. “Please Lance, don’t go.” Shiro pleaded, his voice so vulnerable that Lance almost turned and wrap Shiro in his arms…

Almost.

Lance saw the glint in Lotor’s eyes. Lotor was Zarkon’s only heir, tasked to rule over his father’s empire and to bring an end to Voltron. His attempts were always a failure that it was almost funny. But after a few skirmishes here and there, Prince Lotor has learned Voltron’s strengths and weaknesses, so much so that he was able to execute a flawless plan that led them here. 

“And what if I stay?” Lance turned to show Shiro a mockingly sweet smile. “What will I come back to?” In order to make this convincing, Lance needed to cut deep and true. He needed to open the floodgates and drown.  

“A team who treats me like shit? That no matter what I do, I will never ever be enough? Because if that’s it, then I’d rather sell my soul to the devil that is the Galra than to be reminded every single fucking day that I am a worthless, good for nothing Paladin who’s just a waste of space.” Lance was doing damage, he was still wearing his helmet and the comms were live. He knew that, but once the floodgates that was his emotional control crumble, be ready to drown; survivors be damned. “You think I don’t hear the whispers and mutters of each of these people who have the balls to call me their friend? ‘Lance messed up again.’ ‘Guess who couldn’t keep it in their pants?’ ‘Why me? He’ll just mess up one way or another.’ Guess what fuckers, I heard all of that.” Lance felt his eyes burn, but not with tears this time.

“So tell me, Shiro, what good will come out with me coming back to those bastards, huh? And don’t say that the team will change or any of your leader bullshit because I know, based from experience, that people don’t change that easily. Hell, they’ll probably play nice because I’m a fucking time bomb. They’ll say sweet things because they know that if they mess up, I’ll do this again. I can practically hear Pidge saying it right now.” This is good. Lance didn’t want to let Shiro talk because he knew that his facade will crumble if he did. 

“Please. If not the team, then me. Come back to me, Lance. I-I’ll be good to you, I promise. Lance, please. I-I love you, Lance. Don’t go please. I can’t lose you.” Shiro’s voice was watery and thin, that even in this distance, Lance can see the tears that glisten on his eyes.

*Caution: Shangst approaching*

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anonymous asked:

Describe the foxes' hands pls :) im trying to draw them but i dont have any imagination :/

oh my god

  • kevin: artist’s hands, with long deft fingers. really nice nails that look like he has manicures even though he doesn’t (well, maybe sometimes). his left hand swells when he works hard (so, every day, pretty much) but the bones set surprisingly straight considering they were never properly treated. he makes fists of them when he’s nervous. there’s a blog dedicated to his sexy man hands and all the kevin day fans share them everywhere
  • dan: TEENY LITTLE HANDS with broad palms and quite short fingers. strong-looking, calloused across the base of the her centre three fingers. she paints her nails in bright colours (like orange!!! but also yellow and pastel pink and neon green) and moisturises with lemon-scented creme that allison buys her each birthday and christmas. loves to wear pretty rings, anything from fine plain metal to big chunky statement ones
  • matt: GIANT HANDS which means there’s a pic on the wall of dan holding her hand up against matt’s to compare (from before they started dating. they’re actually about to arm wrestle). thick-knuckled from boxing. shares dan’s moisturiser, so his hands smell citrusy too
  • renee: small hands with neatly trimmed nails that she doesn’t often paint unless they’re all doing them together. wears cute gloves all through winter because they get cold. red-silvery ropes of scarring in the meat of her palm where she once grabbed a blade aimed at her belly, to match the tracery on her knuckles where she was cut once or twice. they ache sometimes in bad weather, and swell in the heat, and she often clenches and relaxes them to ease stiffness. they’re helper’s hands, made to work as well as fight, and more soft and generous than they look like they should be 
  • aaron: workmanlike square hands with bitten nails and major tan line from his watch on his left wrist. they get cold easily but he never buys gloves so he often shoves them in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. has a crooked finger where he hit someone once (they deserved it) and it never healed right, but it doesn’t bother him much (except that he looks at it sometimes and thinks vaguely about becoming a doctor because everyone - even bratty poor kids -  deserves proper medical care)
  • allison: the kind of hands you see modelling rings - long fingers, slim lovely wrists, perfect nails in shell pink and iridescent silver and shimmering gold. she pays for manicures and moisturises obsessively. doesn’t mean she doesn’t have calluses, though - and she’s proud of them. these hands are beautiful, but they’re still as likely to make you lose a tooth as the hands of the other foxes
  • nicky: big mobile hands that are always on the move. the kind where you can make out every well-shaped bone and tendon moving under his skin, no marks to obscure them. he’s lazy about moisturising ever so they’re always super dry and also really warm. he always briskly chafes them over the hands or shoulders of anyone who complains about being cold. catch him holding hands with any and all of his teammates to keep their fingers warm 
  • andrew: broad palms, thick fingers; strong like the rest of him. scarred knuckles like tiny white starbursts where he’s punched things he shouldn’t - walls, mirrors, windows. misshappen knuckles from punching all kinds of stuff, actually (including people). broke bones more than once before he learned some technique for hurting people without hurting himself. under the marks, his skin is fairly pale from all the time he spends with them in his pockets, and also soft around the callouses from his racquet
  • neil: knobbly wrists but elegant slim hands that move quickly and lightly. they give him away sometimes, forming fists when he’s angry, and fluttering when he’s anxious or irritated. the burn scars stay rippled and obvious, but many of the finer scars between them eventually fade so you can only see them in the right light. often seen hooked into the hem of andrew’s sweater, or through a belt loop. andrew calls him “lost child” with a hint of mocking sometimes, but doesn’t tell him to stop
Freak

“That was completely out of line, Sherlock!” John yelled. Sherlock had felt the tension from the moment he deduced at the crime scene and all the way home. He had had a bad day, so his deductions were rather scathing. He’d thrown insult after insult at everyone, and, mistakingly, at John. He hadn’t meant to, but he was just there.

“John, I -”

“No, Sherlock! You’re done talking. What you said to everyone - to me - no. I don’t have to take this shit anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Yes, Sherlock. I’m leaving.”

“Come now, John, I’m so-”

“No you’re not. When are you ever sorry for anything?”

Sherlock flinched as if slapped. “John…”

In the heat of his rage, John turned from facing the kitchen and shoved Sherlock to the ground. Sherlock looked up at John, fear evident in his eyes.

“John, please -”

“I said you’re done talking, dammit!” John hissed.

Sherlock looked away, refusing to let his tears fall.

John is leaving. John is leaving him. John is leaving because of him.

“Please stay,” Sherlock whispered. “I - I need you.”

“They’re right you know,” John mumbled. “I always tried to defend you when they talked, but they’re right. You’re nothing but a -”

“Freak,” Sherlock’s voice croaked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

The one thing he always loved John for is that he never found him to be anything other than extraordinary. But now … Now it hurts.

“I’m going to pack my things, and I’m leaving. For good. I just - I can’t take this anymore, Sherlock. Don’t come looking for me, don’t tell Mycroft to do surveillance, just don’t try to contact me. I’ve had enough.”

John trudged upstairs, leaving Sherlock to sob on the living room floor.

He’d really done it now. He’d messed up the only good thing in his life, and now he could never get it back.

Sherlock wiped his face and brought his hand to his left trouser pocket, pulling out a black box. He stared at it for a while until he couldn’t anymore and threw it across the room. He wrapped his arms around himself and let the tears fall freely. At the sound of the front door slamming shut, he lay down and curled into a fetal position as he silently cried out his sorrows.

John was gone.


@sorcererofsupremepizza @morgendaemmerung89 @loveinthemindpalace @love-in-mind-palace @currently-in-my-mind-palace @yorkiepug

I don’t remember who else wanted to be tagged in stuff because I lost my list again, so just let me know if you want to be tagged! :)

thirty days of skam fic: day twenty nine
aka, isak triple texts his one night stand, even, and the boy squad are in absolute despair at how desperate that looks

beginning. accusation. restless. leaves. rainbow. flame. formal. under. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. cans. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. tent. mad. thousand. paper. winter. luxury. letters. promise. simple. future.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

“Dude, this is so simple. This is like, entry level stuff.”

“Seriously Isak, how have you ever managed to hook up with anyone before?”

“Bro, come on, did you not take dating 101?  I mean, even I know this.”

Isak slumps back in his chair, gripping his beer between white-knuckled hands and glaring around the table.  At some point soon, he thinks to himself, he really needs to invest in some better friends.

“You can all fuck off,” he suggests, and then turns a baleful look to the middle of Jonas’s kitchen table, which they’re all sat around as they supposedly pregame for a big party in someone’s university halls tonight, although at this rate Isak’s not sure they’ll even make it to the party, since the guys now seem only invested in telling him off.  Isak’s phone is lying on the table between them all, still open to his most recent text conversation.  Mahdi had been holding it, but he’d felt the need to dramatically drop the phone in disgust as soon as he’d seen what Isak had done.

But in Isak’s defence, how was he supposed to know it’s bad to triple text?

“He was really hot,” he moans, bringing his beer bottle up to his forehead and pressing the cold glass against his temples. “Easily the best sex I’ve ever had, even though we both completely drunk.  Plus he was nice, and funny, and – I’m just supposed to never contact him again after that?”

There’s disbelief in Isak’s tone, because that can’t possibly be how it works.  He also refuses to believe he’s this out of the loop on the rules of dating – or that there are rules of dating to begin with, honestly.

“Exactly!”

“It was a one night stand!”

To be fair, Isak’s had his fair share of one night stands since coming out of the closet a few years ago, just before he graduated Nissen.  Possibly more than his fair share.  His time at University so far has involved a lot of time at parties and gay bars, a lot of guys with dark hair and dark eyes, just Isak’s type, a lot of kissing in shadowy corners and fucking in strangers’s beds.  He’s gone on a few regular dates too, but it never really caught his interest, and nothing ever turned into any kind of actual relationship, so he mostly does just stick to the hooking up – and through all of that, he’s never felt the urge to text a guy the next day.  Sometimes he’s taken their number but just never got in touch, and other times the parting has been more mutual, or else he’s snuck out in the middle of the night without saying anything, but never this.

This guy – Even, whose name still tastes heavenly in Isak’s mouth – had been different.  

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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.

Kalopsia (M)

» the belief that things appear more beautiful than they are.

Summary: Jungkook’s a photographer who has a knack for finding the beauty in the simple things.
Word Count: 10,623
Genre: Photographer!Jungkook + angst/smut/fluff 
Warnings: Mentions of death 
A/N: Based on this song. This is incredibly long, and I’m sorry.

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Offbeat (Part Four) - Auston Matthews

A/N: Here you go! Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy!! :)

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Auston Matthews (Feat. Connor Brown, Morgan Rielly, William Nylander, Zach Hyman, Mitch Marner, and Kasperi Kapanen)

Words: 4,402

Warnings: Language

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Originally posted by phillymyers

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SIRIUS BLACK APPRECIATION POST

BECAUSE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH but of course no one could love him as much as Remus does


Seriously though??


Like can you just imagine what Sirius felt when he found out he was disowned by his family because damn that must have hurt a fuck ton. It doesn’t matter if he hates them—they’re still family. And maybe, just maybe, he had been hoping against hope that they would change, no matter how impossible it may be, because Sirius Black is one arrogant little shit. But instead they disown him, forced his brother to immediately cut off all sorts of contact with him, and he was all alone again, but this time it was for real.

Because him being blasted off the family tree meant that no one stood up to defend his name in his absence. No one in his family gave a fuck about him, as they all stood there, assembled in the room, silently watching Wulburga Black exile her eldest son from the bloodline.

And, god, it hurt so damn much. The worst part? He had to act like everything was all dandy, because if he didn’t, people would start asking questions, and eventually, everyone would find out about it. And he didn’t want that. So he smiled and laughed and joked about, but there was always an ever present aching in his chest. He was getting quite used to it, actually, smiling through the pain. Because that’s all he ever learned to do when he had nothing left.

But Remus, oh, sweet Remus, he saw through the façade. He saw the the way his smile never truly reached his eyes, the carefully concealed pain behind his lighthearted words, the way Sirius would space out more than usual. Remus knew something was wrong, but if Sirius didn’t feel like telling him yet, then he wouldn’t prod for answers. All he needed to do was be there and make sure that Sirius knew this as well. And he did. Sirius definitely noticed that Remus joked about around him more often, and that the lycanthrope made sure that they were almost always somehow touching—a hand on the small of his back, an arm slung around his shoulder, hands brushing against his ever so lightly, and tight, crushing hugs—and he tried not to break down every time Remus gave him a warm smile, or when he would kindly correct Sirius’ mistakes instead of laughing at them.

Then Sirius had stumbled across the Common Room, drunk and pissed at the late hours of the night when no one else was awake, except for, of course, Lupin, who was leaning against the wall near the fireplace, waiting for his friend to come back. And he just blew up, shouting god forsaken shit at the other boy, calling him names and so much more, and he knew he had hurt Remus—he fucking knew, and it broke him, because he was actually saying them to himself more—but Remus never left his side.

“Are you finished?” he had asked, his face devoid of any emotion. When Sirius didn’t answer, the prefect strode over toward him, hands casually tucked inside the pockets of his pyjama shorts. “If you were trying to get to me, Pads, it didn’t really work, because I should have you know that most of those things you’ve said, I’ve been saying to myself. I know that you’re trying to push me away, but I’m a stubborn bastard, so you better learn to accept that and let me help you, or I’m not going to stop trying.”

And Sirius broke down, because finally—finally—someone cared. He didn’t give a bloody fuck if that sounded selfish, but after years of being raised to become perfect, to be someone he wasn’t, and have people care about him because of that image, he just snapped. All the years of pain and tiredness had come flooding out and he didn’t even protest as Remus enveloped him in a hug, murmuring comforts into his ears, and basically just becoming the anchor that Sirius needed so desperately because everything was always being taken away from him, and he knew that he needed something permanent—something stable and real and just there.

And that was Remus.

I’m so weak right now because of this wowza but I dont know how this turned into a Wolfstar post but I also really love Remus Lupin??? Also I don’t get why Lupin’s often projected as innocent and strict but with a good sense of humor so I just want to point out that he’s a stubborn and mischievous ass too ok bye

Turbulent

a/n: Tur·bu·lent /ˈtərbyələnt/- not controlled or calm, a.k.a., Arthur Kirkland with a crush. 

A.k.a., it’s a lame pun :(  anyway okay, have this. I have like two requests in the inbox that I’m working on but I just recently rode an airplane and couldn’t help myself. 


Arthur knew planes.

With three brothers living in three different countries, he was quite used to the whole process. His local airport map was practically burned into the back of his head, hell, some of the guards there liked to greet him for old times’ sake- old times being the last time his brothers had craved a reunion out of the blue and Arthur found himself forced to comply, boarding a plane at the most ungodly of hours for the sake of Kirkland togetherness.

A case Arthur was forced to repeat today. To board a plane because they simply had to meet at this specific given time, no earlier no later! Never mind the hole it burned in Arthur’s pocket, family above money!  

At this point, he liked to think he could recite the safety demonstration presentation by heart. Yes, airplane rides were, as made evident by the lack of surprise or thrill, painfully boring.

But yet there he was that particular day, despite all his complaining, despite everything in his body telling him it was just another boring plane ride, there Arthur was- lips parted in what could only be awe, fingers, for the first time, fumbling with the belt in his lap. It was as if, suddenly, everything was foreign to him.

And oh god, it was the worst. It was the complete worst because Arthur was helplessly gay and the flight attendant was hot.

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history-rover  asked:

Prompt: Phichit beta reading Yuuri's self insert fanfic of himself and Victor, and Victor finds out (credit everyone in Discord!).

S/O TO EVERYONE IN DISCORD @history-rover @forovnix @omgkatsudonplease @exile-wrath @dystopiansushi @emerald-imperial

~

“Victor, can I tell you a secret?” Yuuri asks with vodka seeping from every breath he exhales, with his hand slipping up Victor’s shirt at a varying pace, first slow, then fast, then slow again, as though he can’t decide what to do.

Victor touches Yuuri’s ankle with his foot, shifts closer to him until he’s about to fall off of the barstool. Phichit and Christophe are sitting nearby, but ever since Yuuri had one shot too many, he’d been locked in his own little world with Victor. “You can tell me anything.”

Then, he’s struggling to get his phone out of his pocket. Victor reaches a hand to help him, and as soon as their skin touches Yuuri grips his hand, lacing their fingers while holding the phone with his left hand. He places it on the bar, then opens the internet. “I’ve gotta show you… I never showed you. I don’t think I ever showed you.”

He leans closer, nuzzles his neck. “Showed me what?”

“This,” he says, and then taps on something. “I used to…” A blush flushes across his cheeks and Victor kisses him. He tastes of alcohol and something sweet, something he can’t quite name. “You know how I liked you?” Their joint hands move to Victor’s thigh and rest there. “Before I met you?”

He’s aware that Yuuri was a fan, and he nods.

“I used to write,” Yuuri is saying, and pushing the phone towards him. “Do you see this one? Five thousand kudos, Vitya. Five thousand. And it’s… I loved you then, and I love you now. I loved you so much and I wrote about you but now I don’t have to ‘cause I have you.”

Victor blinks, stares at the phone screen.

From Russia With Love by vicchanfan202

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Victor Nikiforov/Reader

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Coffee Shop, Self-Insert, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Smut, Hardcore Smut but there’s plot I promise, (My first fic!!! be nice plz), Misuse of whipped cream, Explicit Sex, kitchen sex, strawberries in all the wrong places, sex in a lot of places lol, Food Kink, Praise Kink, BDSM (Probably), Gold Kink, Sugar Daddy, Temperature Play, Male Original Characters, Female Original Characters, Daddy Kink

Language: English

Words: 217891 Chapters: 12/12 Kudos: 5027

Victor Nikiforov is on top of the world–he possesses beauty, medals, fame. Everything but love. When he bumps into a young man at a coffee shop, everything changes.

“Yuuri…”

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks, and his thigh presses more firmly against Victor’s as he shifts closer.

Victor swallows thickly. “Yuuri, I…”

“I used to write them in Japanese, but Phichit beta’d this one for me,” he explains, then hiccups, then yawns. He wraps his free arm around Victor’s shoulders and leans on him, burying his head in his chest.

“You have a daddy kink? And a praise kink? And a… What does strawberries in all the wrong places mean?”

Yuuri moves a hand to his ass.

Victor clears his throat. “Tomorrow, when you’re sober, we’re going to have a talk about why you haven’t told me these things.”

He giggles. “My legs are asleep. So’s my face.”

He chuckles and cups Yuuri’s cheek, using his free hand to open up the fanfiction on his phone. He copies the link, texts it to himself. “Your face is asleep?”

Yuuri nods, yawns. “Let me tell you about the story, okay? It’s a…” His brows furrow in concentration, as though he can’t remember what he was going to say. “There’s smut, right, but–”

“Smut?”

“Sex, like a lot of it. I think there’s, like, nine sex scenes in the second chapter. The relationship develops quickly. But the plot,” he says, and pokes Victor’s chest. “It’s all about the plot.”

“Nine sex scenes in one chapter?”

Yuuri hums. “Not all sex, but like sex, you know?”

“I don’t know. I really, really don’t know.”

“I’ll explain, no worries. Phichit, do you remember From Russia With Love?” He turns to his friend.

Phichit’s eyes widen with recognition, his pupils dart back and forth between Victor and Yuuri. “You told Victor about your smutty self-insert fanfiction that hit five thousand kudos?”

“Remember the strawberry scene?” Yuuri prompts.

Phichit pales. “I’ll never forget the strawberry scene.”

“We’re going home, and I’m finding that strawberry scene,” Victor states, taking Yuuri’s hand and leading him towards the door.

“There’s another part with chocolate syrup–that’s where the temperature play comes in.”

“Yuuri…”

~ The following morning

“What happened last night?” Yuuri asks, stepping into the kitchen and seeing a pack of freshly-bought strawberries sitting on the kitchen counter.

Yes ma’am

Request by @marvelhpaprendice: Hi! This may come out of nowere! But i love your Bucky fics! So i have a request to make! Could you do a one shot where Bucky and the reader hate each other (not really hate, like hate with sexual tension beetween them) and one day, as they watch a movie, they feel the tension that they make and just give in to each other? Thank’s!!!!!!

Summary: Your blind date goes wrong and you find yourself watching a movie with Bucky despite how much you two despise each other.

Warnings: Smutty smut, really small angst. 

A/N: I did this request right away because the messaged me personally and I honestly forgot about the requests in my asks. I’m going to get to them, I promise. I’ve just been extremely busy with school. I’ll try to work on a few tonight and tomorrow if I have time. Thank you all for being so supportive of my Bucky x Reader fan fictions! I love getting feedback, whether it’s positive or negative, both help me improve my writing and story telling.

Keep reading

The Light

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2,203 

Request: By Anon! “Bucky overhears your friend talking about how much better your ex was for you <3″

Warning: Angst, fluff 

A/N: Arg, man this wasn’t even supposed to be with such feels, but I just can’t control myself. Lol. I love you all sooo much, I feel like I haven’t said that in some time! Hope you enjoy anon, and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! 


You loved your friends for many reasons: they were true copies of yourself, they always made you laugh, they would always tell you if your eyebrows were far from being on fleek and best of all, they always had your back.

There were, however, reasons that could sometimes make you hate your friends and that reason was when they decided they knew your boyfriend better than you did. Which they didn’t, not even a little bit.  

“Not this again, please just shut it or you know where the door is,” you said, pointing towards the hallway of your apartment. Nina and Sophia looked at you offended and held up their hands defensively.

“We’re just being good friends here!” they stated in unison, you sighed deeply.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

"Can I sit here? The other tables are full.”

30. “Can I sit here? The other tables are full.”

In which Harry’s your ex and you think you’re over him.


“Can I sit here? The other tables are full.”

You look to your left and find Harry, one hand holding a glass, other hand tucked into the pockets of a suit. You don’t doubt it’s expensive, but you’re surprised to see it’s a solid color. His hair has grown since the last time you saw him and his face has thinned, sharpening the line of his jaw. There’s a bit of stubble spotting his upper lip and chin. He was never very good at growing it out.

“Sure,” you ascent with a quick skip of your heart, giving him a soft nod. He lowers himself into the chair beside you and sets his glass on the table, eyes roaming the room.

The place is decorated extravagantly, lights lining a full dance floor. It’s Niall’s birthday party, and apparently more people have showed than he expected. It’s true: every other table is full, and the extra people are either occupying the dance floor or hovering around the sides of the room.

“Yeh look nice,” Harry compliments, wiping his palms down the thighs of his pants.

“Thanks.”

“Yeh always look nice, though.”

A small smile finds its way onto your lips. He’s his ever-charming self. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard him speak and his voice still warms your insides.

Harry is your ex. The relationship was short, only a few months, but it was fast and happy and full of passion. You felt like you could map out his soul by the end of it. Things don’t always work out, though. The breakup was messy. It’s been nearly a year since that last fight you had, the one that brought everything to a halt. And now here he is, looking devilishly handsome and exuding confidence.

“You don’t look too bad, yourself. Solid colors suit you.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. He looks relaxed, and you’re surprised to find you feel comfortable, like you never left his flat in a flurry of tears. Like you never screamed at him until your throat felt like sandpaper and he never spit nasty words at you. This is just like before everything collapsed.

“Don’ like the pa'erns, then?”

“Some of them, not all.”

“Ouch.” He flashes you that dimpled grin, the one that makes his eyes crinkle and your knees weaken. It’s all so simple, the way the two of you fit together. Conversation flows without effort, but there’s a reason you split up.

“It’s not like you’ll take my thoughts into consideration, anyway.”

Harry’s smile slowly fades from his face as he turns back to look out on the dance floor. Niall has had a few too many drinks and he’s making a fool of himself in front of a new girl he’s seeing. You can recall times when Harry was just a bit too tipsy, screaming lyrics to his favorite songs and dancing a little too enthusiastically. Memories like that used to make you feel like your insides were being shredded, but now it makes you choke down a giggle. You’ve healed.

“Listen, Y/N-”

He doesn’t get to continue as a presence appears at your shoulder. You turn your head to smile and then turn back to Harry.

“Harry, this is my boyfriend, Jack. Jack, this is Harry.”

Harry just stares up at him for a moment before rising from his seat to shake his hand.

“Hullo.”

“You’re Harry?” Jack asks, giving his hand a firm shake. “Y/N’s talked a lot about you. Plays your music all the time, too.”

You smile bashfully, twisting your fingers together in your lap. Harry glances down at you with interested eyes.

“Tha’ right?”

“Yeah. You’re album’s amazing, man.”

“Thank you,” he says with a heavy nod at Jack. “Better get goin’.” Harry leans down in front of you and presses a kiss to your cheek that makes your skin tingle. It’s a bit too long before he pulls away and lifts his glass from the table.

“Cheers.” He raises his glass at the two of you and then drains the contents, setting the empty glass back down and shoving his hands back into his pockets as he walks away. His heart is heavy. On one hand, he’s glad to see you happy. On the other hand, it’s torturous to know you’re not still as broken as he is. It’s unfair.

You watch Harry as he weaves his way through the room toward the exit. Jack sits down beside you and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“He’s a quiet guy,” he comments.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Your cheek still feels the pressure of his lips and your hand burns from where his fingers brushed your skin. His cologne lingers in the air around you. You feel a pang in your chest. Maybe you’re not as healed as you thought. There’s a brief moment where you think you might give it all up, everything you’ve done or accomplished in the past year, just to be back with him. To feel his arms around you at night, to be the one that makes his eyes dance with humor at your stupid jokes, to smooth out the crease between his brows when he’s stressed. But that chapter is over.

Sign of the Times

Originally posted by jonesjughed

Read “Ever Since New York” first

Check my series masterlist for updates

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: Jughead and (Y/N)’s last moments together in the airport.

Warnings: A N G S T

Word count: 2,143

A/N: not gonna lie, I totally cried while writing this. Enjoy!


Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
Welcome to the final show
Hope you’re wearing your best clothes

Jughead awoke with his limbs entangled with (Y/N)’s, and for a moment he forgot everything except for the fact that she loved him.

She fucking loved him.

And then he remembered. He remembered why he had built the courage to tell her his true feelings, and he remembered what today was. He barely noticed (Y/N) shifting in their bed until she turned around to face him.

“Morning,” she groggily yawned, a small smile gracing her face.  

Jughead sadly smiled as he brushed a small piece of hair out of her face.  “Hey you,” he whispered.  He scanned every inch of her face, trying to memorize how delicate she looked in the morning.  This wasn’t the first time he had seen her as soon as she woke up, but it was the first time he saw her like this.  It was the first time he saw her with the knowledge that she loved him as much as he loved her.

“When’s your flight?” (Y/N) inquired, interrupting Jughead’s thoughts.

“It leaves at two,” he sighed, pulling her back into his chest.

“Jug, mine’s at noon,” she muttered into his chest.  They both glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand, the numbers reading 8:56.

“We should probably get ready then,” Jughead said sadly, beginning to unwrap himself from (Y/N). She sat and watched as he stood up and ripped off his shirt.

“Is this my going away present?” she laughed with a smirk.

Jughead rolled his eyes as he threw his balled up t-shirt at her.  “No, silly, I’m taking a shower.”

“You want me to join?” she asked, sitting up and winking.

“Maybe next time,” Jughead waved off her suggestion with a smile.

(Y/N)’s smirk suddenly faded.  “If there is a next time.”

Jughead sighed and frowned, shaking his head.  “Always the optimist, (Y/N),” he mused.  “Listen, I’m hopping in the shower.  If you want to join me, be my guest.”  He grabbed a fresh set of clothes and trekked into the shower, leaving an undecided (Y/N) behind.

She ultimately chose to let Jughead shower on his own, choosing to sit on the bed and mope.  A few minutes later, the shower turned off, and Jughead, wrapped only in a towel, stepped out of the bathroom.

“You didn’t join me?” he asked with a laugh, attempting to lighten the mood.  “It was your idea.  Whatever, your loss.”

(Y/N) smiled bitterly. “I didn’t join you,” she replied, “in hopes that there will be a next time.”

You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky
You look pretty good down here
But you ain’t really good

Packing was a struggle. Every time (Y/N) would fold and place an article of clothing in her suitcase, Jughead would immediately toss it out.

“Jug,” she whined, folding the same shirt for the third time, “please, for the love of God, stop.”

“But I don’t want you to leave,” he moaned as he approached her.  When he stood right behind her, he wrapped his arms around her.

“I don’t want to leave either,” she whispered, leaning her head against his chest, “but I’ve gotta. And you’ve gotta go too, so you should start packing.”  She tore herself out of Jughead’s grip and continued to put away her clothes.  “Come on, Jug.”

“If we don’t pack, we have an excuse for not coming home,” Jughead offered, stubbornly crossing his arms.

(Y/N) shook her head. “You and I both know it’s not that simple.”

We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?
We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
Your bullets, the bullets?

“I called a cab,” (Y/N) notified Jughead.  “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Jughead, who was laying on the bed, sighed.  “I don’t want to go,” he whined.  

(Y/N) pouted as she crawled into bed next to him.  “I know, Jug,” she replied, “but we have to.”

“We don’t have to,” he countered.  “We could just stay here forever.”

“Jughead,” she stopped his planning, “you know we can’t.  The internship stops paying for our rooms today, and I’m sure you’re almost out of money to spend.”

Jughead sighed and pouted, knowing that she was right.

Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away from here
We gotta get away from here
Just stop your crying
It’ll be alright
They told me that the end is near
We gotta get away from here

“Cab’s here.”  (Y/N) looked up from her phone at Jughead, who was still moping on the bed.  “Come on, Jug, grab your suitcases.  It’s time to go.”

Jughead reluctantly stood up and begrudgingly grabbed his suitcase, rolling it behind him as they exited Jughead’s hotel room.  The room where they had their first late-night talk.  There room where they first spent the night together.  The room where he began to realize that he loved her. The room where he told her he loved her. The room where she told him she loved him.  The room where they kissed.

The room where it all went to shit.

“Jughead,” (Y/N) interrupted his thoughts.  “Why are you still standing here?  The cab’s waiting.”

“This room…” Jughead trailed off, not knowing where to start.  There were too many memories in there to abandon.

(Y/N) sighed and grabbed Jughead’s hand, softly tugging him towards the elevator.  “I know, Jug,” she responded.  “I know.”

Just stop your crying
Have the time of your life
Breaking through the atmosphere
And things are pretty good from here
Remember, everything will be alright
We can meet again somewhere
Somewhere far away from here

The cab ride was completely silent; neither Jughead nor (Y/N) could find any words to comfort each other.  They were both stuck in their own whirlwind of memories.

The driver occasionally attempted to make conversation.  He would comment on the weather, or a restaurant that they passed by, or the architecture of buildings.  Each time, he was met with a stiff nod and maybe an “uh-huh.”  Eventually, he realized that these two teenagers would not respond to him, so the rest of the cab ride was dead silent.

Finally, they arrived at the airport.  With a softly spoken thank you, (Y/N) and Jughead paid the driver and exited the cab and entered the airport.

We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?
We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?

“We’ve gotta say something eventually,” (Y/N) finally spoke up after they checked their luggage and got their boarding passes.  “I mean, unless you want to leave each other without saying anything.”

“Of course I don’t want to do that,” Jughead immediately replied, “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say what’s on your mind.”

“Us,” he told her.  “This, whatever this is, between us.  It’s all here in New York, and once we leave, it-”

“Do you want to break up?” she asked before Jughead could finish.

He frantically shook his head.  “No, of course not.  But we have so many memories in this city, and now it feels like we’re just abandoning it.”

“But Jug, you know we can’t stay.”

“I know,” he sighed.  “I know, you’ve said it a million times.  I’m just reflecting, okay?  That’s why I’ve been quiet.”

“I understand,” (Y/N) whispered.  She subtly laced her fingers with his.  “I’ve been remembering, too.”

Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away from here
We gotta get away from here
Stop your crying
Baby, it’ll be alright
They told me that the end is near
We gotta get away from here

They lapsed back into silence as they approached security.  In sullen quietness they removed their shoes and placed all their carry-ons into the plastic bins, sending them onto the conveyor belt.

“What’s your gate?” (Y/N) asked as they slipped their shoes back on.

Jughead glanced at his boarding pass.  “D26,” he answered.  “What about you?”

(Y/N) dug her pass out of her pocket.  “C16.”

“And you’re boarding in what?  Fifteen minutes?”

“Twenty,” she corrected him, holding his hand as they headed towards her gate.

“Twenty minutes,” Jughead muttered under his breath.  “We only have twenty minutes left together.  Maybe forever.”

“Always the optimist, Jughead,” (Y/N) playfully rolled her eyes.  “Can you stop counting down the minutes and, I don’t know, enjoy the last moments we have together?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologized.  “We should savor the last of our time together.”

We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?
We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
Your bullets, the bullets?

“This is my gate,” (Y/N) pointed at the sign that read C16.  She and Jughead stopped walking, and (Y/N) hesitantly glanced at the other passengers waiting to board.

Jughead opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, he was cut off by the overhead speaker.

“We will begin boarding in five minutes.  Please prepare your boarding passes,” the lady announced, causing Jughead to groan.

“So this is basically it,” he said, grabbing both of (Y/N)’s hands.  “And don’t reprimand me on not enjoying our last minutes together, because I can’t knowing that you are about to let go of my hands and board that plane and leave me forever.”

“I’m not leaving you forever, Jug,” (Y/N) protested.  “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but that doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other.”

“(Y/N), you know I’m a pessimistic person,” he told her.  “An unknown time means never.”

“Do you want to break up, Jughead?” she demanded.

Jughead’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Do you want to break up?”

We don’t talk enough
We should open up
Before it’s all too much
Will we ever learn?
We’ve been here before
It’s just what we know

“I told you, I don’t,” Jughead reminded her.  He glanced over her shoulder as passengers began to form a line to begin boarding.

“Well maybe it’d be easier,” she responded in a strained voice.  “Then it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“It’d hurt more!”

“It would hurt more now, sure,” she said, “but then after you get over it, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I would just be your summer fling.”

“I don’t-” Jughead paused, trying to calm himself, “I don’t want you to just be a summer fling.”

“You just said you don’t know when we’ll see each other again,” she practically cried.  “You just told me that to you, an unknown time means never.  If we’ll never see each other again, then this,” she gestured between herself and him, “is a summer fling.”

“(Y/N),” Jughead squeezed her hands, and she realized that she had forgotten that he was still holding them, “you are not a summer fling.  You are so much more than that to me.  Okay?  I do not want you boarding that plane thinking that all you were was just something out of a shitty rom-com.  You are so much more.”

(Y/N) nodded with tears clouding her eyes.

Stop your crying, baby
a sign of the times
We gotta get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to—we got to—away
We got to—we got to—away
We got to—we got to—away

“This is a last minute call for gate C16,” the lady on the overhead speaker announced.  “Last call for passengers to board this flight.”

(Y/N) frantically turned to Jughead.  “Jughead, I-”

“You’ve gotta go, (Y/N),” he said, releasing her hands.

She glanced between the gate and Jughead.  She slowly walked towards the gate.  Right as she was handing her boarding pass to the lady at the desk, Jughead saw her pause and mouth something to the lady.  The lady nodded, and (Y/N) ran towards Jughead.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and crashed her lips against his.  He immediately responded and placed his hands on her waist.

“Go,” he removed his hands from her.

She bit her lip as she scanned his face, trying to memorize every feature.  

“I love you,” she stated with a quivering lip, grabbing his hand.  She wiped away the single tear that spilt out of her eye.

“I love you too,” he whispered.  (Y/N) released Jughead’s hand, and he could feel her fingers, one by one, slipping out of his grasp.

And just like that, he was one ghost, standing alone in the bustling airport.

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