the old times were the best

killian-whump  asked:

Time Travel and a Cheese Grater, yes?

My wonderful lovely whumpster….

Those are objects, my love. I need people lol. 

Oh! I could do a time traveller and a cheese maker?

I know fuck all about history but I do know that Applewood smoked cheese is the best fucking cheese - I will fight anyone on this.


The first time she enters his shop, she smiled at him as she’s seen him before. He knows for certain if he’d ever crossed paths with such a woman, he’d never forget it. She looks simply out of this world, yet she enters his shop as if they were old friends.

“Good Morning, milady. How can i be of service?”

“i was hoping you had something… smoky.”

He’s been crafting a particular cheese for a while now. A mature applewood smoked cheddar that’s become his personal pride and joy.

He offers her a sample and she smiles as she tastes it. Nodding in approval and causing him to blush furiously at her pleasure in the cheese. 

“And how much would that be…”

“Killian. Killian Jones at your service, miss. And that’s Half a shilling if you please.”

“Killian. Right. I’m Emma.” 

Her accent tells him she’s most likely travelling from the American lands. She hands him the coin and takes the cheese, smiling and bidding him farewell, leaving him an awestruck mess.

She’s definitely otherworldly. 

The second time she enters his shop, she looks somewhat younger. She’s guarded, reluctant to speak. He offers her a sample of the Applewood cheddar and she takes the same as before. There’s no smile or farewell when she leaves this time. 

She’s a strange woman yet she fascinates him all the same.

She visits again and again over the next six months. Each time she’s rapidly different. Softer, harsher, lighter, guarded, sad, happy, flirtatious, sorrowful.

Killian finds himself becoming enamoured with the beautiful blonde ray of sunshine with the strange clothing. Each time she shows up he gifts her with the Applewood Cheddar and each time he falls just a little bit more for the mysterious miss Emma. 

“You always seem to have plenty of this.”

“I make it for you especially, Miss Emma.” he admits one day. Her blush is burned into his memory and his heart soars. 

It’s late October when she turns up again. His smile lights up his whole face at her appearance. His step lighter and his voice merry with excitement. She smiles softly at his mood.

He gifts her her regular order and suddenly becomes nervous. He swore to himself that he’d pluck up the courage to ask her if she would like to accompany him one afternoon to the park, and now the moment was here he was stuttering.

“Miss Emma. Pardon the forwardness of my query but, i was wondering, if you’d be interested in accompanying me on a stroll tomorrow afternoon?” 

She gives him a sad smile as her eyes turn watery. 

“I can’t, Killian. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. I understand. Please, forgive my boldness.” he tries to reassure her, biting back the sting of rejection.

She leaves soon after, and his day grows that bit darker.

He doesn’t see her after that day.

Christmas turns to Easter and yet Killian still makes the cheese, hoping she’ll return, forgive him, change her mind, forget about his foolish request.

But she never does.

It’s five years later when the bell to the shop door jingles. It’s nearing 5 o clock and he’s soon to be closing but the person who’s entered his shop has him freezing in his tracks.

It’s her.

He almost doesn’t recognise her. 

She’s older. Far older than she should be. Her hair whiter, skin more frail, littered with decades of stories and memories alike. But those bright greet eyes are unmistakable. 

“Emma?”

“I shouldn’t be here.” she tells him, moving closer to the counter. “But I had to come back and see you one last time.”

“I don’t understand.”

She turns to the shelf and smiles.

“You still make it.”

“I never stopped. I held hope that you’d come back again and forgive me.”

Her hand reaches out to stroke his cheek.

“There’s nothing to forgive, killian. Just regret. Regret for time. In another world and another place, i would have been with the man I fell in love with.”

Her words confuse him but the way she looks into his eyes has his heart pounding.

She leans forward and places a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“Goodbye, Killian.”

Without another word, she turns and leaves. Killian moves with haste around the counter and out the door, hoping to see where she’s headed but she’s nowhere to be seen. 

He never sees her again. But he never forgets her either. 

The mysterious Miss Emma. 

I Have a Girlfriend!!!!

We met in February.
She walked by me a couple times at the cafe where we were supposed to meet.  My heart leapt at the sight of her and I thought for sure that couldn’t be the girl I was there to meet because she was like, too beautiful for this world???  When she finally did approach me, I died - right there in front of her.  End of story.  No, but seriously we talked and talked… so enthusiastically!!  In such a heartfelt way!!  I may have mentioned the girl with good taste in art and poetry in a previous entry… SHE’S THAT GIRL!!  We met up every day after that until she left and it was magical!  She left me with a poem she wrote, and that began a mostly written correspondence that brought us to this moment.

I asked her if she wanted to be my girlfriend this morning!!!  I was inspired by a playlist she made for me that was basically called “please ask me out already.”

Anyways.  I’m happy to introduce my darling, @laureldixon

Harry's interview on Quotidien
  • I: Can you hear me?
  • H: Yes
  • I: Welcome to Paris!
  • H: Thank you
  • I: How are you? Can you answer in French?
  • H: Good! A little bit. A tiny bit. Très bien et toi ?(very good and you?)
  • I: Very good, thank you. We start our interviews with “can you give us your five favourites words in English or French. Or a French sentence”. Someone told me you knew a French sentence.
  • H: Comment vous faites un café si délicieux? (How do you make such a delicious coffee?)
  • I: OK, that’s good.
  • H: That’s all I have.
  • I: Do you say it very often?
  • H: No... Yes
  • I: What does France mean to you? Is it something, someone etc...?
  • H: Best people I’ve known... I think her, *shows a fan* I guess. Fabien Barthez.
  • I: Yes, Fabien Barthez. Harry, you’re 23 years old and you’re one of the best known pop-star in the world. Everybody has expectations with your new album and single Sign Of The Times. Why did you choose that song? This is not what people were expecting.
  • H: I think I wanted to.. I've always liked music that made me feel something. You know I think writing it I could feet something I wanted to bring it out. I think it's a good indicator for me of what the album is to me. That's why I wanted to go with that first.
  • I: Billboard wrote that the single was "one of the more ambitious opening statements in pop this decade". Not bad, isn't it?
  • H: Thanks!
  • I: Do you have friends working at Billboard?
  • H: I don't know anyone at Billboard.
  • I: When we listen to the song we think of David Bowie, Queen, who else did you think of?
  • H: I mean, I think everyone, anything, any song you've ever listened to growing up or throughout your life or you've enjoyed, inspired you. There are a lot of different things. I wanted to just write and see what came out. I didn't know what I sounded like to make an album. So this process was as interesting for me as I think it will be for people listening to the album for the first time.
  • I: Do you know French singers other than Serge Gainsbourg? That's a tricky question.
  • H: I know Woodkid. He directed my music video.
  • I: Why him?
  • H: I think his videos are amazing, he's a really talented guy and I love French people so I worked with him.
  • I: When you're in Spain, do you say that you love Spanish people?
  • H: No!
  • I: It seems like everything has been easy...
  • H: Great tie.
  • I: You think so? It's French.
  • H: It's not a Spanish tie, isn't it?
  • I: Can I see your loafer? Oh yes! What is the brand? That's not French, isn't it? It's Italian.
  • H: No.
  • I: That's from the European Union!
  • H: Probably yeah.
  • I: It seems like everything has been easy for you, is it true?
  • H: Was what simple?
  • I: Your life, everybody wants a life like yours, with One Direction...
  • H: I mean, I feel very lucky to be able to make music, I feel very lucky to be able to make this, I feel very lucky today being in France and performing my song. I love this song. I can't complain.
  • I: What were the unpleasant things?
  • H: *thinking*
  • I: I don't know, say only one thing.
  • H: I think when you care so much about something, it's hard to get to the point where you feel like it's finished and it feels like you're adding and it never ends and it adds up. So I think the hardest part was getting into that point and be like "ok that's finished."
  • I: You said to the Rolling Stone magazine that most of the album was inspired by a woman. Really?
  • H: No I think, honestly, the album is much more about me than it is about anyone else. I think if I said the album is about a woman it kind of feels like, I don't know, I put a lot of work into this. I don't feel like it revolves around woman. It's a lot about me and things I've never said before. It's more about me.
  • I: How did you start with a boy band and end with a solo career? Is it complicated?
  • H: It's been a lot of fun. You know we were very lucky to get to do some amazing things and at the moment in our lives, we're in a time where everyone is trying their own thing and have a good time. It's been amazing to see everyone doing their own thing as well. If I can do as well as the others, it'd be amazing.
  • I: Do you call them everyday or text them? Do you use What's app?
  • H: I don't have that.
  • I: Why?
  • H: Yes we talk, absolutely. And everyone is bringing stuff out. It's been a lot going on. It's been a good time.
  • I: This is the album cover! Can you describe it? Why did you choose this picture?
  • H: Yeah. So, I don't know. I worked with photographer Harley Weir, I'm a massive fan of her work. And that's amazing and I was lucky enough to work with her. I felt like this was what I wanted.
  • I: Why is it pink? Why the water? Why your back? Why? It's beautiful but why is it pink?
  • H: I don't know, man!
  • I: Really? You don't know?
  • H: I don't know. I don't think I want...
  • I: Apparently pink is Rock'n'roll's colour.
  • H: Apparently so. I don't know. I think it means something to me and if it means anything to anyone else, I wouldn't want to take away from that by explaining it. I think the cool thing about stuff like photos and art is you can just leave it. You don't have to explain it.
  • I: Everybody sees what they want to see.
  • H: Yes exactly.
  • I: Have you seen this?
  • *video of people reacting to Harry's single*
  • I: Your fans record themselves while listening to the song for the first time. You can hear relevant analysis and apparently they all really liked it. Do you read what people say about you on social media? On Youtube, Twitter, Instagram? Do you use Instagram?
  • H: Yes I use it a little bit.
  • *The public disagrees with Harry*
  • H: Yes I use it a little bit. I mean I wish everyone was having as good time as the girl who was like that with her hands. That's what I do when I listen to the song.
  • I: Are you the one using your Instagram? Do you use your own fingers or someone else does it for you?
  • H: Yes, I do mine.
  • I: Do you still vote in Redditch?
  • H: In?
  • I: Redditch!
  • H: That's where I was born?
  • I: Yes.
  • H: I don't live in Redditch.
  • I: So you don't vote there. Where did you vote?
  • H: London, yeah.
  • I: What do you think of the Brexit? Welcome to Europe!
  • H: Thank you very much, thanks. I mean, I don't really comment on politics. To me, anything that brings people together is better than things that pull people apart. That's ... yeah.
  • I: Yet, you are in favour of equality of rights, men, women, gay people, straight people... That's politics.
  • H: I don't know. It doesn't feel like politics. I think stuff like equality feels much more fundamental. I feel like everyone is equal. That doesn't feel like politics to me.
  • I: Your fans are fetishists. They know all of your tattoos, piece of jewellery, they have heart attacks when you cut your hair. Right now you're playing with their feelings. Do you know that?
  • H: Oh ok.
  • I: Yes! What is your favourite tattoo?
  • H: I think... I have a.. probably. I don't know, actually.
  • I: Which one is the latest?
  • H: The latest is this one there. *shows Arlo* And this one. *shows Jackson*
  • I: Jackson? All of them?
  • H: Yes.
  • I: What's the story behind your haircut? How much did you spend on hair products with One Direction?
  • H: Yeah, like a lot. I used a lot, yeah.
  • I: You're in Dunkirk, Christopher Nolan's new movie.
  • H: Yes.
  • I: How did you do?
  • H: I auditioned.
  • I: Look at you there.
  • H: I am, that's me.
  • I: Yes.
  • H: I auditioned and it was great. It's going to be a really cool movie.
  • I: Harry, it feels like we know you since you're a baby. The whole world discovered you in 2010 on X Factor.
  • *video of Harry's X Factor audition*
  • I: You auditioned alone but Simon Cowell had an idea... he put you in a band with Zayn, Louis, Liam and Niall. You became One Direction. You found the name One Direction and you sold millions of albums. One Direction are soon considered as the new Beattles and you filled the biggest stadiums. The whole world was talking about you. When you go out we prayed for your eardrums. You became UK's pride. David Cameron is in one of your music videos, your sang for the Queen. But in 2015... bang! Zayn left the band, fans couldn't get over it. But don't worry, their favourite is now on the cover of the Rolling Stone magazine, he's in Christopher Nolan's new movie, he's Mick Jagger on SNL... What you don't know is that we've met in 2012. You were in France to promote an album and now I have questions. First one! When you're in a car and fans are all around you, do you see that?
  • *video of fans around a car*
  • H: I think I've actually lost my shoe there. When I got in the car... I got in the car and I was like "how many shoes do I have?" Yes I lost my shoe.
  • I: I have another question! Do you still do that before going on stage?
  • *video of Harry and Lou*
  • I: Can we do it?
  • H: No.
  • *does it anyway*
  • I: What is the weirdest question someone asked you?
  • H: I think it was actually a French interview. I got asked if I would pee in a sink... Yeah.
  • I: Ok, that's weird!
  • H: It was the first question, the first question.
  • I: It puts you in the mood.
  • H: Yeah.
  • I: What is the question you never want to be asked ever again? Did I asked you that question?
  • *Harry asks the public*
  • H: Which one? Oh crush.
  • I: What?
  • H: Crush.
  • I: Oh ok. I didn't ask it! Did you know that a French author wrote a novel about you. It's called "Styles", it's about his obsession with you. It's in French. You can translate it.
  • H: Oh! Is that true?
  • I: Yes it's true. He dedicated to you. It's called "Styles" and it's a really good book. Read it!
  • H: Thank you.
  • I: Thank you very much Harry Styles for coming tonight. His first eponymous album comes out on the 12th May. Thank you Harry Styles.
  • H: Thank you.
  • I: Have a safe journey home.
flower asks for fanfic writers

send me a type of flower and i’ll answer the question that corresponds with it! (▰˘◡˘▰)

anemone: how old were you when you first started writing?

baby’s breath: about how many fics have you completed?

carnation: do you only write on tumblr or on other sites? what are they?

daffodil: do you prefer to write about an OC or an unnamed reader (y/n)?

dahlia: what time of day/night is best for you to write?

gardenia: what is the setting in which you write best?

hyacinth: do you prefer to write angst or fluff?

hydrangea: what inspired you to begin writing in the first place?

iris: do you prefer writing about a man or a woman character? why?

lily: do you listen to music when you write? if so, do you have a specific playlist for it?

orchid: do you prefer to write one shots or multi part fics?

peony: au or canon?

poinsettia: is it hard for you to make up names for characters in your fics?

rose: which of your works is your favorite? why?

sunflower: what is the best feedback/compliment you’ve ever received regarding your writing?

daisy: would you ever consider a career in writing?

violet: do you read a lot?

tulip: what is your favorite writing blog on tumblr that you feel deserves more followers and reads?

jasmine: what is the greatest amount of notes you’ve ever received on one of your works?

poppy: do you write your fics right here on your tumblr drafts? if not, where?

buttercup: do you prefer to write requests or come up with your own things?

water lily: what helps you get through writer’s block?

lotus: how many drafts do you currently have?

pansy: do you keep your blog a secret to people you know personally?

petunia: who is your favorite character to write for? why?

lavender: what is the most important thing to you as a writer?

lilac: come up with your own question for me to answer.

anonymous asked:

So Peggy starts the best bar fights? Elaborate, please.

oh man, those were the good old days. 

the howlies got in a lot of bar fights. you might think that the last thing a bunch of soldiers would want to do with their free time is fight people, but actually bar fights were a great stress relief. nobody really got seriously injured, and we tried to keep property damage to a minimum.  (and we also almost never started bar fights, for the record. most of the time it was guys from another unit who wanted to prove how badass they were by taking on the infamous howling commandos.) so bar fights themselves weren’t that unusual.

but peggy’s bar fights…oh, they were glorious. 

see, peggy never got in a fight for no reason; she was smarter than that. but when she did fight, it was truly beautiful. ive never seen a better right cross, before or since.

so one time we were on leave, sipping drinks in this english pub. the howlies were at the back table, enjoying a couple pitchers, while peggy was up at the bar, chatting with the barmaid. many of the bars and pubs back then had female bartenders–filling the gaps with the men off at war. and generally barmaids (which was what a female bartender was called back then) were the sort of girl pegs got along with–sensible, dependable, and not willing to take shit from any man. so she often enjoyed commiserating with the barmaids while we drank. she used to say she had to be free of us ‘charming gentlemen’ before she wound up blowing things up as erratically as we did. which was hurtful. our explosions were very intentional.
mostly.

so peggy got to chat about the best ways to hurl drunken idiots out doors and we got to ply steve with alcohol to see how much booze it would take to make him drunk. (tragically, we never found out.)

on this particular occasion, peggy was sitting at the bar when this mountain of a man came in. and i mean huge. thor-sized. like the hulk’s pinker younger brother. and with him came a dozen or so of his closest friends, all locals. (they may also have been poorly disguised orcs. im not sure, but i wouldn’t discount it as a possibility after seeing all the nonsense ive seen) the group of them made their way up to the bar, wedged their way in, and started harassing the barmaid. 

now, i don’t know what they said. peggy refused to repeat it. all i know is that one of the larger idiots said something stupid, laughed, and reached out to grope the barmaid. his hand made it about six inches from her chest when peggy’s fist broke his nose. he hit the floor like a tree falling, and the bar went quiet for a split second before one exceptionally suicidal idiot lunged at peggy.

everything went crazy. there were a good few dozen of us 107th guys in the bar, and all of us knew and adored pegs, so when the mountain-men went after her, every fine man of the 107th went after them. but it turned out that the locals defended their own, and we were pretty evenly matched for numbers. within seconds, everyone was throwing punches. bottles were thrown. dernier used a tablecloth to blind a man and threw him out a window. dumdum used one guy’s fists to hit another guy. i hurled bottlecaps at people’s eyeballs, because it’s fun.(im a sniper. we like distance) steve tried to wade through the chaos to get to peggy, but people kept punching him and then clutching their hands in agony, so he got kind of bogged down. 

at the bar, peggy was demonstrating exactly why she was the 107th’s darling–because she could put a grown man twice her size on the ground in two seconds flat. she knocked out six men; seven more promptly fell in love with her. 

as the chaos began to wind down, most of the locals had either been beaten down or fled, and only the mini-hulk and a couple others were left, brawling like berserkers. we were just about ready to turn steve loose on them when the barmaid handed peggy a stool. peggy took it, walked up behind where most of us howlies were still duking it out, and broke the stool over the big guy’s head. 

he went down hard. the rest of them surrendered out of terror. 

(and, possibly, they had also fallen prey to abruptly-in-love-with-peggy-carter syndrome. but really, who wasn’t?)

the signs falling in love... as Disney Songs!

Aries: Ariel - Kiss the Girl ~ “Yes you want her- look at her, you know you do, and it’s possible she wants you too. There’s one way to ask her, it don’t take a word, not a single word… Go on and kiss the girl.”

Taurus: Cinderella - So This is Love? ~ “So this is love? So this is what makes life divine- I’m all aglow, and now I know the key to all heaven is mine.”

Gemini: Pocahontas - Just Around the River Bend ~ “Can I ignore that sound of distant drumming for a handsome sturdy husband who builds handsome sturdy walls, and never dreams that something might be coming?”

Cancer: Beauty and the Beast - Beauty and the Beast ~ “Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends unexpectedly. Just a little change, small to say the least- both a little scared, neither one prepared, Beauty and the Beast.”

Leo: Princess and the Frog - Never Knew I Needed ~ “My accidental happily ever after, the way you smile and how you comfort me with your laughter. I must admit you were not a part of my book, but now if you open it up and take a look you’re the beginning and the end of every chapter… You’re the best thing I never knew I needed.”

Libra: Sleeping Beauty - Once upon a Dream ~ “I know you- the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam, yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you I know what you’ll do- you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”

Virgo: The Lion King - Can You Feel the Love Tonight? ~ “Can you feel the love tonight; the peace the evening brings? The world, for once, in perfect harmony with all its living things.“

Scorpio: Pocahontas - If I Never Knew You ~ “If I never knew you, if I never felt this love, I would have no inkling of how precious life can be. And if I never knew you, I would never have a clue, how at last I’d find in you the missing part of me.”

Sagittarius: Aladdin - A Whole New World ~ “I can show you the world; shining, shimmering splendid. Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?“

Capricorn: Tangled - I See the Light ~ “And at last I see the light, and it’s like the sky is new. And it’s warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted; all at once everything is different now that I see you.”

Aquarius: Hercules - I Won’t Say ~ “Get off my case I won’t say it, (Girl don’t be proud it’s okay you’re in love), At least out loud I won’t say I’m in love.”

Pisces: Toy Story - When She Loved Me ~ “Through the summer and the fall, we had each other that was all- just she and I together like it was meant to be. And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her, and I knew that she loved me.”

*check sun, moon, and venus my lovelies*

Harry Fake Dates Kendall but is in Love With You

A/n: This is an updated version of an imagine I’ve previously uploaded. I know Hendall is so 2015. I get it.

Masterlist linked in bio.


The red wine leaves a particular stain on Harry’s lips that he hadn’t noticed until Kendall pointed it out to him.

“It looks like you’re wearing lipstick” she laughs, “I didn’t know you were going to dress up this much for the party.”

They are currently sat at his mum’s kitchen island, drinking red wine while munching on some chips left out for the guests. The house is filled with familiar faces, friends and family all throughout London coming together for Anne’s birthday celebration.

They hosted one every year for as long as Harry could remember, a time of year where nearly every one of his family members, including his step family, would unite. It was their favorite time of year, believe it or not. Despite all the excitement for the holidays, Anne’s birthday celebration was certainly something special.

It was Kendall’s first time attending, considering the fact that Harry had only really talked to her whenever he was assigned to be with her for publicity. It wasn’t always ideal, however, he built a stable friendship with her, so he didn’t mind the extra company with him from time to time.

She was invited last minute, of course, since his management called last night to ask if there was any way for them to be seen together. With Harry’s new movie coming out and his solo album just released a couple weeks ago, it was almost a given for him to be rumored with a girlfriend. That’s how it’s worked all throughout his career.

He normally wouldn’t have minded, however, this was the worst possible date for him to be with Kendall.

Because it’s Anne’s birthday party, this means that it’ll be the first time in one year that he’ll be seeing Y/n. They have been best friends since they were five years old, basically growing up in the same house as they went through school together. But as time went on, and as they both went to their separate ways, it was hard to keep in touch with each other all the time.

She remained in the small towns of London while Harry was traveling world wide, where his name became known everywhere as Y/n’s was only known through people she attended school with. Of course, they still talked, considering they both admitted to having more than friendship feelings, but their lives were busy in their own ways, preventing them from being more than what they wanted to be.

For the past couple months, Harry planned that this would be the day he’d finally move forward with Y/n. Or, at least attempt to. With the loss of her over the past year, it made Harry realize just how much he couldn’t imagine a life without her. It had been so long—too long, and he couldn’t stand how long he’s lived without keeping in touch with her.

But now, everything he planned for the two of them is becoming impossible. He can’t begin to imagine how Y/n would feel knowing he brought Kendall to his mum’s birthday party after they both confessed their love for each other. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame her for giving up on him. He keeps doing this to her, even if it’s unintentional.

He watches around the kitchen at the guests he hasn’t seen in quite a while. His leg bounces with impatience when each new person walking in to attend the party isn’t Y/n. It’s been nearly an hour and has never been so late to anything before.

And as horrible as it sounds, he almost wishes she doesn’t come, just so that she can avoid the heartbreak that will come when she reunites with Kendall again.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Harry’s head whips around when he hears the voice he’s been deprived of for the past year. The first thing he notices are her lips, and the way they move around her words so softly. They’re slightly glazed with a lipgloss, painting her lips with a rosy shade of pink. They look so much fuller to him now, but he knows not a trace of them are artificial.  

His eyes only drift from the shape of her lips when her fingers reach to tuck loose pieces of hair behind her ear. It’s then he notices just how much shorter her hair has gotten. What was once so long and lank is now falling just above the shoulder, set in luscious curls he can only imagine twisting around his fingers.

His jaw goes slack when he sees the pale pink dress she’s wearing. It’s made from silk, the metallic fabric glowing with each step she takes. He gulps when he notices just how much the dress accentuates the curvature of her body and how much of her legs are put on display for him to see, and he can’t help but to wipe the sweat off his palms when he watches her greet his mother with a proper kiss on the cheek.

He notices that his eyes haven’t shut since he’s seen her, but he’s so completely intrigued by how much has changed in her. Something about her seems so much more real—so much more vibrant—and he can’t seem to stop himself from praising how time has done her so goddamn well.

“You never told me she was going to be here.“

His body jerks at Kendall’s sudden appearance, her body slowly occupying the seat next to his at the kitchen island. If it wasn’t for her, he swears he would have caught himself drooling.

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says with a shrug, “she’s been my best friend since we were five. She’s basically apart of this family, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Y/n hasn’t missed a single one of Anne’s birthday celebrations since she’s known Harry. Their bond is irreplaceable—so irreplaceable, in fact, that Anne has been convinced Y/n is a miracle for their family. She was there for them through all the troubled times; helping them through their hardships and family instabilities.

When Anne and her husband first got divorced, Harry and Y/n were seven. Harry didn’t understand much of what was happening, all he knew was that his mum and dad weren’t going to love each other anymore. He was hurting, even when Gemma was there to try and keep him together. He started to believe everything between his parents was a lie.

She understood the whole separation process. Her mum left her at a young age, leaving her alone with her father. They were close, of course, but she always missed having a mother figure in her life. It made her upset to know she could only listen to one voice in the house, but as she grew older, she accepted it more.

By the time she met Harry, he kept bringing her over to his house as the years went on. Anne was the closest she had to mother, and their bond became unbreakable by the time Y/n was a teenager. Nearly seven years of Y/n being like another member of the family, Y/n started buying Anne Mother’s Day cards.

So when Y/n watched her second family fall apart, along with Anne’s heart, and she was determined to patch them back together again. Even at her young age, she’d pick flowers from her garden and give them to Anne everyday after school. Y/n said they represented her, and how she felt being a woman with such love and beauty could die all too quickly. Harry never understood what it meant, but Y/n did, which is why she never stopped until she heard Anne laughing again.

She also started to draw pictures and write her letters, reminding her of how loved she was by everyone. As much as Anne was heartbroken during the time, she took the letters everywhere she went and kept every flower alive for as long as she possibly could. Anne would always tell Harry “That girl came into our lives for a reason, my love. She’s a special one, our little miracle, never let her go. You hear me?”

Harry didn’t understand what it truly meant to let someone go, but he did his best to do anything but that. And now, as Harry sits on his mother’s kitchen island and seeing Y/n for the first time in a year, he feels he’s done just that.

“Guess not.” Kendall mutters, taking her last sip of the red wine left in her glass. “She’s just so strange, I guess. I can barely hold a conversation with her without her making an excuse to leave.”

Kendall and Y/n never really got along, it was extremely noticeable to everyone who held a conversation with the both of them. They just don’t see things in the same light. Y/n is very outgoing and lively; an extreme extrovert that seeks adventure—and Kendall can’t stand it. She thinks Y/n does it for attention, especially because she’s remained a small town girl while being surrounded by well-known celebrities. And even though it may seem like Y/n likes the attention, that’s not her purpose. She gives all her attention to others, never to herself, and it has always been something Harry loved the most.

And when it comes to Y/n, Kendall was that one thing that was constantly in her way of Harry. No matter how many times Harry and Y/n discussed how there was something between them, Kendall always found her way back to haunt her. She was her worst goddamn nightmare. She was perfect for Harry in the public eye, and nothing made Y/n feel worse than knowing she’ll never be her type of perfect, especially when it came to Harry.

But Kendall doesn’t know that. All she knows is that Y/n is extremely stand-offish with her, and she’ll never understand why.

“She’s not used to our lives. It’s extremely difficult for her to understand how we live, you know? She’s normal.”

Kendall scoffs, eyes rolling around the room because she hates that word. She feels so divided, like she’s in a categorization in society and everything about it makes her teeth clench.

“We’re normal, too, you know. I don’t understand why she feels so intimated and feels like she has something to prove.”

Harry’s jaw clenches slightly at the negative connotes Kendall has about Y/n’s life. Something about it makes his stomach twist the wrong way, and he can’t help the underlying growl in between his words.

“We’re not normal. Deep down, you and I both know that. You also don’t know Y/n, so stop making irrational assumptions about her.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at Harry, a gaze full of confusion and disbelief at the undeniable grumble in his tone. Any rational conversation they have about Y/n always end the same—with Harry quick to end the discussion and jump to her defense. It’s times like these Kendall never understood the true extent of Harry and Y/n’s relationship. They always claimed it was platonic but there has always been a sense of something stronger in them, like unaddressed or unchased feelings, or a past they shared that was kept between the two.

Either way, it annoyed the shit out of Kendall because they both were hiding something that she’ll never be able to get answered.

“Fine, whatever.” She sighs dramatically, scooting her chair back until she has room to stand properly. “Want some more wine? Getting some.”

Harry slides his empty wine glass so that it’s in front of her, muttering a small “yeah, thanks” before she’s on her way to the counter across the room, retrieving extra wine and mingling with some of Harry’s family.

Harry sighs while his head rests at the palm of his hand, eyes gazing directly to where Y/n is standing. His lips tug up lightly when he hears her laugh from the living room, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly as he watches her mouth lift and her eyes squint shut as she catches up with one of his uncles about his grand annual weekend fishing trip.

And as his eyes stay so transfixed on the woman in the other room, he can’t help but imagine seeing that type of perfection every day for the rest of his life.

“And everyone thinks Sweet Creature is about me..”

Harry’s head snaps to Gemma’s figure leaning over the edge of the island, her elbows hitched on the counter as a small smirk plays on her lips. She found it abnormally amusing how he didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke, too invested in hawking over Y/n’s every move.

Harry grumbles, but the smile from Y/n’s laughter is permanent on his lips when he does so. Gemma even notices his cheeks brighten with pink, another hint of confirmation to the words she spoke.

“Shut up, Gem.“

She puts her arms up defensively, “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m just making an observation.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Gemma wraps her arm around his neck, hunching over so that her lips are close to his ear and eyes are directed toward Y/n again.

“She has gotten hotter, hasn’t she?”

She has no idea. All Harry can think about is how someone already so beautiful has grown to be so perfect. Everything about her makes Harry want to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her body. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thinking how much of a wreck he wants to make out of her.

“I don’t know how she did it. You better get her while you still have the chance, I know many, many men who want a taste of her.”

No is the first thing Harry thinks when the words leave from Gemma’s mouth. As hypocritical and selfish as it is, knowing other men have shown an interest in her makes his skin crawl. And he can’t help but feel his throat tighten at the moment Y/n realizes he had brought Kendall to this party.

“Is she—“ he can’t even finish his sentence without his jaw tightening again, hindering the rest of his question from leaving his lips.

“Oh, quit your worrying, H. She’s single, I don’t think she’d ever date someone who isn’t you. Besides, I don’t think you can do much about it with Kendall here.”

Gemma lifts a finger to where Kendall is standing, still in the same spot as she talks to his aunt Leslie. His heart hurts knowing what Y/n will feel when she finds out. He knows that there is always a part of her that feels discouraged whenever there’s a new woman in his life. In between Harry and Y/n’s love for each other was a mix of false hopes and miscommunication, and it always fucked them up whenever anything else was put in their way.

Gemma pats his shoulder before making rounds to her family and friends again, leaving Harry slumped against the counter with not a drop of wine to numb his scrambling mind.

When Y/n finishes catching up with the rest of Harry’s family, she finds that her patience is wearing thin. It’s been a year since she’s seen the love of her life, and knowing that he’s somewhere near her is enough to get her heart racing.

When she sees him sitting alone at the kitchen island, wearing his infamous pink suit and staring down at his fingers, it’s as if her body starts to malfunction. Her legs stop moving and her lips part, eyes glistening with admiration as she sees him for the first time in so long.

He’s as beautiful as ever, his new haircut accentuating his facial structure. His lips seem so much more red, too, which are complimented greatly by that goddamn suit. Everything about him radiates, like he’s developed into a whole other person. She’ll never quite grasp the idea that she’s about to reunite with him; something about it makes her palms sweat.

“Hey, stranger.”

Harry lifts his head up to look at her in all her glory. His heart warms at her presence more than the wine did, and he can’t help but to take a breath of relief when he finally hears her voice again.

“Y/n.” He breathes out, his fingers instinctively reaching up to the ends of her cut hair.

He chokes out a laugh of admiration when he sees her this close to him. She is so much different—so much more perfect than he ever remembers her being and it takes his breath away.

His fingers twist her hair, wrapping them around the digits before letting the strands fall back in place again. He never saw her without her hair down to her waist, and now that he has, he never wants to see her hair past her shoulders again.

“It’s so beautiful” he whispers, “you look so beautiful like this, Y/n. I absolutely love it.”

She blushes, her chin tucking slightly into her neck as if trying to hide how much of a reaction he got out of her. No matter how many years she’s known him, she was never used to the way he spoke to her.

“It was spontaneous. Really wanted a change, and it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Her hands reach to his hair, which is so much shorter compared to the last time she saw him. She remembered she couldn’t keep her hands out of it last year, constantly finding ways to tangle her fingers at the ends. Harry found it hysterical, actually, and thought it was the cutest thing she’s ever done.

“It’s just so soft” she’d say, “it’s like a whole other world in there!”

But now her only option is to tangle her fingers at the roots, and as she does so, her mind drifts to all the other occasions she could have her hands in his hair again.

“It’s so much shorter. Look at that! I can barely tug on it anymore!” She laughs in amusement, her fingers slipping as she pulls too hard.

He smirks up at her, a giggle falling from his lips as he watches her utterly amused reaction. They begin to catch up with the part of their lives they both have missed. Harry talked about his album while Y/n started discussing her new journalism job.

Talking to Y/n is one of the only normal parts of him left, it always gave him a sense of grounding whenever he felt his career was taking off to heights he wasn’t ready for. She is one of the only sense of normality he has left in his life, and it’s another reason as to why he admires her so dearly. She brought out parts of him nobody else could reach, and it’s another reason why he feels so upset he’s barely talked to her.

“Y/n?” he asks hesitantly, reaching his hand over so that his fingertips graze her hand.

Her breath breaks when he touches her, the softness in his voice proving that what is about to be discussed is far more important than their previous conversation. She notices the stress lines in between his forehead and the parting of his wine stained lips when he begins to speak. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I know how it makes me look, especially after everything that happened between us. With the new album and everything, I’ve just been so busy with—“

“Kendall?”

Harry’s head jumps to where Y/n stares dumbfounded, Kendall holding two glasses of wine in one hand while the other is carrying a plate of chicken wings. She’s looking down at Y/n, too, her eyebrows lifted up in an intimidating manner. There’s a scowl present on her lips as she continues to tower over her.

Y/n feels tears building in her eyes as she takes in the situation at hand. She was so fucking dumb to think that Harry was going to come to Anne’s party alone, especially since his new album just released. This is Kendall’s prime time appearance, when Harry needs a familiar famous face beside him to advertise his solo career.

This isn’t anything new—this isn’t anything unfamiliar, but the pain feels like a fresh wound to her heart. Harry and Y/n are nearly 24, with having known each other and felt something for each other for years, she thought that if anything were going to happen, it was going to happen now. But everything between them has remained stagnant for so long that the last sliver of hope she had for their potential relationship has been completely taken away from her. By Kendall, again.

“W—Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know Harry had invited you.”

“Yeah,” Kendall nods, “he invited me last night.”

Last night.

Y/n’s lips purse together, nodding her head as her eyes drift around the kitchen. Anything to avoid Kendall’s eyes—anything to feel as unimportant as she does now.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, a small hissing releasing from his tongue at how wrong it all sounds, considering absolutely nothing happened between Harry and Kendall the previous night besides being demanded that the two of them are to be seen together again.

“Right,” Y/n’s voice cracks, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt your time together. I’m going to go to Gemma’s room, got a phone call from my dad a while ago so I should go check up on him. I’ll see you guys around.”

She musters up a pathetic smile before practically running away from them. After everything they both told each other, after all the feelings they’ve had toward each other, how could Harry keep doing this to her? How could he keep being with Kendall when he says he loves Y/n?

She doesn’t even find the strength in her to hold in her tears before she approaches the steps, not daring to look back at them again. She never wants to see them in the same room again, it’ll be too much her heart can handle. 

“You’ve really got to be fucking kidding me, Kendall.” Harry growls.

His hands fist around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white and he’s absolutely shocked it hasn’t shattered into pieces in his hands from all the anger pulsing through his veins.

Jesus, Harry, neither one of you can take a joke. Does she not understand that all of this is for the press? She keeps acting like we’re a couple.”

“Could you really blame her after that? ‘He invited me last night,’ you’re really getting a kick out of making her uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

He grumbles as he takes a long sip of his wine, hoping that the alcohol loosens his muscles enough to restrain himself from doing anything he regrets. He loves his mum too much to start an argument during her birthday party, and as much as Kendall’s shifting Harry’s mood, he still appreciates her as a friend to ruin anything.

“That wasn’t even my fault, you both dug into that way too deep. Last night does not mean while we were fucking. It’s a time of day.”

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Are you being serious, Harry?”

He slams his glass down on the island, grumbling under his breath while he stands up from his chair. No matter how much anger is in him now, the only thoughts swirling in his brain are wondering if Y/n’s okay. She would have never left the party to go into a secluded room, not even if her dad called her.

“You leave her the fuck alone, Kendall. I mean it.”

He storms away from her, desperate to find Y/n because God only knows what’s really happening in that bedroom. Y/n’s emotions and feelings are always positive, always so bright, and he refuses to be the reason they turn upside down. She doesn’t deserve all he keeps doing to her, she doesn’t deserve him.

When Harry nearly swings himself onto the first step, he can already hear the soft murmur of Y/n’s and Anne’s voice, which makes him stop from approaching them any more than he has already.

“Y/n? Y/n, darling?” Anne asks with worry when she sees Y/n climbing up the top step with tears in her eyes, soft cries falling from her throat as her hand attempts to silence them.

She reaches an arm out for her, tugging at the front of Y/n’s dress slightly to get her attention. She’s grateful it was Anne who found her this way instead of any other guest at the party, considering nobody besides her and Harry have seen her with a frown on her face.

“Y/n, baby, what’s going on with you?”

The lights are off in the hallway, with no guests permitted in the area, which gives Y/n the proper time to fully allow her tears to fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so s—sorry, Anne.” Y/n cries.

Anne’s hands rub her shoulders, reassuring her that there’s absolutely nothing for her to apologize for. It also lets her know that she’s willing to listen to her, no matter where or when—she’ll always be there.

“I’m almost 24, Anne, and I’ve put so much of my life on hold for him.”

She knows instantly who Y/n’s talking about. It wasn’t difficult to notice the undying connection between Y/n and her son, especially as the years went on. They have grown so strongly together, there has never been a doubt in Anne’s mind that Y/n is going to be the girl Harry ends up marrying. Everyone in the family called it a destiny waiting to happen, but it has been so long since anything has happened between them, and Anne can’t help but feel heartbroken to know Y/n’s carrying the wrong idea about him and Kendall.

“And I’ve sacrificed so m—much to continue waiting for him, but I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore. We’re nowhere near where we should be, especially when he keeps spending time with Kendall and I just—I just don’t know if I can—“

“Oh, my darling.” Anne sighs, cradling Y/n’s head against her shoulder as she rubs down her back.

She shushes her through her tears, rocking her slightly in an attempt to calm her from her cries. It’s extremely rare for Y/n to feel upset, so when she does so, Anne knows she deserves all the comfort and love she can get.

“I know you so well, and I know my son. I always knew you were a match made in heaven, my dear. I knew from the start you were more than just an ordinary girl. You’re so special, to everyone in our family, but especially to him. He may not have his head screwed on right most of the time, but if I can promise you anything with all my heart, it’s that he loves you. Please, no matter what, never forget that.”

Y/n nods against her shoulder, thanking her through her violent cries before Anne insists she takes some time to herself. And as much as Y/n wanted to refrain from going into Harry’s bedroom, it’ll be the only place that brings her a sense of comfort.

Harry already knows he’s in for a lecture the second he sees his mum coming down the stairs with bewildered eyes. She grips his shoulders, her face tight with frustration.

“Mum—“

“You go over to her and you be the man I taught you to be, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, swallowing thickly at the thought of disappointing another person in his life.

“She loves you and you love her. Stop doing favors for other people and start thinking about you before you ruin both of your lives forever. You hear me?”

Harry nods feverishly, determined and more motivated than ever to fix all that he’s caused. Love comes first, always, and he needs to remember that before he breaks Y/n’s heart completely.

She’s it. She’s all that matters to him.

He barely responds to Anne before he’s racing to his old bedroom, completely clueless as to what he’s going to say, but willing to do anything to get her back.

“Y/n?” Harry calls through the door of his old bedroom. “Y/n, can I come in?” 

He knocks on the door lightly, just using the knuckles of his pointer and middle finger. He hears her feet pad over to the door, opening it to reveal her tear stained cheeks. Her hands are trembling against the knob, her breath broken with soft, gentle cries. Her eyes are widened with sadness, wet and red from tears she barely ever cries.

“Y/n.” He whimpers, tentatively reaching his shaking fingers up to her cheeks. He wipes away the tears from the bottoms of her eyes, sighing upsettingly as her eyes close at his touch. “Never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

Her lips quiver as another sob rips through her, her hand reaching up to capture his between her fingers. Her saddened and wet eyes looking down at the intertwined hands now resting against her lap.

“I’m so tired, H.” She whimpers, “So tired.”

His lips press against her forehead, “I know, love. I know.”

She wraps her arms around him, her face burying in between his chest as he lets her tears soak in his undershirt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I’d finally be alone with you after all this time. I missed being close to you, I wanted to be closer to you and I thought you felt the same about me and I didn’t understand, Harry, I didn’t get it and—“


“Hey, relax for me.” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing tenderly along her cheek.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers fisting the back of his suit tighter in her fists. She rests her chin on the top of his chest, tears still roaming down her face as she lets out an exasperated sigh. Her fingertips trace patterns on his back, her eyes fluttering closed as he pushes some of her hair off of her face, refraining them from sticking to her wet cheeks.

“I didn’t get it,” she whispers, “I was so confused, and when you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you didn’t find me important. And I was under no right to be upset about it, because you’re busy and you have priorities. But when I saw you today, I didn’t see you as the Harry I always have, I still can’t tell you what I saw but I wanted every part of you more than I ever have before. But when I saw Kendall I—“

Her cries and words die down when she feels Harry’s tender lips against hers. She’s taken aback at first, and before she has any time to really kiss him back, he’s already pulled away.

“Let me fix this.” He breathes out, “let show you that I only want you.”

His lips press against the side of her mouth, not allowing himself to kiss her the way he wants to until she lets him. They then begin to travel down her neck, along her jaw, around her mouth.

Y/n’s breath is stiff as he does so, embracing the feeling of his mouth against her skin. They’ve only ever kissed a handful of times, none of them being passionate or loving. They’ve shared pecks while saying goodbyes or after confessing their feelings, but none quite like this—none quite like the one anticipating to happen.

His breathing his hard when he continues to kiss along her skin, his fingers moving longly in her hair the more his mouth presses against her.

“Will you let me?” He whispers when his lips are ghosting over hers, “this okay?”

She nods feverishly, hitting the point of desperation when she feels his breath fan over the skin of her face. She’s been needing this for far too long now.

“Yes, please.

His thumb runs over her bottom lip one, two, three times before he finally leans in. Their lips mush together passionately, only breaking apart to move their position before locking again. Their tongues meet in the middle, making the both of them moan at the unfamiliar spark coursing through their veins.

Harry walks toward his bed until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of it, making her back meet the mattress. Their lips haven’t detached once, not daring to break away from the feeling they’ve both been deprived of.

They’re both making out on Harry’s childhood bed, grinding onto each other half naked like two hormonal teenagers. Their clothes thrown across the room, lips swollen from all the suction and nibbling, and hair completely knotted from either of their fingertips, the party below them long forgotten.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” Y/n gasps, lifting herself off of his chest.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch his breath as he looks up at Y/n in confusion. He watches as a smirk lifts from her lips as she peers down at his flushed face, giggling slightly at his complete fucked out appearance.

She notices that his lips remained stained from the red wine—a little faded—but still making her body weak at the sight of it.

“’s the matter?” He croaks.

His voice is thick—an entirely different level of raspy, and Y/n wonders how she’s lived so long without hearing him speak in that way. Between all the kissing, all the touching, all the moaning, his voice has a particular roughness to it that Y/n could feed off of if she had to.

“We shouldn’t do this, right? I mean, we’re about to fuck during your mum’s birthday party. Your entire family and Kendall are downstairs, anybody could walk in at any second, or hear us, and your mum could find that so disrespectful and—“

Her rambling is interrupted by his lips, meeting hers passionately between her words.

There is no way in hell he’s leaving this room tonight. Everything that’s been stagnant between them is finally moving in the right direction, and he can’t find it anywhere in him to walk away from it.

“You think I’m letting you go now?” He whispers, his thumb running along her bottom lip. “I have been waiting for this moment with you since high school, sweetheart.”

His lips reattach to her neck, sucking on spots he hasn’t already left marks on, soaking up every bit of the time he has with her before it’s over. This is the first time they’re going to make love, and he wants to feel and remember every bit of this moment.

“B—But your mum—“ She moans, her fingers nearly tangling at the ends of his hair as she hisses in pleasure from his tongue.

“Every single person downstairs knows about us. This—this happening right now, has been expected to happen since I first brought you home. I guarantee you, nothing will make her more happy than knowing her son and his future wife are finally acting on our feelings instead of pushing them to the side again.”

His words make Y/n blush like no other; her cheeks turning the shade of pink on her dress she wore previously. It’s then he notices just hot fucking pretty she is in pink, how every tint of the color compliments her in ways he can barely wrap his head around.

“Future wife, hm?” She smirks, tapping the pads of her fingers against his bare collarbones.

He kisses her again.

“Thought you knew that, love. Wouldn’t know a single soul I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” His fingers dig into her hips, “’s always been you.“

Y/n pushes Harry’s back against the mattress again, trailing her fingers down his torso. She giggles when his teeth clench at her touch, finding it almost irresistible to embrace the way he responds to her touch so easily.

“Trust me, I always knew.”

Redemption // Jeon Jungkook

-

the prompt: Jungkook scenario when your pregnant unplan baby he finds the test when you get home he starts yelling, blaming you throwing things,tells you to gtfo of his life with the baby saying fucked up things. So you leave Korea 3 year later you come back with your daughter and you guys see each other again he tries to win you back angst beginning but fluff ending?

words: 8942

category: heavy angst + fluff ending

author note: it’s time to see how good destinee’s character development skills are. also y/n didn’t leave, jungkook did. hope that’s okay. im so proud of myself for writing this?? I didn’t give up and I’m glad i didn’t. anyway, this took forever to write you can literally see my writing improve as you keep reading its kind of funny anyway let’s go!

- destinee

Originally posted by sugutie

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“Will I ever get over my first love?” you ask.

I tell you that’s too broad. You don’t “get over” someone you were once in love with. You can not simply just erase the adrenaline filled first touches, or the sunny cherry kissed afternoons spent dazed in their presence. You can’t fill the holes they once dug into the deepest part of your heart. You will always know them and they will always know you; they will always be a part of your deepest thoughts because they once had the privileged of hearing them.


But what can happen is this. Those nights spent sitting alone in your room replaying the memories as your heart burns and your mind sinks will slowly turn into a still presence of just knowing who you once were. Those mornings started by a panicked realization they are gone will soon turn into admiring the sun peeking through the windows while you realize your sudden and subtle contentment.


The pain of unrequited love fades. You let go of the fact that they don’t want you anymore. You realize you don’t need them to make you happy and you start to live for yourself. You realize that it ended for a reason; you were only meant to be together in the past and it simply is not fit for you anymore. You begin to take life for what it is and grow from every experience.


Of course you still have love for them, but it is a different kind of love. It’s that distant love where you wish them the best but you aren’t desperate for their presence anymore.  


As you continue to move on you may think of them and reminisce on the old times, but you know the doors to the nights of screaming and crying over them have finally been locked. You’re on a new path now, and so are they. It’s the beautiful cycle of life and love.

—  a letter to my old self
Something Just Like This

Summary: AU. This is the story of an ordinary couple with an extraordinary love.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,652 (without lyrics)

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, pregnancy, mentions of bullying, illness, and death, song fic style

A/N: This is my oneshot submission for the poetic noble land mermaid @whothehellisbella and her Bella’s Cool Time Summer Jamz Mix Writing Challenge. My song prompt was Something Just Like This - The Chainsmokers, Coldplay. I hope you approve and enjoy!

Originally posted by duckybarness

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levy-anakin  asked:

Oo so I was thinking maybe Lance has a ton of weird knowledge because he loves reading books about different things (boats, building, animals/plants). So one day the gang is on a mission and someone gets a bomb strapped to them or there is just a bomb they need to defuse. Everyone is freaking out and trying to think. Lance gets near it and everyone just panics thinking he'll set it off, yelling/langst, then Lance defused it and everyone is in awe or something. I just love your blog!!

oh my god I’m so happy to hear that! I’m glad you enjoy my blog so much!

if it’s ok with you, I’m gonna do more of an overall plot ( and maybe mix in my own headcanons):

so pretty much, Lance grew up in an all Cuban house, he never learned English because he never needed to. he grew up helping his mama around the house or helping his father on his fishing boat.

that’s where Lance first fell in love with the stars. he would ask his dad all the time about them and the constellations they created. his father did his very best to fuel Lance’s interests, but they lived on a very low incomes, and alot of the time Lance didn’t get alot of stuff. he sometimes would skip meals and give hem to his younger siblings so that way they didn’t grow hungry. Lance didn’t get alot of books growing up, and any of the books about space were in English. when he heard about the Garrison, he knew he had to join. only problem was that it was in America, and Lance didn’t know English at all.

so Lance would go to the old library and pick up any English book he could get his hands on. childern’s books, worker manuals, how-to books, he read them all. he would learn both the English language as well as learn how to do anything the books were talking about. another way Lance learned English was watching American shows, he mostly stuck with historical or informational shows. learning how they talked and pronounced the words he’s red over time and time again. (the library only has a certain amount of English books, so he would reread he same ones over and over again) he also learned interesting facts about American history, or watch how to fix a car, he picked it all up.

when he finally applied to the Garrison, he was a ball of nerves. his English wasn’t the best, and his accent heavy in his voice as he sounds out different English words. but you can imagine how proud his family was when Lance didn’t just get accepted, but got a full ride scholarship as well. he promised to keep u his studies and that he wont let them down.

when he does get the Garrison, he realizes how bad his spoken English is compared to everyone else. many time he’ll say the wrong word or forget the English word entirely, and many chalk him up to being the class clown, thinking that he’s doing it on purpose. they don’t realize how much it hurts Lance whenever one of the teachers or another student calls him out for messing up a word or saying the wrong thing. Lance will spend all his time either in the simulation room or in the library, reading over and over different books about the most random of things, trying to both understand the lessons he was just taught as well as broadening his knowledge of the English language. it’s in the library that he met Hunk, and they both gain the first real friend at the Garrison.

now fast forward to the team meeting, and them releasing Allura and Coran, and forming Voltron and what not. Lance missing home so much because he misses his family, and wondering how they’re doing. he misses being able to speak his first Language, he misses calling up his brothers and talking to them explaining complex math and engineering that he learned that day, knowing how much his older brother loves talking about that kind of stuff.

every once in a while, Lance will slip up with his English and it’ll get either a couple of laughs or some scowls, the team thinking that he’s trying to mess around and pull jokes in very serious moments when really he just messed up and didn’t know the right word. Lance will do what he always does when he feels like he’s letting down everyone around him. he goes to the library. it took him awhile to find it, and everything was in Altean, but Lance didn’t mind. he enjoys learning languages and sets to work figuring out the Altean language.

then, some time later, during one to the training exercises, Allura decides to change things up a bit and do a team building exercise. she sets up a bomb (not a real one, that would be crazy) but she says its an old child’s game and while it doesn’t explode, it will make quite the mess if they don’t disarm it in time.

so everyone is talking, trying to figure out how to disarm the bomb, and every time Lance tries to add to the conversation, he gets talked over or ignored. Lance decides to look over the device, trying to recognize anything about it, or any of the words look familiar.  lance remembers about reading one of the books back at the Garrison about how to disarm a bomb (how it got into a space school, he doesn’t really know) and it looks to have the same basic design as one of them. all he really needs is to figure out which wire is the one to cut.

it seems that the others stopped talking at that time to seeing Lance hovering over the device with a pair of pliers, to which they freak out and pull him away, and right when he figured out which wire to cut, and chastise him for trying to do disarm the bomb without them, and some of the comments come off more rude than others and they even put him in a ‘time out zone’ for trying to eal with something very dangerous and sensitive, but they just didn’t want Lance to get hurt because he messed around with it. Lance merely stands back up and walks back over to the bomb, and picking out the right wires, he cuts them, to the teams horror, they brace for their gooey demise.

but nothing happens. the team is amazed that Lance actually defused the bomb. and of course they all crowd around Lance, asking how he did that and why he didn’t tell them he could do it and getting a few cheers of congratulations (mostly from Hunk) lance explains that he would read alot of books and informational shows to understand the English Language, and one of those books was about how to disarm a bomb. of course the others are surprised that English isn’t his first language (they assumed it was since he was at the Garrison) and he continues to explain that when he messes up his words,its not usually on purpose and that he honestly didn’t know the word in English. everyone apologizes about always getting on him when they thought he was joking, and he easily forgives them. afterwards, Shiro even comes up to Lance and personally apologizes about not figuring it out sooner, since he also struggled with learning English when he and his family moved to America. (cue bonding moment!)

and a little extra silliness on the side~

Lance knowing just the weirdest stuff about history, just odd tidbits that he picked u from those history shows, and just spouting them out at the most random of times.

“hey Lance, can you pass me that wrench?”

“did you know that in the 1700s, the french were scared of potatoes.”

“what? dude, that has nothing to do with getting the wrench! why on Earth would you say- you know what, screw it, why were the french scared of potatoes?!”

i know this wasn’t really angsty , but i hope you like it anyways! thank you so much for the ask!

First words [One-shot]

THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW BEFORE YOU READ!

First!

This little one-shot was inspired on two things:

-My relationship with my sister

-The manga “Shugo Chara”. For those who know the manga, it’s based from the chapter when the guardians go to Yaya’s house.

Second!

I tried to adjust Blueprint’s story to PaperJam’s story. So, since (according to his description) he lived with Ink until a certain age, he met Blueprint before the others. I also tried to make him the most canonically possible, but adjusting his personality to the story.

Third!

As you may know, English is not my first language. I deeply apologise if there are any Errors in the story. I checked it lots of times and hope there’s not a single Error ovo

 

DISCLAIMER:

*Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet

*PaperJam/PJ belongs to @7goodangel (I’m sorry if I didn’t make PJ’s personality too well. I tried to stick the “a jerk on the outside but a big child inside” part and this was what I got. Sorry ;u;)

Secondary characters

*Gradient belongs to @askcomboclub

*Moku belongs to  @6agentgg9

*Palette belongs to  @angexci 

And last, but not least

*Blueprint belongs to, well, me! 

Hope you guys like it!

****************

This will be narrated from PaperJam’s perspective.

 

I never was good with new people. And I wasn’t very happy when you came.


One day, Ink just came “home” with a baby, claiming that it was my “new brother”. I didn’t understand what was he saying with that, and then he showed you to me, my new little brother.

I wasn’t happy with this. I didn’t want a brother. I mean, Ink couldn’t even take care of me, why would he want to have another one? To let them here alone and forgotten with me? Wow, good plan, dad. However, he told me that you only would be staying with us for a day so I could get to know you, since bonding with brothers was very important and blah blah blah…

We spend a few hours talking about you and how you came to life. Apparently, you were just an accident, but not a bad one. And since he created you, you were my brother. Well, step-brother, because Blueberry was the other one that created you. I couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous… you were going to have caring parents and a better life than mine. What if Ink actually forgot entirely about me?

Yeah, the idea of having a brother was becoming less and less “exciting” to me.

But then, just before I started to think more things like that (which I thought was very rare for me), Ink suddenly had to go (I wasn’t surprised, with his work of protecting AUs and all; he barely had time to be here), cutting our conversation just when I actually started to enjoy it. Ink stood from the sofa and was about to open a portal when he realised something important:

Who was going to take care of you?

He told me that Blueberry and… Honey… I think, were with the other versions of them and he couldn’t take you to wherever they were. So, he had only one option… that I didn’t like, at all.


Why I had to take care of you?! I didn’t ask him for a brother and I didn’t know how to take care of a baby. I was five years old! I was starting to learn how to write and read! I remember arguing with him for a while, until I had to accept.

But not without asking something in return, of course.

In the end, he went to do whatever he needed and I was left alone with you. An awkward atmosphere formed where we were, since you found my face very interesting and kept your eyes on me for a really long time. I tried my best to ignore you, but you were too much persisting and even threw me some mini bones at me to gain my attention.

What a smart baby, huh? Well, we were magic skeleton monsters after all. But it was becoming annoying.

“What do you want?” I asked you and you only looked at me and babbled something. I instantly felt stupid, remembering that Ink told me you haven’t said your first word yet. how would you even tell me what you needed? You kept looking at me and then, surprisingly, your stomach made a noise.

Right… now I had to feed you.

Making something for you was horrible. I mean, we were in the Anti-Void and only had some snacks since we didn’t really need to eat, but being you a recently made creation, obviously needed to consume something, even if you had your HP full. Eventually, I found some milk and gave it to you, ending getting milk on my face and shirt because you apparently didn’t know how to drink it.

That was enough for me.

Usually, I’m not a person that gets mad easily. However, I did get mad that time. I stood abruptly from my seat and went to clean my face, leaving you alone on the sofa. Ink told me to not leave you, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be alone and so I did. I went to my bedroom (well, it’s not a real bedroom… just a bed that Ink made for me) and stayed here for a few hours. Maybe three or four…

It wasn’t until I heard a soft sound that I didn’t get up from my bed. And when I did, I instantly paled: You were lying on the floor crying softly. Your soft cries barely reaching my non-existent ears. And it wasn’t the worst. No, no.

You were blushing and sweating a lot. Were you sick? In that moment I didn’t know.

Quickly, I went to your side and picked you up, checking if you had hurt yourself from the fall. Luckily you didn’t have any bruises, but your skull was very hot. Now you were sick? And I was alone.

Great!

How you could get sick so easily and fast? I didn’t understand that at all! Was that the real reason of why Ink brought you here? So he could watch over you while Blueberry and Honey were busy? If that was the reason, he was very irresponsibly by leaving you with me: a child, taking care of another child!

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t use magic to help you, I couldn’t ask Ink for help, I couldn’t open a portal and find Blueberry… I couldn’t do anything. And I was scared.

What if something happened? What if you started to feel worse? What if…

What if you died?

Those thoughts were swirling in my head, making me fell worst and worst. I didn’t want you to die.

Come on! You had a great life ahead! You would have a caring family and friends and maybe… maybe we would have been friends! I should have watched you. Maybe if I haven’t left you alone…

I couldn’t help to feel guilty, even knowing that it wasn’t my fault that got sick. In that moment, I didn´t cared about anything, just you.

It was in that moment when Ink decided that he should go home, and so he did. He came to the Anti-Void and found me on the sofa, hugging you like it was the last time I’d see you and honestly, that’s what I thought. He rushed to my side, worryingly asking what was wrong. I wasted no time and explained him what happened, apologising for being a bad brother and almost crying

Almost, ok?

What I wasn’t expecting was that Ink just took you and, with a quick spell, healed you. I mean, I knew magic were fast and efficient but, that was just too fast. When I asked him why, he explained that you were having some problems with your soul.

You see, brother (and also you, reader), Ink told me you were created without a soul, since you were just a magic drawing. So, he made an artificial one for you with the same paint he used to create you. Apparently, he didn’t want you to become like some “evil flower”.

Your soul was like your eyes: a blue diamond. And that soul was filled with Prussian blue paint that could give you the emotions you needed. It seemed like your body wasn’t used to having it yet and would make you sick from time to time. I didn’t quite understand that, but I was relieved when he said you would be fine.

The rest of the day was peaceful. Ink and I talked about random things while you slept. It was… nice, being with them like we were a family. That’s what we are, right? Yeah, right.

Eventually it was time to bring you back home. Ink said that you won’t be coming anytime soon because he wanted to protect you from dangerous people (aka, Error). It kind of made me sad, not being able to talk you again for a long time, but… it had to be done, hadn’t it? Ink made a portal back to Underswap and gave me time to say goodbye to you. After that, he started to walk to the portal, stopping when you started to squirm under his grasp.

Curious, I walked to the portal. You immediately looked at me and gave me a huge simile, saying (or trying to say) something that made us look at you in surprise:

My name. Yes, my name!

It was kind of babbled and wasn’t my full name but… It was your very first word. And it wasn’t “dad” or “mom”… no, it was “PJ”

You didn’t have idea of how happy you made me that day. The day when I found you, disliked you and then liked you and accepted the idea that we were brothers. And, in the bottom of my soul, I hoped to see you again.

Maybe having a little brother wouldn’t be that bad, right?

————————————–


I hope you liked it! It was an idea I had for while uvu and really needed to make it. We now know more about Print and PJ’s relationship. I won’t say PJ likes him because he’s not my character and don’t want to say incorrect things (since he isn’t one to make friends). So, I only will say that Blueprint’s first words made him very happy.

I’m sorry if it looks rushed, but this isn’t a story. It just PaperJam talking with Blueprint and telling him the story (with some people spying on them(?))

The Fourth Musketeer

Originally posted by riverdales-daily

Pairing: Archie x Reader

Description: A small comment from Betty triggers many painful memories for Archie about a lost love.

Warnings: angst?

Word count: 1,405

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

A/N: so this isn’t based off of any request, I was just inspired to write this fic. hope you enjoy!


“It’ll be like old times,” Betty said, hopeful eyes staring at Archie.

“The three musketeers,” he laughed.  Betty bit her lip, her smile slightly fading.

“Actually, Archie,” she corrected, “there were four of us.”

“(Y/N)!” a newly-turned six year old Archie exclaimed.  "I didn’t think you were gonna come!“

"Of course I came!” (Y/N) giggled, stepping into the Andrews house.  "You’re my best friend.“ Archie pulled (Y/N) into a hug.

"You’re my best friend too, (Y/N),” he grinned.

“Yeah, four of us,” Archie muttered, turning away from Betty. She frowned, realizing she reopened that wound too soon.

“I’m sorry Archie, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Betty,” Archie grimaced.

“No, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she apologized.

“But there were four of us,” Archie admitted.  "I guess I was just trying to forget the fourth.“

"Why do we only come here when they play this movie?” ten year old (Y/N) questioned, gesturing towards the movie playing on the Twilight Drive-In screen.  Archie shrugged, wrapping his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders.

“Because it’s my favorite,” he replied.  (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you want to watch something else for a change?” she asked, looking up at him with a smile.  "You know, discover something new?“

"No,” Archie refused her suggestion, immaturely shaking his head.  "I like things just the way they are.“

Archie couldn’t get (Y/N) out of his head for the rest of the day.  Throughout school, and after school during the preparations for Jughead’s party, Archie’s mind kept going back to (Y/N).  For two years, he had blocked out all memories of her.  Now, she was pictured clear in his mind.  Her memory was haunting him, and Archie could do nothing but push through the day as if nothing was wrong.

"Archie,” (Y/N) whimpered, standing on his front porch.  He ran out towards her and enveloped her in a hug as soon as he reached her.

“What?” he asked, burying his face into her hair.  "What’s wrong?“  (Y/N) gripped onto his t-shirt, her hands desperately holding onto her best friend.

"I’m moving,” she sobbed.  "I’m moving next month.“  Archie’s arms dropped, and he took a step back.

"Moving?” he echoed.  "But what about 8th grade?“  (Y/N) helplessly shrugged, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks.  "It’s our last year before high school. We were gonna…”  The rest of Archie’s sentence was stuck in his throat.

“I know,” she cried.  "I know, Archie. You think I wanted this?“  He frantically shook his head.

"No, no, of course not.”

“We’re leaving in July,” she explained.  "I tried to convince my parents not to move, or at least to leave me behind.“

"You could stay with us,” Archie offered.  A bittersweet smile creeped onto (Y/N)’s lips.

“I know,” she said. “I told them that.”

“Jesus, (Y/N),” Archie mumbled as he stumbled into his bedroom, ignoring the party going on downstairs.  "(Y/N).“  He repeated her name over and over again, reminiscing on the way her name felt on his tongue.  All the memories that he had hidden away from himself came tumbling back, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions that he had forgotten how they felt.  He frustratedly tugged at his hair, struggling to cope with his feelings.  Her sparkling eyes and joyous laugh were still engraved in the back of his mind.  How could he ever forget?  "God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry.”  He continued to drunkenly pace around his room, head spinning with memories of (Y/N).  Every moment they shared, every hug they had, every chance he missed to tell her he loved her.  He missed every single opportunity he had to tell her.  "I should’ve told her,“ he moaned.  An idea lit up in Archie’s mind, so he began to search his room.  He tossed clothes and blankets aside until he found his phone laying on his nightstand.  He picked it up and immediately dialed (Y/N)’s number by memory.

"I’m sorry, this number no longer exists,” the monotonous robot answered his call.  Archie screamed out in frustration, throwing his phone across his room against the wall.

“I want to talk to her!” he screamed, punching his bed.  "I need her!“

"Archie?” Veronica called out as she cautiously his room.  He paused his rampage as he turned to face the raven-haired girl.

“What?” he snapped.

“You’re making a lot of noise,” Veronica ignored the bite in his voice.  "I wanted to make sure you’re okay.“

"I’m not…” he clutched his head, sitting down on his bed, “I’m not okay.  She’s gone.”

“Who?” Veronica questioned, sitting next to Archie.

“(Y/N),” he moaned.  "(Y/N)’s gone.“

"Who’s that?” Veronica asked.  Archie glared at her and stood up, stepping away from her.

“I loved her,” he whispered, flopping back onto his bed.  Veronica frowned.  "God, I should’ve left Riverdale when my mom offered.“

"But then we would’ve never met,” Veronica quipped.  "And that, Archiekins, would be a tragedy of epic proportions.“  She glanced at his lips, then back up to his eyes.  Leaning in, she connected her lips with his.  It only lasted a moment before Archie pulled away.

"No, Veronica,” he stopped her.  "I’m sorry, but… you’re not her.“

"I’m sorry,” she apologized.  "That was stupid and selfish of me, I shouldn’t have-“

"It’s fine,” Archie interrupted her.  "It’s not your fault, I just… the wound is still kinda fresh, you know?“  Veronica nodded.

"She sounds lovely,” she offered.  "Can you tell me about her?“  Archie inhaled deeply.

"We were best friends,” he started, and a smile already grew on his face.  "Our parents were good friends, so we knew each other since birth.  We were two peas in a pod.  Then we met Jughead and Betty, and we became the four musketeers.  We’d do everything together.  But (Y/N) and I were still the closest.“

"When did you fall in love with her?” Veronica inquired.

“I think I always was,” Archie answered truthfully.  Veronica sighed; she knew there was no competing with even the memory of (Y/N).  "But I don’t think I realized it until I kissed her.“

"Did you know some people have already had their first kiss?” (Y/N) asked Archie as she sat on a swing.

“Like who?” he questioned.  They were eleven.

“I heard Cheryl kissed someone,” (Y/N) shrugged.  "I don’t know who though.“

"She could be lying,” Archie said.

“Josie, too,” (Y/N) interjected.

“Maybe they kissed each other,” Archie laughed, and (Y/N) giggled with him.  Once their laughs died down, they swung in silence.

“Who do you want to be your first kiss?” (Y/N) broke the silence.

“I don’t know,” Archie shrugged.  "What about you?“

"There’s not really anyone I want to kiss,” she answered.  "The only good guys in Riverdale are you and Jughead.“

"Would you kiss Jughead?”

“Ew, no!” she squealed.  "Jughead is like my brother!“

"Am I a brother to you?” Archie asked.  (Y/N) grew quiet and shrugged.

“You’re my best friend, Arch,” she responded.

“So does that mean you would kiss me?” he smirked.  (Y/N) blushed.

“Would you kiss me?” she countered, causing Archie to blush.  They both grew quiet, each embarrassed by the thought of kissing each other.

“I’d want you to be my first kiss,” he said.  (Y/N)’s head snapped up to look at Archie.

“Really?” she asked.  He nodded.  "I want you to be my first kiss too.“

"What if…” Archie nervously stuttered, “What if we did it now?  Like, kiss each other.  Just so that we’re definitely each other’s first kiss.”  (Y/N) pretended to contemplate it for a moment, but she already knew her answer.

“Sure,” she agreed nonchalantly.  Her heart was about to beat out of her chest.  Archie jumped off of the swing and stepped towards (Y/N).  Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and they pressed their lips against each other’s.  They pulled apart a second after, a blush spreading across both of their cheeks.  Archie hopped back onto the swing next to (Y/N).  Neither of them spoke about the kiss.

“Do you think she knew?” Veronica asked.  Archie raised a puzzled eyebrow.  "Do you think she knew that you loved her?“ she elaborated.  Archie shrugged.

"Maybe,” he responded.  "I hope so.  I never told her, though.  God, I should’ve told her.“

"Hey,” Veronica reached a comforting hand out towards Archie.  "Don’t beat yourself up over it.  From what you told me, it sounds like she knew.“

"You think so?”

“I do,” Veronica nodded.  "And from what I can tell, I think she loved you too.“

Part two here     Part three here     Part four here     Part five here

anonymous asked:

Hello! I do not know if it's open or not (If not, sorry >w<) Can I ask for some HC for RFA + Saeran MC gets drunk and they try something like kissing / etc as always and she walks away and says something like '' I have a boyfriend / husband and I love him ''

Hahahahaha yesssss

 (i had to skip a few requests because unlike last time i was not feelin writing straight-up smut on public transport LOL)

YOOSUNG:

  • The two of you had been at a house party
  • Not your usual scene, but your friends had convinced you two to go out
  • Yoosung, as the designated driver, was sober
  • But you were SMASHED
  • After dropping everyone else off you finally get home to your shared apartment, and you collapse down onto the couch, the world still spinning around you
  • You’re gone to the point that you don’t actually know where you are, and it’ll be a hell of an experience once morning comes
  • Yoosung sits down next to you, hooking an arm around you
  • You stiffen at the contact, as in your mind you’re still at the party
  • “Babe, I’m so tired~~”
  • Yoosung leans over to kiss you lazily, but you push him away as much as you can in your state
  • “mmmnO NOOO”
  • “What? What’s wrong?”
  • Yoosung looks genuinely hurt, but you don’t even really notice
  • “NOO I CANT” You try and sit up, but close your eyes when your head spins again
  • “I can’t, I have a boyfriend… mmmNooo go away I love my boyfriend”
  • Yoosung laughs, but he is actually very touched by your drunken honesty
  • He touches your cheek gently
  • “Babe, it’s me, I’m your boyfriend”
  • “nnnNNNooo, he’s a good boy”
  • “It’s me, it’s Yoosung!”
  • You eventually squint at him hard enough to recognize him
  • “Yoosung?? I thought you weren’t drinking!”
  • Yoosung prepares to explain, but glances you over again and thinks better of it
  • “But I’m here! Can I have my kiss now?”
  • You screw your eyes shut and pucker your lips, and he leans down to peck you lightly

ZEN:

  • You two had gone out for beer
  • And your prideful and competitive ass had challenged Zen to a drinking contest
  • And lost badly
  • He carries you back to the apartment
  • and although he hears you mumbling something into his chest he can’t make out the words
  • Once you get back he lays you down gently on the couch and lies down next to you for cuddles
  • You’re still mumbling something drunkenly, and he lifts himself up to look at you
  • Your face is buried into the cushions, and he turns you onto your side
  • “C’mon babe, make sure you can breathe”
  • He leans down to kiss you, but once his lips connect with yours he feels your arms weakly pushing him away
  • He pulls away from you, confused, and heart breaking a little
  • And what you’re mumbling suddenly becomes a little clearer
  • “N-nooooo, p-please don’t….”
  • Zen scrambles off the couch
  • “What’s wrong, babe?”
  • Your eyes struggle to focus on him, although he is but a fuzzy outline to you
  • “Please don’t… I can’t… I love my… boyfriend so… much, I can’t hurt… him like this….”
  • Zen can’t help laughing, resting his forehead on your stomach from where he sits on the floor
  • “It’s all right, princess. I understand.”
  • He leaves and comes back with a glass of water and a blanket, and tucks you in for the night
  • Although he spends the night on the floor and doesn’t leave your side for the remainder of the night

 

707:

  • You two had been drinking at home
  • Or rather, you had- since Seven’s drink of choice is Dr. Pepper
  • As it were, you grievously overestimated your sobriety level, and an hour after your drinking spree you’re feeling the effects much more heavily than was expected
  • Seven has a grand old time watching you drunkenly maneuver the bunker
  • He watches without comment as you attempt to carry a conversation with Robo-Cat
  • And hastily drags you away when you start to mess with Robo-Dog
  • And waits until you’ve tired yourself out, curled up on the floor
  • “Agent 606! Wake up, Agent 606! Super duper emergency!”
  • You sit up to the best of your ability, the word “emergency” triggering some kind of primal response in your mind
  • “Whu—Emergency….”
  • “Agent 707 has not received his daily seven-hundred-and-seven kisses! He can’t go to sleep without them!”
  • Seven goes in to kiss you, but in your state of mind you push him away in confusion
  • “Nooo…. I can only give the seven hundred seven kisses to… to my… my Saeyoung…”
  • Seven keeps up the act, but on the inside he’s taken a Cupid’s arrow to the chest
  • “Oh! You’ve caught me, Agent 606! ‘Twas I, the nefarious 706! Lemme dial Agent 707~”
  • You are not amused as he makes various “beep boop” noises into a pretend “phone”
  • “I don’t want 707. I want my…. My husband Saeyoung…”
  • Seven has to stop himself from squealing or just crying on the spot
  • But he sits down in front of you and takes your hands in his
  • “Okay, baby. I’m here. Can I have my goodnight kisses now?”

JUMIN:

  • Your nightly wine sessions were certainly a routine

  • But Jumin had a long day at work, and he was compelled to open another bottle

  • Which had led to your current situation, in which you were more of a lightweight than either of you had thought

  • You’re having trouble remembering your own name, and Jumin had placed your head in his lap as he now runs his fingers through your hair, listening to you ramble drunkenly

  • He can’t make heads or tails of what you’re actually saying, but you’re obviously very invested in it

  • He watches your brows furrow slightly, like they do when you’re talking about something very passionately

  • And as the sound of your voice fades to join the distant buzz from the wine he finds himself focusing on your lips

  • Without thinking, and a little inebriated himself, he leans down to kiss you

  • Before recoiling from a sharp sting on his cheek, as you slap him across the face

  • He looks back down at you in a mixture of shock and slight indignation

  • And he’s not usually one to swear, but there are few substitutions of the same caliber as:

  • “What the fuck?”

  • “Please, I’m married… I c… can’t do this to my husband, I –hic- love him so much…”

  • There’s a moment of stunned silence before Jumin bursts out laughing

  • “Remind me to never let you drink this much again, missy.”

 

SAERAN:

  • Saeran’s not one for social drinking, so shots at home are usually the plan for evening entertainment
  • It’s well-known that you’re a bit of a lightweight, but you push yourself just a little too far this time
  • But Saeran isn’t exactly sober either, and the night is mostly spent on the couch recovering
  • You’re in his arms for a long time
  • Long enough for you to forget where exactly you are
  • After a long period of silence Saeran finally speaks, his voice gruff and his chest rumbling against you
  • “God, sometimes I forget how sexy you are when you’re drunk.”
  • You stiffen at the comment, but Saeran doesn’t seem to notice
  • Instead he tilts your chin up towards him with his finger, and captures your lips in his
  • A protest rises up in your throat, and you push him away
  • Words somehow find their way through your hazy mental state-
  • “No please, I can’t cheat on my boyfriend like this…”
  • Saeran goes stiff as a board, looking at you with heartbreak in his eyes
  • “Boyfriend?”
  • “Yes, I love him so much, I can’t do this…”
  • Saeran can’t decide if he’s angry or hurt, but before he can reach a conclusion the sound of the fridge door closing shakes you both out of your moment
  • Seven glares at the both of you, holding a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge
  • “Would you both sober up? She’s talking about you, dumbass.”
  • As Saeran realizes what had happened he holds you tighter, and you can’t tell if his shaking is from laughter or from tears
  • “Oh my fucking god, don’t scare me like that.”
Air B&E (reader x Bucky)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, unnamed Male Target, OFC Jeff. 

Summary: When a mission requires close proximity with your least favorite teammate, you try to make the best of it, but a change in plans adds new challenges and possibly a new opportunity. ( basically Bed Sharing Trope meets Enemies to Lovers Trope. Kinda.  :D )

Warnings: sexual situations? pretty vague.  

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: Hey, ya’ll !! I’m back from vacation and the idea for this fic was sparked by my sleeping accommodations. heh. I kinda fell in love with it and even made time to write in the evenings after being super tired from traveling. I hope you enjoy this and any feedback is appreciated! Love you guys!! :)

Masterlist

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Originally posted by bovaria

“Alright! So here are the keys, the WiFi password is posted on the fridge and let me know if there’s anything you need, anything at all. Okay?” said the overly enthusiastic young man before you.

You accepted the keys with a smile, “Absolutely! Thank you so much, Jeff. It’s even better than the pictures.”  

“I’m so glad,” he grinned. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. It was so nice to meet you both.”

Your eyes flickered to the man beside you, tight smile upon his face. “You, too, man,” he coolly responded.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you clasped the hand of the heavy left arm draped over your shoulders. Technology allowed the metal plates to be shielded with a holographic flesh arm, but it still weighed a ton.

“Bye, Jeff.”

He nodded before stepping out into the hall. The moment the front door lock engaged, you shoved the arm off and put as much space between you two as possible.

“This plan is stupid,” Bucky said with contempt as he collapsed heavily onto the couch.

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It’s her, but it’s not her ! 1/2 - Bruce Wayne/Batfam x Reader

Summary : Bruce and the batkids are thrown into an alternate reality where their wife/mother, “the Batmom”…isn’t theirs, but Superman’s. Needless to say, they can’t wait to get home. 

I can’t help but feel like I could’ve write something better around that idea…might re-write everything at some point, because meh. Hope you’ll still like it :/.

PART 2 !

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

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His worst nightmare was unfolding in front of him. 

Or, at least, one of his worst nightmare. 

She was kissing him. And from the look of it, it wasn’t just a chaste little kiss, or a small peck on the lips…No, it was a full on make-out session right there. 

After yet another Justice League problem, Batman and his kids accidentally travelled to another dimension, exchanging their place with the Dark knight and his sidekicks from this World. They were currently in the JLA’s headquarters. Bruce was expecting things to be different, but he never thought about his wife being…Superman’s. 

Or at least, it was his girlfriend, given the fact that he was eating her face since they arrived. They didn’t even notice them entering, accompanied with Diana, Dinah, Arthur and Oliver. Usually, Bruce was the one kissing you passionately and making everyone uncomfortable (he wasn’t much for PDA, but you didn’t give a flying fuck about it, and he could never resist you…). 

Diana cleared her throat…and you and Clark didn’t move at all, still kissing each others. The amazon turned to Bruce and his sons, and, with an apologetic look, said : 

-I’m sorry. They were both on missions for the past month, they hum…missed each other I guess…

Keep reading

Champagne Mixed with a Bit of Adrenaline [h.s.]

A/N: this was a request from an anon and I finally got it done! It’s meant to go with this amazing piece of art. :-)  this piece is dedicated to the amazing @tiostyles because Brianne kept it from getting lost in the void LMAO. her support inspired me to finish it so thanks Brianne ilyvm :-) sorry for any mistakes or typos! Drop by my inbox with opinions bc I’m kinda?? Iffy on it?? Anywho, enjoy!

Harry likes to think he has stamina. He’s proven it countless of times before and he’s sure he will continue to prove it until the end of his days.

A great example would be that one time on the tour bus when he had popped a stiffy around 9 PM and couldn’t do anything about it since no one was planning on going to bed yet, so he couldn’t sneak away to handle it. He’d had to wait until well after 1 AM, when the snoring elephants known as his band mates were conked out cold, to sneak into the bathroom with his Astroglide and rub out a quick one to a picture of Y/N wearing nothing but a pink, sheer silk button-up with the word “Styles” embroidered on the chest pocket.

Or the time when he and Y/N had attended a family get-together that his mother had thrown at his old house in the new pool she had built. Y/N had gotten the brilliant idea to grope him during a game of water volleyball and he’d had to play actively, all whilst doing his best to make sure no one saw the raging boner tenting his Gucci lion-printed swim trunks. After the underwater fun was over and the barbecue was done, his mom had condemned him to stay and help clean up. Washing dishes with his dick leaking wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

After that long night, Harry had given his mom a quick kiss goodbye and ignored her comments about how it was odd for his jacket to be tied backwards around his waist. He’d dragged a grinning Y/N to his car, setting route to their apartment but somehow ending up in an abandoned mall square, fucking in the backseat of his Rover.

And don’t even get him started on the time he lost three rounds of Go Fish to Y/N and, as retribution, had to wear a vibrating cock ring to Lux’s birthday party. Trying to explain to a four year old why his lap was vibrating, all while maintaining a cool composure, should’ve been made into an Olympic sport because the sheer amount of concentration and determination needed was truly out of this fucking world. Not only that, but fucking in a bathroom the size of a coat closet wasn’t necessarily prime, either. Lou had been having her upstairs bathroom remodeled and the one in the living room was too obvious, so they’d had to sneak down to the one in the basement. It was tiny, cramped, and smelled way too much like lemon-scented Lysol. His left leg had fallen asleep, but as if that wasn’t bad enough, Y/N had decided to up and leave halfway through and left him horribly blue-balled. Giving a toast to his goddaughter’s coming-of-age wasn’t really fluent when casually trying to cover up the bulge in his jeans with a Hello Kitty placemat.

However, all throughout these situations, Harry had managed to keep an unfazed, calm façade and had not given in to the woes of the intense exertion that was required of him. So, yes, he most definitely likes to say he has stamina. He’s entitled to say it. With all of the shit he’s been through, it’s the least he deserves.

But tonight, his hardcore ability to sustain such troubles has decided to fail him. And, hell, did it fail him.

Harry’s not quite sure what happened, but he knows that it’s likely do to all of the post-performance adrenaline that has been bubbling and toiling through his veins since he set foot off stage after his surprise LA performance at the Troubadour. It had been quite the show, considering he’d had Stevie bloody Nicks accompanying and dueting with him. Every nerve-ending on his body was set to full throttle, every hair standing to the very tip with excitement-induced electricity, and as he stepped outside the building, the cool night air burned his simmering skin like acid (which he’s pretty sure cool air isn’t supposed to do).

He was sweating buckets from the stage lights and the close proximity of the venue, but he loves the intimacy of it all. He felt more connected to his fans this way, so he thinks it to be worth it. His body, however, begs to differ.

Right after they’d disappeared backstage, Stevie had immediately demanded that they all go out for drinks to celebrate Harry’s blooming career, and how could he say no to her? Two Fiji waters and a limo ride later, they ended up in a classy joint that Harry didn’t care enough to try and interpret the name of because it was in a language he didn’t know (French, maybe? Or Italian?), and he was oh-so very wired. The champagne was bubbly and silky smooth against his sensitive taste buds, the dim miniature chandelier above their booth casting just enough shadows to hide the itchy flush that is crawling up his neck.

His sheer black shirt is sticking to a thin sheen of sweat that has materialized down his back and he’s fairly certain that his golden-glitter pants weren’t this tight when he got them tailored. His feet feel as if they are floating in pools of sweat, the leather Gucci shoes not doing his heated body any favors. And that’s when he feels it.

Harry shifts slightly in his seat as Mitch slides in next to him, nudging his elbow off the table in a best-mate-rivalry type of way. His body instinctually bends forward slightly as all of his upper weight loses the support of the red oak surface, torso reeling to the side as he giggles and elbows him back, and that’s when it hits him like a bus. He feels his dick twitch against his damp thigh, his jerky movements combined with the frenzied nerves from the performance setting every comatose hormone in his blood on fire.

A small yip of surprise escapes past his lips, eyes wide as his thighs give a hard clench and his fingers tighten around his champagne flute. Stevie had been speaking about a concert she had done a while back in Georgia when Harry decides to have this teeny spectacle, his not-so-manly squeak slicing through the calm, cool atmosphere of the bar. Everyone looks over to him, eyebrows raised here and there in concern.

Harry swallows down his unsteadiness, forcing a tiny, soft smile across his stinging cheeks. He lifts his hand a bit higher in front of himself to draw attention to his drinking glass, swirling the golden liquid around for emphasis. “It’s the champagne. Sipped too fast.”

His voice comes out strained, but he manages to cover it up with a faux hiccup to give his whole act a touch of authenticity. Everyone seems to buy it as they return their attention to the other singer at the table, intrigued by her story. He hears Jeff mumble, “lightweight” under his breath, a couple of the guys snickering along with him as Harry pins the man with a death glare.

“You sure you’re alright?” Mitch’s soft voice hitches Harry’s ears, dragging his attention away from his producer. “You’re sweating and the lights are barely even on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just taking me a little longer to wind down. Since I sung with a legend and all, y'know?”

But he’s not fine. Not fine at all. If anything, he’s doing the opposite of winding down. He’s winding up– a glance at his lap easily confirms that. He hears blood starting to pound in his head, toes starting to go numb as he feels his balls tightening in his briefs. An annoying piece of hair keeps falling into his eyes and he contemplates ripping it off, but wagers against it since that might be considered too much of a scene. The back of his thighs are chafing in the thick material of his sequined bottoms and he’s positive he has some killer pit stains going, but he can’t will his body to stop. So he does the next best thing: He snatches the champagne bottle and pours himself another glass.

Harry’s not sure how much time passes by. It’s a blur of fizzy liquid, bright laughter, low lights and a swelling dull ache in his groin. He’s not necessarily drunk but he is buzzed, the alcohol having smoothed out the rough edges of his craving. His upper lip itches every now and then as sweat accumulates on the faint hairs he’s grown out and he has to constantly wipe at his face as nonchalantly as possible to avoid detection. The lack of personal space around the table only grates at his nerves even more because he can feel the heat of all the bodies absorbing into his clothes, turning him into the most sparkly-pantsed rotisserie chicken to ever exist. And the most irritated, at that.

But Harry will be damned if he passes up this iconic opportunity to have drinks with an icon herself. He’d been dreaming about such a moment since he could walk and he refuses to let a boner destroy one of the best to-be memories of his life. At this crucial state, he calls upon all of the times he had managed to power through similar situations and uses them to pump himself (pun intended) up, getting it through his tipsy skull that he can do it. He covered a hard-on with a Hello Kitty decoration, for fuck’s sake. Anything is truly possible!

Unfortunately, after a few more minutes lull by, Harry apparently will be damned.

He thinks he’s finally got it under reign when he sneaks a peek under the elegant maroon serviette in his lap, watching his pride crumble beneath his slightly-clouded eyes. His dick had leaked through his briefs and into his flared pants, the patch of cloth over his crotch noticeably darker than the rest of the material. His eyes squeeze shut as his nails dig into the palm of his hand through the napkin, biting down on his tongue as he feels his cock decides to give up on the slow burn and rather starts to throb sharply under the table.

Fuck his hormones for deciding to make him be a horny fourteen-year-old today, fuck his post-performance adrenaline for choosing to whip him up into a mess rather than dissolving away quietly like usual, fuck the champagne for making his eyelids droopy and his tongue heavy (although he will credit it for helping take the edge off), and most of all, just fuck himself for believing he could progress through this little get-together without bursting at the bleeding seams.

And apparently the universe agrees with him because as Harry sits there, seeing angry flashes of blue and yellow behind his screwed eyelids and wallowing in his self-hatred, Stevie calls his name from across the table.

“Harry?”

His head snaps up, eyes flying open in alarm as he attempts to calibrate himself back into the setting. A tight, croaky “hm?” thrums in his throat as he focuses on the blonde women across from him, her expression one of curiosity.

“Are you alright? You’re really pale, honey. And you seem kinda off a bit.” Stevie leans forward, setting down her almost-empty champagne flute and eyeing him thoughtfully.

Everyone’s attention turns to him, all of the separate conversations that had been going dying down to soft murmurs and silence. Harry’s not one for stage fright (his career had beaten that out of him ages ago), but he’s pretty sure this is how it feels. It feels like every person around him is seeing straight into his soul and he’s never wanted to disappear into thin air more than at this moment.

“I’m fine!” He swallows thickly, nodding weakly and he’s honestly trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“S'just the rush of having you here is still…” he motions around the air with his arms to suggest an aura of excitement, “it’s still circulating– hasn’t piped down. It’s a dream come true and the starstruck feeling hasn’t stopped lingering. Plus, all the jumping around I did is really coming back to bite me in the ass. Never wear heels, guys. Huge mistake.”

The entire table bursts into a chorus of light laughter, Harry smiling sheepishly as he pushes the hair back from his face, ignoring how damp his scalp is. He chuckles quietly as his friends begin to take digs at his wardrobe and nearly faints when Stevie comes to his rescue, threatening to break one of the drinking glasses over Jeffery’s head for attacking Harry’s “unique and renowned” sense of style.

After a bit more banter, Stevie excuses herself to go use the loo. He sees her walking around to his side of the rounded booth, leaning down to talk beside him.

“I can tell you’re really out of it at the moment. Y'look really tired. Why don’t you go ahead and go rest up and me and you can do lunch tomorrow? You’ve been kinda detached the whole time and I’d really like to get to know you a bit more. Maybe even talk a collaboration. Who knows?” She pinches his broad shoulders playfully in a way that reminds him of his mom, patting him on the back. “I’ll text Roger to set up a reservation at Cafe Habana. Heard you fancy it?”

Harry nods so fast he feels whiplash lick at the back of his brain. “Yeah! It’d be an honor.”

“Alright. See you then.”

He watches as she walks away, rounding a corner to the restrooms and he immediately turns to Mitch, who’s in the middle of actively listening to Jeff and Sarah’s conversation about a Discovery Channel documentary over mermaids.

A tap to the shoulder gets Harry his designated attention and he speaks quick and breathless. “I’m going back to my hotel. Tell everyone I was feeling really tired, will you?”

Harry manages to wriggle his way out of the booth without embarrassing himself, leaving the trusty serviette behind as he sprints for the glass doors of the bar, socks damp in his loafers and that stupid piece of hair flopping against his forehead. The cold late night air runs the simmering stiffness from his skin (but leaving it as is somewhere else), swirling into his lungs and refreshing his mind. He has a driver on the phone in a split second and is getting into a limo the next minute, headed for his hotel with the window down and the wind sifting its fingers through his curls, helping air out all of his pent up frustration.

Before he knows it, Harry’s fumbling with the key card to his king suit, cursing under his breath as it gets jammed and squinting angrily at the tiny red light that flashes on the silver mechanism. As soon as the door pushes open, he surges through, kicking it closed and tearing down the column of buttons on his expensive silk shirt. His mind immediately begins to weave out a fantasy, the fingers that are popping open his shirt molding from his own into Y/N’s. And just like that, she’s there with him. She’s there, sponging her gentle, warm lips against the racing pulse on his neck, licking down his collarbones and biting at the the tight muscles of his broad shoulders as she roughly rips the sticky shirt down his arms.

Harry’s breathing is ragged as his fingers fly to his belt buckle, fumbling with the clasp and seeing nothing but her taunting, lust-filled eyes as she’d sharply yank the leather strap from around his slender hips, undoing his zipper as he toes off his squeaky shoes.
His pants are discarded in a pile by the couch and he’s rummaging through his Nike carry-on for his trusty bottle of Astroglide, positive that he’d tucked it into the inside pocket of the bag. He comes up fruitful, whooping silently in victory as he paces to the humongous bed across the elegant room, feeling her imaginary presence looming behind him as he crawls onto the fluffy comforter.

He momentarily wagers whether he should call up Y/N for some help because having her voice is better than having to envision it. He weighs against it, knowing that since it’s 1 AM here in LA, it’s around 9 AM over in London and she’s more than likely not even up yet considering she loves sleep almost as much as she loves him.

Harry sits with his back against the tall headboard, shimmying out of his dark red CK briefs and spreading his legs wide open, sighing in relief as he feels his balls settle beneath him onto the mattress. He hadn’t realized the true extremity of how wound up he had been until now.

He thumbs the cap of the lube open, wiping off the crusty dry bits against the duvet and squirting some onto his palm, shivering at how cool it is. After some shifting around and stacking a couple of pillows into a plush mountain, he gives his cock a few leisurely tugs, worrying his lip between his two front teeth and hissing out all of the accumulated stress from the entire night.

It doesn’t take long for him to get a set rhythm, his rings scraping softly against his prick as the lube squishes in between the cracks where the metal and the skin of his fingers meet.

Harry’s head leans back again the cold mahogany surface of the bed frame, his hand working up and down his engorged length as he gulps down the screams that are threatening to overcome him, mewling her name out into the dimness of the room. His translucent skin is bumpy with green and blue veins, the head of his cock a dangerous shade of reddish purple as a tiny river of precome leaks out steadily. It runs down and over his fingers as he pumps himself, mixing with the lube to form a cloudy mess. His toes are curling against the sheets and his back muscles are contracting against the headboard as his body bends all out of shape in order to produce an orgasm.

His huge hand squeezes himself snugly, breathy whimpers and quick, low moans streaming from his mouth without control because he just doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care because Harry can see her– sees her as she is pressed up against his side with one of her legs holding his own wide open, her small hand stroking him messily as she sucks love bites onto his chest and tweaks his puffy nipples, breath gooey and warm and so fucking hot as she mumbles praises against into neck. “God, you’re so fucking big, Har. All thick and warm inside me and nice and heavy in my mouth, yeah? Wanna make you come. Can you do that for me?”

Long, drawn-out “ohs” and “ughs” fill the stale air around him, wet slapping sounds bouncing back from the paisley-printed walls of the large room as Harry nods his head, not caring whether she’s here or not to see it. His face contorts into expressions of sheer bliss, eyebrows raising and scrunching in pleasure as his jaw hangs loose, head rutting back against the surface of the frame as cracked whines drip endlessly from his swollen, rosy lips. He thumbs over his sensitive cockhead, massaging circles into the skin and jerking against the mattress as he feels a boiling warmth pooling in his tummy, getting ready to explode at any given second.

Harry’s chest is flushed a dull red as he urges himself not to come, wanting to make this last as long as possible. Sweat stings every pore across his skin and he pretends it’s Y/N’s nails scratching memories across his torso. She’s everywhere; plastered across the ceiling and the walls of the room, all over his twitching body, her smell burning his nose and her pretty lips and doey eyes deeply rooted into his brain. It’s her own hands that are cupping and working him towards release as she licks sloppily at his tip, sucking gently every now and then while keeping direct eye contact with him. She spits on him just how he likes it, twisting her fist around his circumstance to give the handjob an array of new sensations.

His own hand mimics the fantasy, teeny mewls of, “oh, shit” and “fuck, it’s so good” rawing his jugular. He slows his pace, working down his cock gruelingly, pulling the foreskin down to reveal the shiny tip to the chilly air. He reaches down between his itching thighs, cupping his balls and fondling them, thumb pressing into the fleshy bit in the center and he can’t stop the stuttered sob that scrapes from deep in his lungs. Her ruby-red, bow-shaped lips are sucking a new sense into him, his eyes hazing over with the image of her kissing down his prick all the way to his balls and taking them into her palm, tugging and sucking fervidly.

Harry can feel his insides pass the boiling point, his abdomen and thighs giving foreshadowing clenches as he sinks down into the mound of feather pillows, torso twisting and thrashing as he crosses into dangerous grounds of stimulation. The cushions close around him as his dives deeply into them, swelling around his head and hugging his arms and sides, the light tickling sensation urging him to come undone. He’s breathing fast and spastic from his mouth and nose at the same time, tears squeezing from the corner of his eyes as he makes a variety of embarrassing, uncontrollable noises ranging from deep, choking grunts to high-pitched, sputtering whimpers.

And, of course, she’s there. The softness of the linen against his oversensitive body turns into her wandering fingers. The violent jerks of his fist melt into the warm velvet of her walls as she rides him. The rubbing of the pillow covers against the back of his head molds into her hands yanking and twirling at his matted, damp curls. And lastly, the caresses of his inhales and exhales as they leave his lips dissolve into her own breaths pushing into his mouth as her lips suck and chew at his, feeding bits of her intoxicating taste into his system to form a tight ball of sensual gratification at the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, Y/N, fuck me. You’re such a good fucking girl fo’ me, aren’t you? Y'just feel so good…” Harry knows it’s borderline insane to be addressing her when he’s alone but he doesn’t care because he just has to get it all out somehow. In the cage of his mind, her voice responds to him, which is all that truly matters.

“Want you t'come, H. Wanna feel you fill me up.” It’s as if she’s hovering over him, staring right into his soul with those wide, innocent eyes as she bounces on his cock, tiny gasps leaving her swollen lips as not-so-innocent words slip freely from her mouth. “C'mon, Harry. Know you can be a nice boy and come for me, baby. Jus’ a little longer, yeah?”

The hand that was massaging his balls flies up over the pillow around his face, shoving the fluffy material into his mouth so that he can bite down all of his wails. The heels of his feet dig into the springy mattress, causing his back to buck off its surface. Harry’s chest heaves with every rattling gasp, teeny mewls of pleasure squeaking from his throat. His arm is taut with the effort he’s putting into his violent tugging, tattoos glistening with sweat in the dim light of a single bedside lamp. He throws his head back as far he can, tendons stretching tight and veins chiseling into existence down his neck and across his temples. A warm sensation suddenly inflates across his entire being and he can hear his teeth grinding down hard as his climax takes the reigns, thundering over his body without remorse.

When he bursts, it’s messy, to say the least. It splutters out in thick milky ribbons that splatter across his stomach and chest, his prick twitching nonstop in his clenched fingers. Flashes of red, white and yellow form webs behind his eyelids, bursts of brighter colors overlapping the spidery strands. He feels like it’s never going to stop– like he’s going to be squirting out forever because he can still feel the knot writhing in his stomach, demanding to be let out all at once. But he can’t take it; if he doesn’t stop, he thinks he’ll pass out.

Harry’s heart is hiccuping in his chest, the intense thumping suggesting it is trying to slam free through his ribs. His ears feel as if they were clogged with gauze, the only clear sound being the blood rushing through his head. His nose is the first thing that starts to go numb, the jittery sensation spreading across his whole face and crawling down his neck, taking ahold of every one of his nerve-endings. After the feeling has washed down his thighs is when he stops coming, his cock slowly going limp against his pelvis. After it’s spread across all ten of his toes is when he releases the wet fabric of the pillowcase from his aching teeth. After it’s dissolved away down to his chest is when his back muscles untangle themselves from each other, his whole torso slumping comatose into the elegant duvet. And, only after the feeling barely lingers in his fingernails and barely tickles the back of his skull, is when Harry’s eyes finally flutter open.

His head lulls to the side so that his chin presses against his left shoulder, gaze focusing on the neon green numbers of the digital clock on the polished nightstand. 1:17 AM.

He’d lasted seventeen minutes.

It’s quite shameful, he’ll admit. He usually lasts at least thirty solo and can work his way up to an hour with Y/N (with breaks, obviously). But he’d spilled in just over fifteen minutes, all because of a couple glasses of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé and some post-concert adrenaline.

Harry lays there for a while; how long, he’s not sure. He entertains his sleepy body with threading his fingers through his moppy hair, feeling small grainy bits of hair spray still sticking to the fluffed up mess. The sweat has dried to his skin, making the light breeze from the air vents feel cooler than normal and causing him to burrow under the thick comforter. The humungous flat screen on the wall in front of the bed shows his reflection with crystal clearness: He looks like he just went three rounds with a grizzly bear in an episode of Naked and Afraid. Except the name Naked and Fucked Out seems more appropriate. Or Naked and Covered In Jizz. He wipes himself down with some fancy rose-oil-infused tissues from a box inside one of the nightstand cabinets, setting the wad of napkins on the table to discard later.

After about ten more minutes of recovering, Harry kicks off the sheets, swinging his legs around the edge of the bed in order to get up. His movements are lazy as he takes his sweet time standing up, raising his arms above his head and stretching out the kink in his back until it cracks. He grabs the duvet, wrapping it carelessly around his hips and holding both sides together in one fist at his hip. For some odd reason, he doesn’t feel like walking around naked– he thinks it to be that the air conditioning has kicked in at full blast.

He shuffles hazily out of the bedroom section of the grand suite, all the way over to where his bottoms lay in a rumpled pile on the floor near the couch, leaning down to fish out his phone from the back pocket. Harry surfs through his notifications as he slowly walks towards the bar on the other end of the room, only really paying attention to a message from Jeff confirming Harry’s lunch with Stevie tomorrow. He walks around the marble counter of the bar, opening up the mini fridge and sifting through an assortment of colorful alcohol bottles. He hisses out a victorious, “Sick.” when he sees a bottle of Brachetto d’Acqui Rosso, his favorite sweet wine. He’s not up for anything strong at the moment– just something light and fizzy to sedate the gnawing in his stomach.

Harry snatches the most graceful glass he can find, using his teeth to rip open the crimson wrapping around the cap of the bottle and being thankful that it is the type he can unscrew. After pouring out half a glass, he leans forward on the counter on one elbow, sipping lightly and pulling up Y/N’s contact on his phone. As the line rings its toll, he licks at his lips patiently, savoring the hints of black cherry, raspberry and rose in his drink.

“Hello?” Y/N’s thick, drowsy voice crackles through the speaker and he immediately feels bad for calling her. He knew she hadn’t been awake but he just really wanted to hear her voice.

“Morning, love. How’s my favorite girl?”

“I was good until you woke me up.” She grumbles, the ruffling that comes through the line suggesting she is shifting around the bed and he imagines her rolling onto her side, tucking an arm under her head as she holds the phone to her ear with the other.

A fond smile twitches Harry’s cheeks as he tips back the glass again, letting the tangy yet silky liquid send a tingle through his tastebuds. “So you’re well? Nice. ’M good too, thanks for asking.”

Y/N sighs irritably, but he can tell she’s faking it. All she could talk about recently is how much she misses him, especially in the morning because it’s when she’s most cuddly. He knows she’s thrilled to hear from him and he’s happy to say the feeling is mutual.

“So, how’d the concert go?” She asks, excitement twinkling in her groggy voice.

“It was fucking amazing. Stevie’s just…wow. That’s it. Just wow. She even said she loves Two Ghosts and I nearly shit myself on stage!” Harry responds, setting the now empty class on the counter and filling it up some more, watching the effervescent liquid slosh around as Y/N sniffles on the other end. Her nose could get pretty backed up during the night due to her allergies.

“That sounds incredible, Har. You really deserved this. You’ve worked so hard for it.” He can hear the proud smile in her voice.

“Thank you, pet. Means the world, y'know? Actually, Stevie invited me to lunch tomorrow! She even knew that I liked Cafe Habana. Can you believe it?” Harry can’t keep the childish giddiness from his voice, his entire face lighting up at the thought.

Y/N’s bubbly laugh crackles through the phone. “That’s great, baby. So happy for you!”

He smiles timidly into the glass, blushing up a storm and he can never understand how Y/N has him so whipped without even trying. “Thanks. Again.”

Harry hears the sound of running water start up on the other end and he guesses she is up and about, probably brushing her teeth or washing her face.

“So,” her voice is muffled, confirming that she indeed is brushing. He can see her, standing in her Garfield pajamas with her hair up in a messy bun, her sparkly blue toothbrush hanging out of the side of her mouth as foam wets the corners of her lips. “Are you gonna tell me all the juicy details of the after party or not?”

He chuckles softly, hiking the duvet up his hips as it had begun to slide down. “Wasn’t really a party. We just went out for some drinks, s'all.”

“Oh, that’s nice! How did it feel to have Stevie Nicks toast to you? Y'know, since you love having your ego stroked and all.” Her teasing tone pokes at his self-proclaimed narcissism, but all he can truly think about is how she used the word “stroked” and it causes him to giggle at the coincidence.

Harry sips at his wine, eyeing the unkempt bed on the opposite side of the room and smirking to himself knowingly. “It was absolutely satisfying.”

2

tbh these are still 2 of my fave homestuck doodles ive ever done
these are like probably 2 years old by now i think

When I Lost You - Part I - Jaehyun x Reader - Fuckboy HighSchool!AU

Part I - Part II

Requested by: @kpop-killed-me, I don’t know if I’ll make a part two????? but enjoy the angst!!

Word Count: 1313

Trigger Warnings: Offensive Language

Genre: Fuckboy HighSchool!AU, Angst


To everybody else, he was Jung Jaehyun. 

Senior star athlete, extreme womanizer and playboy, and the guy everybody wanted to be friends with, regardless of the consequences.

To you, he was once Jung Yoonoh; the quiet shy kid who sat by you in the library and showed you funny videos of cats on the internet when the librarian wasn’t hovering over you.

The transformation happened towards the end of sophomore year.

When you had been freshmen, the two of you were seatmates, so you ended up accidentally spending a lot of time together.

Projects were done together at cafés and ice cream parlors, cramming for midterms took place in either one of your rooms for hours on end, and by the end of freshman year, you had had a new best friend whom you could tell anything to.

That summer, you guys spent your time at the beach and parks or at comic book stores, looking through old ones people forgot even existed and pointing towards funny looking characters saying, “Oh, look, that’s you,” before bursting into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

When you got bored of going outside, in you went. Movie and show marathons, gaming sessions that ended at past midnight and had you lectured by your families, and sessions where you’d sit there and talk about anything and everything.

That was when it started.

You had accidentally said something and his eyes had widened, asking you to say it again as he scrambled up to look for a notebook and a pen.

He jotted down the words you had just said, a fire kindling inside of him as he smiled slowly, reading over the new lines he’d added.

“What’s that?” you had asked curiously, shifting a little closer so you could try and peek.

“It’s where I write my lyrics,” he explained bashfully, his neck and ears tinging red.

“Lyrics?” your voice perked up, grabbing the notebook before he could protest and reading some of the things he’d written.

“Okay, wow. These are good,” You murmured absently as you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration, making him smile and look down at his feet.

“I want to become an idol someday. A singer. I want to make my own music and sing them to my fans so they can enjoy the music like I do.”

You had looked up at him, grinning. “When are you going to audition? Why have you never told me about this before?” you asked happily.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he had answered, scratching his head shyly. “And probably in a year or two. I want to train first so I could be a good candidate. I don’t even know what song to pick.”

You thought about it, wondering about what he could sing.

You had given him a few suggestions, and even though he sounded terrific, he didn’t feel comfortable with any of the songs.

“Why don’t you just write your own audition song?” you had exclaimed, making him smile.

“That’s an idea! But… what if it’s not good enough?” he fretted, kicking up the dust with his feet as he worried.

“Forget it,” he said at last, “I’ll just find a song, eventually. There’s still plenty of time left.” He smiled at you, and you knew exactly what you had to do.

Sophomore year had started, and you had begun working on composing a song for him. Just because he had no faith in himself didn’t mean that you had none, either.

Anytime he spoke about his dream, his eyes would light up and he’d describe just how moved and happy he would be if he ever got to achieve it. It fueled your inspiration, and your lyric-writing skills began to flow.

It took you a few months, trying to get the right words and to compose the right music that would convey the emotions of the song properly, but you eventually did it.

During these months, he had joined the school’s basketball team, becoming the MVP quite quickly and training after hours, making you see him less and less.

You had been lucky enough to see him in the hallways sometimes, and he had started dismissing your texts and calls, bailing on your plans so he could hang out with his team and the new cheerleaders that had made the cut.

It was the day you had wanted to show him the lyrics, about a week or two before sophomore year ended, when you caught him at school.

You had stayed late in the library trying to finish a science project due the next day, and you’d finally succeeded.

“Yoonoh? Hey, wait up!” you called out as you jogged to his spot. He wasn’t alone.

“Um, who is this person?” laughed one of the cheerleaders.

“Yoonoh?” asked a jock with a lifted eyebrow, snickering.

He rounded on you, furious.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a low, menacing voice. “Can’t you tell that I’m busy?”

Your expression fell and you gulped, not expecting this reaction out of him at all. Never had you seen him act this way during the two years you had hung out.

“Are you okay? I’ve been texting and calling you about- “

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” he whisper-yelled, the others very clearly listening in and laughing at you.

“Take a hint, honey,” said the other cheerleader of the group, winking at you pathetically.

“I’ll meet you outside, guys,” he said, and they all exchanged looks before they muttered their ‘whatever’s’ and shuffled outside.

“What the hell is your problem?” he asked roughly once they were out of earshot.

My problem? What the hell is yours? Since when have you been like this? Since when have you hung out with such people or talked like that? I’ve been trying to reach you for days, and here you are -” you furiously replied, but he cut you off.

“You never thought that maybe giving you no answer was an answer?” he sneered, and you were taken aback.

“No. I didn’t. Because my best friend, Jung Yoonoh, would never do what you’re doing.”

“It’s Jaehyun,” he corrected.

“What?”

“My name is Jaehyun. Stop calling me by my other name.”

Other name? Do you even hear yourself?!”

“Hey, look, fuck off, alright? I don’t need this right now and I’m not in the mood for it either,” he spat bitterly, making you huff as you tried to contain your anger.

“Here I was, working to make your dream come true while you threw yourself away at cheerleaders and people who don’t even know your name.”

“You don’t know me,” he shot back.

Yes I do! But I guess not anymore,” you concluded, drawing the music sheets and lyrics out of your bag and looking at them pathetically.

“Here,” you said, shoving your arm outwards so he could take them, but he only looked down at you and turned away.

“I don’t want your stupid biology notes,” he mocked, beginning to walk, and you threw the papers at his back, making him turn furiously and take an intimidating step closer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, but you didn’t even flinch.

“They’re yours,” you stated plainly, walking past him towards the end of the hallway so you could leave before the tears spilled.

“And lose my number.”

Already have,” he spat as the door slammed shut behind you.

That was the last you’d spoken to him, when he started going through girls like they were tissues and having parties at his house every other night.

And here you were now, in senior year, opening your locker to find a paper from an entertainment company praising ‘Jung Yoonoh’ for being accepted as a trainee because of his wonderful performance. And the name of the song used at the audition was stated.

It was yours.

Knuckles : Boxer!Ashton (Part 5)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

“Calum!” you call after walking into the kitchen, spraying cleaner on the counter and drying it down with a rag. “It’s your turn to take the garbage out.”

“One second,” he says back, followed shortly with an unrelated, “Oh, shit.”

A moment later you glance up to see him emerge from his bedroom, shirtless, and holding in his hand a toothbrush with bristles coated in white paste.

Your arm continues to circle the counter with the rag, using slightly less elbow grease now that you’ve been distracted. “What?”

“Water’s out in my room,” he answers casually, as if it’s a reoccurring inconvenience that he’s come to expect over time. He reaches across the counter to dampen his toothbrush with the kitchen’s faucet, then proceeds to scrub his morning breath away.

“How does it just go out in one room?” you question, turning to use the same cleaner on the front of the refrigerator.

“Dunno,” Calum mutters with a mouth full of foam. Your ears catch the sound of him spitting into the sink.

“I just cleaned that.”

“And you did a great job.”

You cast an annoyed glare over your shoulder.

“Anyway, cool if I use your shower?” Calum asks, smiling at the silent threat.

The ownership you have over anything in the apartment still sounds odd to you when put into words, almost always forcing you to pause with the need to correct Calum before remembering he’s making sense. You guess you haven’t quite settled in to your newest living arangment yet, still in the habit of referring to it as Calum and Ashton’s place. You only unpacked your last box a few weeks ago, a short while after Ashton left for Las Vegas to pursue the boxing training Dennis Serrant had to offer.

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