this was one of those things that looked better in my head

Young Love

Originally posted by beepsrichie

Anonymous Requested: Could you do an imagine for Eddie where he has been in love with the reader since they were in preschool and one day he just straight up kisses her because he can’t take it anymore? Thank you!!!

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

Warnings: none.


Eddie hated germs, he always has. But especially when he was only a small child, learning the way the world works and all he had was his mother’s guidance. Who only ever taught him that everything was dirty and that in order to stay completely healthy, he must take medicine. It’s just the way it was and being only young, Eddie didn’t know any better; so Eddie never shared.

In preschool you’re taught that sharing is caring, but Eddie didn’t care. In his mind, sharing passed diseases and unknown germs that could or would hurt him. So, because of this, Eddie spent everyday in preschool sitting by himself at one of the huge round colourful tables because kids didn’t like someone who wouldn’t share. That was, until you came. You were a new student, and had just moved to the small town of Derry a week ago. Your parents thought it would be best, and that the friends you made would last much longer than any you’d make in the big city.

Every table was full, so Ms. put you next to him. It seemed that you were just as quiet as Eddie, but yours probably stemmed from nerves more than anything else.

While the entire classroom was filled with young children chatting and the echo of amusement, your table was silent; just Eddie and yourself. Ms. gave everyone a blank sheet of paper and told the class to draw whatever they’d like; today was express yourself day. Those were Eddie’s favourites.

His mother had bought him his own large pack of crayons so that he could avoid sharing of any kind; and Eddie pulled it out with pride. Setting the box on the table, he slid open the tab and picked his favourite colour; red. Eddie paid no mind to his new table partner, you in the far back of his mind and instead focused solely on his work of art before him. Eddie didn’t notice the way you stared at your blank piece of paper with thought or the way your hands seemed to hang by your side, unsure of what to do with yourself.

In fact, Eddie almost forgot you were set beside him.

It wasn’t until your soft and meek voice called out; “can I borrow a crayon?”

The question astonished Eddie, not once had anyone asked him that. Not since he, quite rudely, denied another student at the beginning of the year. Eddie was going to just say no, without even glancing your way but then something seemed to almost pull him; pull his head to glance at you and he did.

Your eyes shined with the curiousity but fear of a new student; one that held mischief but hesitancy because you were unsure of the world. Your bottom lip jutted out in fear and regret, and your hands nervously gripped each other. Eddie realized you must be nervous, not only because it was your first day at a new school but because Eddie knew he wasn’t the most approachable kid in that class and yet you got seated next to him.

“My parents haven’t had the time…” You mumbled, your voice high that a young girl should have and your words slurred. “I really wanna hand this in…”

You may only be in preschool but handing in an assignment late never impressed anyone.

And with your watery eyes, pouty lip and soft voice, all advice his mother had ever given him seemed to disappear from his mind. Eddie forgot all about the idea of germs and what disease he could have he used the same crayon that your fingers had touched. He forgot all that and instead said; “sure.”

A smile almost immediately spread on your lips and your hands eagerly reached forward for a purple crayon. Eddie felt his own smile grow, happy that he was able to please another and not just himself. It was that day that Eddie learned there was more to life than just making yourself happy, and he could tell he’d done the right thing as he watched your face erupt with pure bliss.

Eddie then made the decision to scootch on closer to you, and lean over your shoulder to view what you were drawing. “I’m drawing me and my new friend.” You smiled, glancing at him before pointing to one of the stick person she’d begun drawing; “that’s you.” Her chubby little finger slid over to the finished stick person; “and that’s me. And this is the purple crayon.”

Eddie felt warmth spread through within him; he’d made a friend.


“I remember hearing that you didn’t like sharing.” You laughed, smiling teasingly over at Eddie who sat before you with a faux frown. “‘Germs’ and all.”

“Listen, do you know how many disease you can get from just simply shaking someone’s hand?” Eddie defended and you let out another loud laugh. Shaking your head, you patted Eddie softly on the shoulder; “no, no, don’t worry.” You exclaimed, holding your hands by your side in mock surrender. “I totally understand.”

“Hmm-Mmm, hey when you get a serious cold or something don’t come crying to me.” Eddie clarified, folding his hands before you. You bumped his shoulder lightly with your own, smiling over at his as he reluctantly smiled himself, before you both let out a quiet laugh. After a moment of silence, you paused, furrowing your brows in thought. “Hey, if you hated sharing so much, why’d you share with me that day?”

Eddie paused, his body growing still in panic. You looked over at him curiously waiting for his response patiently. Eddie glanced over at you, his eyes scanning your features that he loved oh-so much. It’d been your eyes, lips and voice that had swooned him but your personality only made him fall in love with you further. He may have not known it at the time, but Eddie slowly had fallen in love with you since meeting you that fateful day.

Eddie though, didn’t have words to describe why he’d shared his crayon with you that day. It may seem silly but to him it was so much more, and words couldn’t express the thoughts that had run through his five year old mind. Words he didn’t understand at the time but made so much sense now. The truth was, he didn’t know how to answer your question; there were no words to express the amount of love he held for you.

So instead, he placed his hand before him, to keep him steady and leaned forward abruptly; pressing his lips against your own. You froze upon contact, expecting nothing of the such but the second you registered what exactly was happening, you didn’t hesitate to respond. You leaned forward, but just as quickly as it’d begun it stopped and Eddie pulled away. You flushed; panting slightly as Eddie grew red in embarrassment.

“Uh-”

“Sorry- sorry!” Eddie quickly apologized; “it’s just- I didn’t know how to answer your question and if i’m being honest, i’ve been completely in love with you since that day.”

Your heart swelled; “you’ve been…?”

“Yeah…”

Another moment silence passed and you leaned forward yourself, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. “So have I.”

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.



II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.



III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1.  BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

2.  BE NEAT
Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3.  BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

4.  REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6.  KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7.  WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8.  ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?”
The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9.  HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10.  OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11.  AN AGENT?  FORGET IT.  FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12.  IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.



That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

We're Already Married

So, I am supposed to be working on a chapter of a story and an angsty oneshot. But this fluffy drabble had to be written. It just had to.
——–


               “Draco, we need to talk.” Lucius told his son firmly as he and Narcissa walked into the room.

                “Mhm. Go ahead.” Came the little three-year-old’s distracted voice.

                Lucius rolled his eyes before stepping behind his son and peering down. “What in heaven’s name is that?”

                That had Narcissa circling the table and looking at her son’s face. His tongue was peeking out of his lips, eyes were narrowed in concentration while brows were furrowed and he seemed to be drawing something on a spare piece of parchment. She blinked uncertainly at the pure disaster of scribbles that were everywhere. If it wasn’t supposed to be a ball of rubbish, she honestly had no idea what her son was attempting to draw.

                “It’s Dobby. Can’t you tell?” Draco looked up with a wobbly lip and sad eyes as he pointed across the room to the house elf. As if the thought of it not looking like Dobby was a disaster.

                Lucius looked over for the first time and noted that the elf was in an odd pose with an apple balancing on his forehead.

                At his arched brows, Dobby hurried to explain. “Master Draco asked Dobby to be his muse.”

                “Is that so?” Lucius drawled with a heavy sigh. “Draco, you can’t order Dobby to play with you.”

                “Why not?”  

                Patience was not Lucius’ strong suit. He looked to the ceiling briefly before shaking his head. “We will have this conversation at a later date. There are more important things to discuss.”

                Draco hummed a little before looking up with wide eyes. “Am I in twouble? If so, Dobby did it.”

                A soft surprised noise emitted from the elf and Narcissa couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “No, you aren’t in trouble and don’t blame Dobby for things he didn’t do.”

                “Sowwy.” Draco apologized as he looked down at his hands.

                “Sorry.” Lucius corrected. For some reason, pronouncing R’s were hard for his son.

                Draco’s brows were pinched in confusion. “That’s what I said.”

                “No, you said—” Lucius paused as he decided to let it go. “Nevermind. What I have been trying to tell you is that we have come to discuss a pureblood tradition with you.”

                That had Draco’s expression souring. “No thanks.”

                Narcissa covered her mouth as she tried muffling her laughter. Salazar, she loved her son.

                “Draco.” The hard tone of his voice had his son straightening up and giving him a serious look. Finally.

                “When you come of age, you will be drawn into a marriage contract. This is something that most purebloods do and it is a standing tradition of the Malfoy family.” Lucius shot is wife a look when she crossed her arms. He knew that she didn’t agree and wanted Draco to find his own spouse but that wasn’t the plan.

                “I’m alweady mawried.” Draco interrupted excitedly!

                Lucius blinked rapidly. “You want to run that by me again?”

                “Hawwy asked me to mawwy him today! I said I would if he let me have his pudding. He did!”

                “And who pray tell is Hawwy?” Lucius shuddered at the pronunciation.

                “Hawwy is my best fwriend. He has pwetty eyes and he said I do too! We are mawried.”

                Narcissa smirked at her husband. “You hear that? He’s already married. Looks like that marriage contract is moot.”

                “Narcissa, you can’t possibly—”

                She stood up rapidly, holding out her hand for her son to take. “I can and I will. You want to explain to your son why he can’t marry his best friend? Because if so, you can deal with the aftermath.”

                Draco looked between them rapidly. “But…” His eyes filled with tears. “We alweady mawried.” The sniffle he released had Lucius closing his eyes. “Tomorrow’s the anni- anniver-” He scrunched up his nose as he looked to Narcissa for help.

                “Anniversary?” She offered picking him up and holding him close.

                Draco nodded rapidly as he wiped his eyes. “Yes. I want to give him a gift.”

                Narcissa smiled softly. “How about we go see if we can have one of the house elves cook him something. What kind of desserts does he like?”

                “Tweacle tawrt.”

                Lucius watched his wife and son walk out of the room with a shake of his head. He looked over and noticed that Dobby was still in the same awful pose. “Cease that at once.”

                When the elf let out a noise of relief, Lucius rolled his eyes. “What are the chances that I’ll get my way in the end?”

                He knew that Dobby couldn’t lie to him, so he was interested in hearing the response.

                The *pop* of the elf’s departure was heard and it had Lucius putting his face in his hands. “That’s what I was afraid of.”


Keep reading

Missing Link

Missing Link (m)

Word count: 6.3k

Genre/Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, talk of masterbation and language

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You catch Yoongi playing with himself before a night out and some part of you wants to join him. That’s crazy though, he’s your best friend… Right?


“Yoongi~”

“Yes, Y/N?” Yoongi said as he watched tv, happy to be home after a long day with you. 


“Will you please go with me tonight? I don’t want to go by myself.”

Yoongi sighed on the couch next to you. “Y/N, i’m too old to be going to these college parties.”

Keep reading

Cat Got Your Tongue Pt.2 (M)

Taco’s not so fluffy anymore, and you run into quite a few unexpected faces.

Word count: 7.4 k

Genre: Comedy, smut, fluff, a touch of angst, a lot of naked Tae

A/N: Hi! I’m so sorry this took forever to come out and I really hope I did it justice. Thank you everyone who was so patient with me, I really appreciate you all and your understanding means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! Special thanks to @jiminniemouse @seoulscapes & @kittae for proofreading this trash and motivating me to complete it!

Part 1 here

Keep reading

The Giants of Earth

Aliens are too often depicted as very human-like. Bilateral symmetry, main sensory organs on the head, dexterous hands on arm-like appendages, etc. Even size is relatively close or averages to around human size. But when you look at our own world, humans are giants. Relatively few animals have mass comparable to or greater than humans. Our height is particularly astounding since we evolved bipedalism and adopted a vertical stance rather than one that’s more horizontal, which you see even in other bipedal animals like birds.

So what if the same holds true for humanity compared to aliens? There are many advantages to having a smaller body, after all: fewer necessary resources to live and grow, more stable stances if they walk on three or more legs, better adaptability to cataclysmic events, and many others. If the species comes from a world with higher gravity especially, being lower to the ground is far more preferable rather than spending a lot of energy fighting the higher gravity.

So when humanity arrives on the interstellar scene, how would a universe filled with (generally) smaller sentients react to the new giants?

-Story below the cut -

Keep reading

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

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spellbound (m)

Pairing:  Jimin x Reader
Genre: witch!au (sort of based on the secret circle), smut, comedy, slight angst
Warnings: dom-ish!jimin, magical sex rituals (so slight blood play, breath play, temperature play), rough sex, cumplay
Word Count:  10k+
Summary:  The only reason you agreed to do this magical ritual with Park Jimin’s Circle was for the sake of your own Circle - to strengthen your individual magic. Yes, that means you’ll have to fuck him, but no, you weren’t happy about it because you hate Park Jimin. Once again, you were only doing this for your Circle. 

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Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 11/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Sensitive topics ahead, a few characters are ooc, acts of violence

A/N: 1 part left ! aLSO credit to @nonbinaryreddie aka QUEN for helping me out throughout this series with lil bits im stuck on, i love you! sorry for any mistakes i-

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12(Soon) |

Everything was hazed, Richie felt distant as ever; almost as if his own soul was lingering outside of his skin. His skin was pricked by cold sensations, with his heart beat flickering in his ears.

Where was he?

His eyes almost felt as if someone was holding them shut, everything aching all over his body and he felt his blood strike though his veins icily. Something was terribly wrong, not to mention the sense of dread that pierced his core.

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Five Seconds (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: When you confessed to Richie, you got the expected response, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less. Not even a week later he decides to talk to you, not so subtly jealous about you spending time with Ben. Things sort of…escalate from there.

Warnings: Cussing and Kissing. (oh no, not kissing! *parents screaming, children crying, Ohio catches on fire*) This is a request. DON’T HESITATE TO SEND IN REQUESTS. (Don’t send in like 50 tho. I still need sleep.)

Word Count: 1,697


“Can I t-talk to you.”

Richie stops laughing at Stan and, still giggling, turns to you. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You glance over Richie’s shoulder to see Beverly shoot you a thumbs up. “I’ve been, well- It was Beverly’s idea! But for a while now…” You stumbled over words, trying to soften the embarrassing blow of ‘I have a crush on you’.

“I like you!” You blurt, deciding to get it over with. “I l-like you as more than a friend.”

There’s a moment of silence in which you count the seconds that painfully tick by.

One. Richie’s mouth opens and closes, you can see his eyes dart to the other boys. They’re whooping and hollering, pushing him and giggling like idiots.

Two. You can feel the headrush hit you hard, along with waves of nausea.

Three. Teasing smiles stay on the boys’ faces, but Beverly’s melts off. She knows. She knows what’s going to happen.

Four. Richie’s ears turn fire hydrant red as you grow pale and faint. His eyes once again scan the boys, who continue to tease without mercy. You close your eyes, wishing they’d stop. There would be nothing to celebrate.

Five. “I’m s-sorry…”

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dating tom holland...pt. 3
  • if i’m being honest, he’d probably smell amazing 24/7
  • not even his cologne just like his scent, there’s just something so comforting about him too
  • the day before he had to leave for press or filming he’d cling onto you like a koala
    • “I’m not letting go until I absolutely have to,” he’d whine as you tried to push him off
    • “tom I have to pee,”
    • “no you don’t that’s false,”
    • “GET OFF ME BEFORE BAD THINGS HAPPEN”
  • reluctantly letting go of you so you could go pee
  • hearing your name through the door
    • [Y/N]!!!”
    • “come baaaack”
    • “….I can hear you pee” followed by loud giggling as you flush the toilet and quickly was your hands
  • he promises to call, text, and facetime you as often as possible when he’s away
  • and obviously he sticks to his promises cause he’s that guy™
    • “I miss yoooouuuu”
    • “harrison doesn’t cuddle like you”
    • “I miss your cooking” 
  • reuniting with each other is both your favourite things
  • you’d be waiting at the airport, trying to be as lowkey as possible since there was already a swarm of paparazzi’s
  • him noticing you as soon as he stepped through those doors
  • running and jumping into his arms as he threw down all his belongings
    • multiple kisses all over your face
    • whispering “i’m gonna make up for all our lost time when we get home”
  • and he so does
  • not being able to keep his hands off you the second you step through the door
    • “what gotten into you, tom?” you ask as he nips at your neck and collarbones
    • he freezes before shyly looking up at you, “I-I had a dream…about you…” he trails off
  • you nearly moan at the thought of him having dirty dreams about you
  • sloppy makeup sex 
    • both your actions would be so rushed, just wanting to be connected with each other
    • “fuck, I missed you so much babygirl,” 
    • him trying to make you come at the same time as him
  • as happy as he is to see you, he’s also exhausted and starving so you tell him to take a nap as you make something for dinner
    • “but I wanna nap with my girl,” he’d try to coax 
    • “after dinner,” you bargained as he let out a huff but agreed
  •  waking him up with head scratches 
    • whining when you stop and throw the blankets off him
    • not at all fazed by his naked body
    • him being surprised at you being unfazed because ????? 
  • him always trying to get you naked
    • “let eat dinner…..naked,”
    • “let’s play strip monopoly!” “not a chance tom,” “strip uno?”
  • “tom no”
  • “TOM YES”
  • he can be such a child, hiding all your left shoes or the toothpaste because it’s only a minor inconvenience 
  • whenever you’re at home with him and his family he becomes so much more british
    • “tom I can’t understand what you’re saying anymore”
    • “WHADYA MEAN M8″
  • him getting genuinely jealous when you pay more attention to tessa than him
    • “I’m spider-man though!!!!” he’d whine as you rolled around with tessa
    • having enough of your shit and picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder and bringing you to him room
  • when tom is sick its so much worse because he’s so much more clingy but you also don’t wanna get sick
    • “just a kiss on the nose, please darling” he’d beg as you sighed, finally giving him
    • tilting his head up so you end up meeting his lips instead
    • “if you get me sick i’m gonna kill you, holland”
  • you sitting on his lap because he loves having his arms wrapped around your body
  • if you were in public he’d always be checking behind your back for paparazzi’s because it was date night 
  • baking together becomes a tradition with you guys
    • him smearing icing down your nose before licking it
    • “you taste amazing, sweetheart,” him winking before you choke on a breath  
  • you lying in his lap in bed on nights you can’t sleep
  • so he begins playing with your hair and softly singing to because he knows that’s what puts you out like a light
  • waking you up with slopping kisses all over your face
  • you’re not a morning person so you don’t appreciate being woken up and put your pillow on your face
  • so he ends up eating you out and you can’t even get angry cause it was one of the best orgasms ever
    • “still hate me for waking you up?” he asks cheekily as you roll your eyes playfully
    • that day ends up full of sex, cuddles, and food
  • working out with him but he just ends up getting distracted by all your movements 
  • which leads to post workout sex
    • “your ass looks amazing in those pants, but it looks even better without them, darling,”
  • he secretly loves being domestic with you
  • like he loves doing laundry or cleaning the apartment and even going grocery shopping because he’s imagining your future
    • “you ever think about us? in the future?” he’d ask one day and he immediately regrets it thinking you’ll start freaking out
    • “all the time, bubs,” you say with a smile and he thinks his heart is gonna leap out of his chest
  • his parents and brothers already call you an old married couple
  • both of you agreeing that you’ve still got a long ways ahead of you before you wanna get married or start a family 
  • but you both want to 
  • you’re both each others rocks, always there no matter what time it is
  • sweet little kisses throughout the day 
    • like on the nose
    • or the forehead
    • of the top of your head
  • if you’re wearings rings he’s 100 percent going to play with them when he’s holding your hand 
  • he makes sure to bring you back a souvenir from each place he visits, even if it’s a magnet you love it so much 
  • sharing headphones while waiting for the plane to start boarding 
  • playing ‘guess the song’
    • “i lose every time though,” he’d whine but you just stuck your tongue out
    • purposely playing songs he doesn’t know just to see him pout
    • “you’re just too cute,” “i’m not cute, i’m hot,” “okay, tommy, whatever you say,”
  • him getting tipsy on the plane 
    • “let’s join the mile high club,” while giggling
    • “tom i’m trying to watch a movie,”
    • “and i’m trying to get laid,”
  • he’s actually such a child sometimes and you have to threaten him with no more sex until he finally calms down
  • if he has a random question he will ask you as if you have the answer
    • “how long are giraffes necks????”
    • “how do dolphins sleep with one eye open??”
  • poking your cheeks whenever you’re ignoring him 
    • “pay attention to meeeee,”
  • lying in between his legs on his chest because he insists on having you as close to him as possible
  • YOU’RE BOTH HEAD OVER HEELS FOR EACH OTHER AND ADORE ONE ANOTHER 

A/N: i died and came back then died again i h8 myself

overly-anxious-chicken  asked:

Headcannon harry telling his parents about Draco?

I like to pretend that no one actually died, let’s all be in denial together!


“Come on, Draco. They’re going to love you, I promise.” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist from behind and kissed his cheek, trying to sooth his boyfriend.

“What if they don’t?” Draco asked as he nervously fixed his tie in the mirror. He’d never met the Potter’s before and he was extremely nervous, knowing that their families never got along. “I mean, I’m a Malfoy. You really think they’re going to like me?”

Harry sighed. “I know my mom will love you. My dad might take a while, but he’ll open up eventually.” He turned Draco around and kissed him. Harry smiled at him and softly pushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Draco smiled back, what would he do without him? “Oh, and my dad might make really bad jokes, so just ignore him. And also my uncles might be there which would make that worse. I usually tune it out whenever my Dad and Uncle Sirius are in the same room together. Good luck with that.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.” Draco commented sardonically. Harry rolled his eyes and kissed him again.

They Apparated to Godric’s Hollow where Harry’s parents lived. Harry was just about to knock on the door when Draco stopped him. “Wait. Give me a second.” He took a deep breath. Harry put a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” Draco nodded. “I know for a fact that they’ll love you. You know why?” Draco shook his head. “Because I love you. I love you so much, Draco.”

His boyfriend seemed to calm down a bit. “I love you too, Harry.” They kissed softly, not realising that Lily Potter was standing on the other side of the door, listening. She smiled softly as she heard her son speak so kindly, so full of love. It reminded her of the way James spoke to her before she met his parents.

There was a knock on the door that pulled her out of her trance. James and Sirius ran to open it and Remus walked calmly behind, shaking his head fondly at the two men. Lily opened the door and hugged her son.

“Well, don’t hog him.” James joked. He pulled Harry inside just as Lily let go of him, hugging him and asking how he’d been. Sirius did the same with Draco, pulling him into a headlock and giving him a noogie.

“How’s my favourite nephew doing?” He asked and let Draco go. He stumbled to regain his balance and straightened himself up, fixing his hair. Harry smiled amusedly at the slytherin. He looked like a snake that just wandered into a lion’s den.

“I’ve been good.” Draco answered. “Until you attacked me.” He muttered under his breath.

“Mom. Dad. This is my boyfriend, Draco.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs. Potter.” He held out a hand for them to shake. Before Lily shook his hand, she turned to her husband and pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t do it.” She scolded, knowing he was about to mimick Draco’s posh accent. James scoffed like he was going to defend himself, but then thought better of it and closed his mouth.

“Nice to meet you too, Draco. Harry has told us so much about you.” Draco smiled at her, grateful for her kindness. “And this is Sirius, James’s boyfriend-” Harry’s father lightly slapped her shoulder. “I mean, best friend. And the only other sane member of this family besides myself is Sirius’s husband, Remus.” She told him, pointing to where Remus was leaning against the wall. He waved at Draco, smiling lightly at him.

“Or as I like to call him, the second hottest person on earth.” Sirius stated and slung an arm around his husband.

“Who’s the first?” Draco asked.

“Me, obviously.” He said, flipping his hair.

“Woah woah wait.” James interrupted. “You don’t think I’m the hottest person on earth?” He asked, looking offended.

“You’re the third hottest, Prongsy.” Sirius winked at him.

“Boyfriends. Told you.” Lily told Draco in a quiet voice. Draco chuckled softly.

The evening had been quite fun and relaxing. The only thing that bothered Draco was that Harry’s father had never talked directly to him. The night was coming to a close when James pulled Draco aside, Lily eyeing him nervously but he sent her a signal that there was nothing to worry about. It was almost creepy how similar Harry and James looked. Draco felt like he was looking at an older version of his boyfriend. Though Harry’s father didn’t have those bright emerald eyes that he adored so much.

“So, you and Harry are pretty serious, huh?” He asked. Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “He seems to really love you. It reminds me a lot of how Sirius and Remus were when they first got together. I can’t say I’m surprised you ended up together though, he was always talking about you, even before you became friends. Anyway, I just wanted to say welcome to the family.”

Draco smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me James.” He pulled the blonde into a hug.

“Oh are we hugging?” He heard Sirius say and join in. “Hey, Evans! Get in here!” He called out. Lily walked in and laughed.

“Boys, you’re smothering the poor lad.” She said and pulled on her husband so he’d let go.

Remus walked in next. “Come now, Pads. I’m sure Draco has had enough of you for one evening.” Sirius detached himself from his nephew and leeched onto Remus instead.

“Can you ever have enough of me, Moony?”

He laughed and kissed his husband on the cheek. “Definitely.”

~College!au Pen Pal Jungkook~PART THIRTEEN

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12] [part 14:END]

Originally posted by jkguks

Jungkook quickly jogged in the direction of your dorm room. How could he be so stupid? Even if Y/F/N was his pen pal, he was willing to let go of you and your friendship? After everything? What a dick move, he thought to himself.

He didn’t know why you were the one apologizing when he was the dick who didn’t even look in your direction for the past two weeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t open the door.

“Y/N?” He lightly knocked on your room door. Were you even there?

“He’s here,” he heard a low voice through the door.

“Shut up, Tae!” He heard you shush through the door.

“Y/N, I know you’re there,” Jungkook sighed, leaning his arm against the door.

“I don’t need to hear it. I know I lied to you and I’m sorry, okay?” You murmured. 

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. It’s me, really.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I was an inconsiderate asshole who deserted you. Sure, I was hurt because I thought you were just averting me from meeting my pen pal whom you knew all along. But a part of me knew you wouldn’t do that. Yet, I didn’t listen to that part of me. So I stopped seeing you. At first, it felt like I was empty but then it hurt. Really hurt. I saw you around, alone at the cafe or on campus and damn, I was crushed. But I had my stupid pride and ignored your obvious sadness. You don’t know how much I wanted to walk up to you sometimes, but those times were when I was around Y/F/N.”

He heard you scoff at the mention of her name. He continued, “I honestly can’t believe that I was willing to give you up over something so stupid. You’re way too special to me, Y/N.”

“Meaning?” Taehyung shouted from the other side of the door, urging him to go on. Jungkook heard the sound of a smack and Taehyung winced, “Ow!”


From beside you, Taehyung sat criss-crossed, rubbing his arm which had a newly formed red mark on it. “What was that for?”

“Be quiet, would you?” You pleaded, nodding your head towards the door.

“Meaning I care about you…a lot. Maybe a little too much, for my own good,” Jungkook replied vaguely. What was that supposed to mean? You wanted to urge him to elaborate but it seems, once again, Taehyung beat you to the punch.

“Which means?” 

“Y/N, I love you.”

Before you could process what Jungkook had just said, an inhuman sound was heard from next to you. 

Turning your head to the side, you saw Taehyung laying on the ground, clutching his chest, and his eyes shut.

“Namjoon hyung owes me twenty dollars!” He hollered, jumping up. “Y/N, I’m helping you out here. Have fun!” Taehyung opened the door and made eye contact with Jungkook for a split second, before breaking out into a grin. 

“Good luck,” Taehyung patted Jungkook’s arm and slid past him and ran out of your dorm. Your eyes stayed glued to the carpet floor under you.

“You what?” You managed to speak. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, awkwardly, he sighed, “Yeah, I know; funny way of showing it, right? But I guess I was just so hurt by what you ‘did’, and my pride got in the way.”

As if breaking out of your daze, you shook your head, “But I lied to you first. Yeah, you made me feel like absolute shit, but it was my fault. If I didn’t lie in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.” You stood up in front of him. 

“You had a good reason,” He said, softly.

“Being insecure? Wow, what a great reason,” You rolled your eyes at yourself.

Jungkook took hold of your hands, “I made you feel insecure. I was rude enough to accuse you for not being my pen pal once I got here. I’d do the same if a girl showed up at my door and looked at me the way I looked at you. But believe me, I never looked at you like that again.”

When you said nothing, he took it as an opportunity to keep talking, “As we kept hanging out, I realized how freaking attracted I was to you. Not because of your appearance, not gonna lie though, you rock the whole I don’t give a fuck about my hair look, but because of your personality. Whenever you were looking away or telling a story, man, I only had eyes for you. Call me cheesy but I don’t care. Y/N, I definitely don’t deserve you but please take into consideration my apology,” Jungkook pled, not letting go of your hands.

 Looking down at his hands holding yours, you realized just how well they fit together. Feeling your cheeks heat up, as if you were just remembering that he was confessing, you looked away. 

“Kook, I know you hurt me, but I forgive you.”

“That easily? No way. Can’t you yell at me or scold me?”

“Kook, I’m not your mother. I forgive you. It’s Y/F/N who I don’t, nor will ever forgive.”

Biting his lip, he looked down at you. “No offense because I knew you two were friends at one point, but she’s annoying as hell.”

“Oh, I know,” you scoffed with laugh.

“Seriously! If she wasn’t exposed I probably would’ve found out sooner that she wasn’t my pen pal. She was so…clingy? Definitely not my Sarcastic Princess,” he finished with a smirk. 

Your Sarcastic Princess, huh?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I still can’t believe I didn’t realize. You’re the same person! I mean, at least I don’t feel bad anymore, though,” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Feel bad about what?”

“I was kind of torn…I had this small crush on her but then I had feelings for you and you have no idea how confused I was as to how I could like two people at the same time. Turns out, it wasn’t two people.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you said, “Well, hey, if it makes you feel any better, the feelings are mutual.”

“They are? Even after–”

“If my actions were so easily forgiven by you, why can’t be yours?” You shrugged. “Plus, who needs drama? I miss our lazy days when all we cared about was that essay we needed to write for the next day.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jungkook smiled, thoughtfully. If he didn’t love you as much before, he certainly did now. Relationships weren’t perfect, but for the two of you, your fizzle happened before it actually started, and that was okay.

“So? Past is in the past?”

“First I need to do one thing…Hm, make that two things,” Jungkook grinned. 

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Firstly,” He began, before cupping your cheeks and placed a soft peck to your lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make your heart race.

 After pulling away with a cheeky smile, Jungkook grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the room. 

“Secondly, how about we get some revenge?”


WOOP WOOP I LIED! ONE MORE PART OR SO AFTER THIS ONE!

Part 14?👀👀👀

Inside Harry Styles’ Intimate First Solo Tour

Music director Tom Hull reveals how the One Direction star is launching a new phase of his career with help from a versatile live band

Just a half hour before doors open for Harry Styles’ first show of his debut solo tour, San Francisco’s Masonic is completely empty. Band and crew members are buzzing backstage, including Styles himself, not yet wearing the snazzy Gucci suit he would be seen sporting onstage just hours later.

Outside, more than 3,000 fans wait to see the 23-year-old perform in one of the smallest venues they may ever catch him in. They’re decked out in a variety of homemade merchandise as well as florals and pinks, a tribute to the singer’s fashion and album aesthetic.

“It’s funny because as this tour’s approached, I’ve been so nervous,” Styles’ music director and producer Tom Hull, known professionally as Kid Harpoon, tells Rolling Stonebackstage while clutching a chalice of wine and wearing a pin that reads “Muna Has Possibly Talked to Harry Styles,” given out for free by opening band Muna at their merch table.

Until this tour, Hull’s work with other artists had been primarily in the studio, producing and co-writing for artists like Haim, Florence and the Machine and Shakira. He had been introduced to Styles through a mutual friend and ended up working on the songs “Sweet Creature” and “Carolina.” Thanks to their musical chemistry, Styles ended up asking Hull to help him put together a live show to perfectly embody the rootsy, rock-tinged sound of his self-titled album.

“I’ve gone into it not knowing what I’m doing [and] learning on the job,” he admits. “We’re all sort of approaching it with a fresh perspective because we haven’t done it before, but it [has us] keeping with what the record’s about.”

To help translate Styles’ solo sound, the first goal was to get a traditional band together. Guitarist Mitch Rowland had been plucked from a pizza shop where he formerly worked to become a session musician for the album and has joined Styles’ touring band as well.

“Mitch has never really toured like this before,” Hull says. “He’s learning on the road as he goes.”

Joining Rowland are keyboardist Clare Uchima, bassist Alex Predergast and drummer Sarah Jones, all of whom had made their debut with Styles during the televised and small club performances around the release of his album. The band began to feel settled long before the tour launched, but Hull sees their relationship becoming further cemented with this trek.

“Bands become true bands on tour,” he explains. “Fans bought tickets [for this tour] before the album had come out, and the band wants to play to them. The idea is to cut our chops on this tour and get really good. Then next year, he’s got an arena tour.”

Still, on the first two nights, the band already felt like a cohesive unit. The first show perfectly bridged Styles’ past and present, demonstrating that he’s a star capable of holding his own outside of his boy band. Amidst the folk-y ballads and rousing rockers, he covered One Direction classics like “What Makes You Beautiful” and “Stockholm Syndrome” as well as one of his lesser-known writing credits: an Ariana Grande piano ballad titled “Just a Little Bit of Your Heart,” off the vocal diva’s 2014 album My Everything. “Honestly, I didn’t know he had written it,” Hull notes.

Styles has released just 10 songs under his own name, but the vast amount of material he had from his pre-solo career helped to fill out the set. “When the Strokes first came out, their album was 35 minutes long and they had to do Talking Heads songs to fill out the set,” he adds. “It’s quite good to be able to do [Harry’s] record and have other songs in the set because he’s written so much music with [and outside of] One Direction. We’re presenting it in a way that sort of reflects the record and where he’s at now, which feels unique to Harry.”

In the months leading up to the tour launch in San Francisco, Hull, Styles and good friends of the latter sat around and began to formulate a vision. “It was like ‘Why don’t we do this? That would be fun,’” Hull describes of the process. “The thing that’s incredible about Harry that I don’t think people realize as much yet is that he drives it all. It’s very much his taste. He’s very musical; he plays guitar, plays piano and writes songs. He loves music.”

For Hull, working with Styles has disproven a common misconception of the pop megastar, one who is governed by his producers and label. Instead, the director paints a picture of a huge music nerd, one who is particularly passionate about classic rock and country, getting to explore his taste on his own terms.

“That was the hard thing, I think, in [One Direction] before,” he adds. “You’ve got a bunch of lads who all have different tastes in music and have their own personalities. Obviously it’s clear they’ve all done something different [as solo artists].”

Styles has been eager to share his tastes with Hull and the rest of the group. “He’s turning me on to music I’ve never even heard of from like 1978, and he’s texting people in the band 'Have you heard this? Have you heard that?” Hull says says, noting that on days off they go to guitar shops, looking at gear and “really geeky stuff.”

“For someone where he’s at, he just absolutely adores it, and it’s inspiring for everyone underneath.”

The next night in Los Angeles, the crowd is even more energetic as they filter into the Greek through the trees and hills of Griffith Park. A few glitches cropped up at the San Francisco gig — run-of-the-mill sound problems and a less expected fire alarm triggered by the theatrical smoke used during Muna’s set. For the Los Angeles show, the band feels even stronger and more focused.

“There was a bit of uncertainty, but I think everyone’s really happy and buzzing,” Hull updates from the Greek’s VIP section. That night, they were up against the added pressure that comes with a celebrity- and legend-filled audience, featuring everyone from Emma Roberts to Mick Fleetwood and Styles’ former groupmate Niall Horan. “You want to keep improving and getting it better. It feels like the first gig still.”

Even though he would perform a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” in front of Fleetwood himself, Styles was even looser at the Greek, dropping in cheekier ad libs and at one point halting “Kiwi,” the closer of the main set before his encore, to tease the troves of primarily female-identifying fans by highlighting the “I’m having your baby” line from the chorus. According to Hull, Styles was already prepared to start changing up the set list by night two, something the entire team collectively decided against as they were just starting out. (In Nashville the following weekend, however, they replaced the cover of “Stockholm Syndrome” with a rendition of Little Big Town’s “Girl Crush,” the first of many possibly new covers to be introduced on the road.)

The cover of One Direction’s most memorable hit “What Makes You Beautiful” remains the most surprising element of the show, especially since young solo artists typically tend to distance themselves from their pop pasts on the road to a more “mature” sound.

“At first, he was definitely cautiously up for it,” Hull says of the decision-making process. “I feel like those [One Direction] songs are brilliantly written songs, and obviously it was a moment where we had a conversation. Beyoncé does Destiny’s Child songs, so we were like 'Let’s do some of the songs that people will all know and everyone will love.’”

Styles’ band made sure to adapt the tune to fit the flow of the show. Uchima suggested a “Ray Charles–y vibe” for the keys, while drummer Jones added a “Motown-y beat” during rehearsals, and the group continued tinkering until they found the perfect balance of old and new.

“We all have so much respect for what put him here,” Hull adds, emphasizing Styles’ own desire to not fully let go of his past. “It’s an important part of it. You can’t underestimate his fans.”

rockerangel9  asked:

Hey,Again I wanted to Resqust another Headcannon of Richie and Eddie. This one is Eddie is out as gay and a kid from school is hitting on him. How would Richie react

~ First of all, Eddie loves telling his coming out story because it is literally one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to him in his whole life and it for sure made the situation less scary and stressful. 

~ He impulsively announced that he had something to say when all the losers were packed into Bills car and he was sitting nervously on the passengers side. He wasn’t quite sure why but this felt like the moment. His mouth spoke before he could stop it. “I have something to tell you guys!” he shouted and instantly regretted it. 

~ He hadn’t even thought about how being packed into a car meant he’d have no way to escape if it all went south. He bit into his lip as his friends quieted to give him attention, even Richie. He swallowed….thinking of all the ways he could possibly back out. “I…well I just wanted to say-”

~ Suddenly, the radio that had been playing some soft song, burst with it’s new loud choice-

~ “I’m Coming Out!” Chimed the radio in Diana Ross’s voice. The car went silent as Eddie took the leap.

~ “That! I wanted to say that!” 

~ “That…you’re coming out?” Beverly asked, a small smile started at the corner of her lips. 

~ Eddie nodded profusely and everyone broke into laughter, Eddie was worried for what felt like an eternity until Bill pats his shoulder and reassures him that they love and support him. 

~With that over with, Eddie walks with his head a little higher in school. He feels so much better about himself. All of the losers notice instantly. 

~ He’s not quite sure why or how, but most of the school just knows too. Eddie notices the decrease in boys comfortably around him. It kills him. His own lab partner seems to have to make sure they sit as far apart as possible. 

~ What quirks peoples eyebrows is the fact that Richie Tozier seems like he hasn’t gotten the memo. Everyone gives him odd looks when Richie throws his arm around Eddie like it’s no big deal. Richie still pinches Eddie’s cheeks like many students saw in passing before. And Richie still sat incredibly close to him. 

~ Eddie secretly adored that he hadn’t changed. He didn’t really think his friends would but he was still thankful that Richie kept on teasing him just the same. 

~ The students though, couldn’t seem to process it. They watched it happen with confusion until Skippy Peterson supplied Richie with smokes in the bathroom. 

“Y’know, Eddie Kaspbrak’s gay right? Aren’t you worried he’ll think you’re flirting with him? What if he thinks he has a shot with you?” 

~ Richie flicked his lighter on and took a deep breath. “I sure hope he does. I’ve been flirting with him since we were like ten. He could’ve had me back then. We could’ve been holding hands at recess if he wanted.” and then he spun out the door, leaving Skippy feeling dumb. 

~ Richie left the bathroom just in time to catch some dude loitering by Eddie’s locker. Which was his job. He started strolling over until Eddie came into view…he could only just hear the conversation.

~ “Hey, Eddie right? I saw you with your friends the other day but I was a little nervous to talk to you then.” 

~ “Why would you be nervous Connor? I have those notes you wanted in my locker, if you would’ve asked I would’ve given em’ to you.” Eddie shrugged as he opened his locker. 

~ Richie rolled his eyes, a little glad that Eddie couldn’t be more oblivious to the fact that this Connor guy was flirting with him. 

~ As Eddie stood on his tip toes to reach, Connor took the chance to look him up and down. That was the last straw. Richie bounded over and slung his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “How ya doin’ Eds?” he ruffled his hair and gave Connor a back off look. 

“Don’t call me that- Oh here you go, Connor.” Eddie handed him the notes and he looked like he might say something else to Eddie but then took another glance at Richie and decided against. 

“Huh, wonder where he’s going so fast?” 

~ “Probably to find some other guy to flirt with.” 

~ “He was not flirting with me.” Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie leaned against the neighboring locker, looking smug. 

“He had his eyes all over you, Eds. His flirting isn’t as good as mine though, Right?” Richie stuck his nose in the air. Eddie gave him a confused look. 

“How would I know?” 

~ “Because I’m always flirting with you…..is this not as clear as I thought?” 

Bts | Reaction | A Child’s Love

[ i think i understand what you mean, if im wrong then i am incredibly sorry for being illiterate lol hope you enjoy no less :) ] 


Seokjin 

Jin was a bit confused when he came home to a quiet, and empty house. Usually when he announced his arrival, it would soon be followed by the pitter-patter of feet rushing to greet him with excitement. Calling out for his wife and child, Jin was once again given silence. Scrunching his eyebrows in concern, he took a moment to review if you had anything scheduled for today - soon concluding that you were staying home. At least, that’s what he thought. 

It didn’t take but five minutes for the front door to be opened once again, entering the two missing people he’d been thinking about since he walked in. Sighing in relief that the mystery was over, he turned toward the two of you with a smile - only for it to slowly disappear when he saw the look on your face. You were, unfortunately, giving him your best bitch face. 

“Is something wrong?” He finally voiced, the sniffling child in your arms making his heart clench. “Did something happen?” 

Slowly, you put down the child and sweetly instructed them to get ready for bed, that you would tuck them in, shortly. Nodding that they understood, they quickly ran for their room, not even giving Jin a passing glance. This only made his heart clench even more. Looking back at you for some sort of explanation, Jin’s obliviousness only pissed you off even more. 

“What is today, Seokjin?” He stayed silent, making you sigh heavily. “Why don’t you go take a look on the calendar, and then come ask me what happened.” 

With that being said, you headed for your child’s bedroom without another word, once again leaving Jin by himself. Scratching his head in even more bewilderment, Jin did as you had asked and made his way for the kitchen.

Saturday, November 18th. What was so special about that day? 

And, that’s when it hit him. Jin felt like the world’s worst dad in that very moment, when all he could do was blink at the date, dumbfounded that he forgot in the first place. He missed his child’s first soccer game. Not only was he wrong about you staying home all day, but the fact he even remembers saying to them this morning that he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He practically lied right to his child’s face. It wasn’t his fault that it slipped his mind, there was just a lot going on at the office, but Jin didn’t see that as a good excuse. 

Judging from the chocolate stains on their cheeks, he concluded that you two had just gotten back from eating victory ice cream - which could only mean that they won their game. Which could only mean Jin had a lot of apologizing to do. 

He could only hope that his child, and yourself, could forgive him. 

Yoongi 

Yoongi sat outside his daughter’s bedroom door in shame, it physically hurting him to hear her cry her eyes out, and he couldn’t do anything about it; probably because he was the cause of them in the first place. 

“Sweetheart, I am so, so very sorry. They held me in the studio longer than I anticipated, you know I would never do this to you on purpos-”

“Just leave me alone!” She immediately cut him off from his apology, her cries getting worse by the second. “I looked like a fool, I should have known you’d always put your music before me, no matter what!” 

That, to Yoongi, felt like a kick to the stomach. Never in his life did he think that his music was more important than his family, it never once crossed his mind. But, after tonight, he couldn’t possibly blame his daughter for feeling that way. That night was the annual sixth grade ‘Father-Daughter Dance’ at her school, which she was so excited for-for the past two months. Everyone’s father showed up; give you one guess on who ended up having to go home early due to embarrassment of not having their date show up. 

You practically chewed Yoongi out over the phone, saying how it took three bags of family sized m&ms to get her to calm down enough to remember to breathe. The both of you were livid, but your daughter felt neglected. And that was the last thing Yoongi ever wanted her to feel. 

“Mi Sun, that’s not true…you know that’s not true. My music can never compare to you, how happy you make me everyday, the joy that you bring. Sweetheart, daddy is so sorry that he stood you up, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise. But, just know that you will always mean more to me than my music, no doubt about it.” There was silence on the other side of the door, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing, it just meant she stopped crying. “Tell you what: I won’t go to the studio all week, next week. You’ll have me all to yourself, we can do whatever you want, it’ll be a little ‘Father-Daughter’ outing. What do you say, princess?” 

Yoongi waited with high hopes, ear pressed against the door as he prayed that she would at least consider his offer. It wasn’t until the sound of her door being unlocked relieved him of any thought of rejection, soon greeted with a gummy smile that matched his own. “You mean it?” 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone all the while picking up his little girl with his free arm, dialing Namjoon’s number without hesitation. Putting said person on speaker phone, he spoke. 

“Namjoon, I’m taking all of next week off. I think it’s time I gave my greatest creation of all time my full and undivided attention. Goodbye.”  

Namjoon 

Your two children practically cursed Kim Namjoon’s existence, they were so mad. Not only did he run over one of their bike’s that morning, but now he had just broken their game counsel they had gotten from their uncle Jungkook, by stepping on it by accident; they were enraged. 

He had promised them dessert after dinner to kind of set the atmosphere back into a lighter one, only for them to just eat it angrily as they continued to glare in their father’s direction. You tried so hard not to burst into a fit of laughter at Namjoon’s failed attempts to get back on their good side. Who could have thought that two seven year old boys could have a grown man begging on his knees for forgiveness? 

“Please, what do you want from me? I said I was sorry, what more do you want? I told you countless times to never leave your bikes in the driveway, or to leave your game counsel lying around - so it’s technically not all my fault!” 

They continued to be silent as they ate their desserts, their expressions never faltering. Finally letting out a small snicker, you speak. 

“I don’t think you’re helping your situation here, Joonie.” 

“I already gave them ice cream, what else do they want - my soul?” He exclaimed, losing all hope at this point. Namjoon didn’t like when his children were mad at him, it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He tried his best to be a good father and loving husband, and a small inconvenience like this just wasn’t sitting right. “I’ll buy you new bikes! And an even better game counsel, if you want, I don’t care. I will personally give you my wallet, if it’ll get you to stop-”

“Okay.” Hyun replied, while his brother nodded with enthusiasm. “And we want those diamond earrings that mom saw at the store a couple days ago, too!” 

“And a puppy!” Jae was quick to add in, finishing up the last of his ice cream. Namjoon looked at the two boys with wide eyes and mouth agape. When Hyun’s statement finally registered in his brain, Namjoon slowly started to glare at you. 

“You set this up, just so you could get those stupid earrings, didn’t you?” 

Shrugging your shoulders, an evil grin slowly started to form on your face as you get up to retrieve his wallet. “Hey, I’m not the one who asked for them, the boys did. Too late to go back on your word now, Joonie.” 

Shaking his head as you left the kitchen, Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle as the two boys started poking at his face - back to their normal, goofy selves. 

“You two, and your mother, will be the death of me.” 

Hoseok 

He was devastated when he showed up to the school an hour late, and his little girl was no where to be seen. Hoseok frantically asked the teacher where she could’ve gone, only for him to get a look that could only be described as judgmental. What kind of father didn’t know where his own child was?

“There was a swarm of men that ran at your daughter with cameras, they chased her back into the school. She was the last student to be picked up, and they wouldn’t leave, so we called your wife. She tried your phone, Mr. Jung, but you wouldn’t answer. She is safe at home, by now.” 

A small breath of relief fell from his lips as he thanked the teacher, and apologized for the inconvenience with the paparazzi. She merely responds with ‘I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.’ She couldn’t have been more right.

As if on cue, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, after hours of having it shut off. Hoseok visibly winces at the sight on his lock screen: 37 text messages, followed by 52 missed calls. He was definitely screwed.

Now, he found himself parked in the driveway, mentally preparing himself on how he planned on apologizing for leaving his daughter all alone in that kind of situation. She must have been so frightened, and just thinking about it made him feel even worse. 

Once he entered the house, he becomes uneasy at the silence that he’s greeted with - it making him feel like the smallest person in the world. When he made his way into the family room, there you sat in the rocking chair he had bought, for the pregnancy with your second child. The look on your face was enough to show that you were far from being happy, but your features quickly softened when you saw how wreaked his face looked. You could tell that he had been crying out of guilt, the teddy bear he had obviously bought for your daughter confirming that as well. 

“H..How is she?” He rasps, throat tight as the guilt continued to weigh on his shoulders. You shrug slightly, before taking a deep breath. 

“Could’ve been worse, I suppose. She’s a little shaken up, but nothing physically wrong with her, thank god.” Carefully, you stand from the rocking chair, one hand resting on your bloated stomach. “Hobi…what happened, where were you? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour.”

“I-I lost track of time, the clock in my office was an hour late. My phone had to be switched off, because I was in and out of meetings all day - I didn’t mean to forget. I-I rushed as fast as I could to the school, and when I didn’t see her, I panicked, I thought something bad had happened. And then, I had to find out from the teacher that the paparazzi went after her-why would they do that?! She’s only a little girl, they’d never go as far as ambushing a child! This is all my fault, she’s was scared and alone, I wasn’t there, and now she probably hates me!” 

“Hobi…” You tried to calm him down, the tears from earlier making their appearance once again as they cascaded down his cheeks, like a river; but he just kept going. 

“What kind of father am I? I even had to make you leave the comfort of bed-rest just so you could go pick her up, when it was my job to do so-I’m just so stupid! I don’t know what I’d do if they had laid a single hand on either one of you, it makes me sick! Doesn’t anyone understand privacy anymore? This isn’t the kind of life I wanted for you, or for our children. I want you to feel safe, and healthy and protected - I can’t even do that right!” 

“Hoseok, enough.” You raised both hands to cup either side of his face, making him focus on you. Your thumbs gently wiped away the stray tears, softly cooing at him to breathe and just to relax. “You are an amazing father, who works very hard for his family everyday. Sure, I was a little angry at how careless you were in the situation, but you’re human. You make mistakes, too. She won’t hate you, she never could, she loves her daddy far too much. Like I said, she was just a little frazzled, nothing serious. As for the paparazzi, we’ll get restraining orders - simple as that. Now, no more of this negative talk. Your princess needs her hope, her angel, to cheer her up.” 

By now, his tears had come to a stop, a small smile taking their place. Leaning forward to give you a sweet kiss, Hoseok felt so lucky to have someone like you to remind him that he was loved and appreciated. Even though deep down he still felt awful about the whole thing, it was nothing a good, long cuddle session with her brand new teddy bear couldn’t fix. 

Jimin 

I feel like Jimin would be very offended that you hadn’t brought him any treats back, sitting on the couch with an expression of pure betrayal as he watched his child munch away on yummy candies. 

“So tell me again, why you told mommy not to bring daddy anything back? Did daddy do something wrong?” The child nods their head, pouting. “He did? Mind telling me what exactly he did to make you so upset?” 

This time the toddler shook their head ‘no’, going back to stuffing their face with sweets and watching cartoons. After ten minutes of pleading for some sort of clue, Jimin finally gives up and goes to ask you what the problem is. But, unfortunately, you had no clue either. 

“They’ve just been grumpy all day, and when I offered a trip to the candy shop, that seemed to do the trick. I was going to bring you something back, but they insisted that I shouldn’t.” 

“And you listened?” He gaped. “Jagiiiii.” 

“Look, all I know is that you did something to piss off our three year old child, and I don’t exactly know how. So, you’re on your own. Think, Chim, did something happen this morning?” 

Retracing his steps on how the morning played out, Jimin couldn’t decipher anything that might have been out of the ordinary. He woke up, got dressed, came down stairs, ate breakfast - he remembers that he was running a little late for work, so he had to skip on the goodbye kis-

“Ohhhhh.” Jimin finally connected to the problem, giggling at how trivial this whole thing turned out to be. “I know what the deal is.” 

Without even enlightening you as to what he just realized, Jimin made his way back into the living room and sat right in his spot next to the toddler. Leaning downward to plant a small kiss on their forehead, he exclaims at full volume. 

“Goodbye, my little mochi, daddy loves you~!” 

You tilted your head in confusion for a moment until you, too, realized what had made your child so salty all day: Jimin never gave them their usual goodbye kiss before he left for work. Immediately, as if someone had flipped a switch, your child offered a handful of candies to their daddy, him happily taking the sweets with a wide grin. 

“Remind me never to forget goodbye kisses, ever again.”

Taehyung 

He despised being the bad cop when it came to punishing his son. Taehyung was usually the fun parent, always sneaking snacks at night and promising never to tell you, that kind of parent. But, when the foot had to come down, it came down hard. During dinner, his son was starting to get a little smart mouthy toward you, and Taehyung was not having it. He had warned him to cool it, but he just didn’t know when to quit.

“That’s it, I’ve warned you to stop running your mouth! Go to your room, you’re grounded for a month - matter of fact, make it two months for bad mouthing your mother!”

This seemed to set him off even more, as he aggressively pushed away from the table to stand, pointing a spiteful finger in your direction. “She is not my mother. She’s just some skank you picked up at some club, and decided she was good enough to keep around-”

“That’s crossing the line! Four months! Say one more goddamn thing, and it’ll be a year - do you understand me?!”

“You’re always picking her side over mine! Ever since she moved in with us, you’ve changed - she’s changing you! I don’t even know who you are anymore, no wonder mom left you! She’s gone because of you, and I hate you!”

With that being said, he finally stormed off. The dining room was left eerily silent, as the only thing that was heard was the sound of him slamming his bedroom door shut. You looked over at Taehyung, seeing that his face remained blank, but you didn’t miss the single tear that slid down his cheek. 

You knew that his ex-wife was a touchy subject between the two of them, and that whole argument definitely opened up old wounds. You raised from your seat, slowly walking over to where he continued to remain motionless as the tears just kept on falling. Leaning in close, you place a small kiss on his slightly damp cheek, easing a little tension out of his shoulder for moment.

“He didn’t mean it, Taehyung. Don’t take what he said to heart, he’s just frustrated. Give him some time, and he’ll come around. I’ll talk to him.” Giving him one more kiss, you exited the dining room and toward his son’s.

Taehyung still continued to sit there as he leaned his face into his hands, now silently crying to himself. You were amazing, trying your very hardest to be a good step-mother…why couldn’t he give you a chance?

- - -

Tae didn’t even realize that he passed out in the dining room, from possibly crying himself to sleep. He woke up to the sound of the front door being slammed shut, and a couple of hushed whispers. When his eyes adjusted, he noticed two silhouettes coming toward him, only to then discover that it was you and his son, carrying what looked to be bowls of frozen yogurt.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” You giggled, walking up to him to wipe some drool off the side of his face. “Are you okay?”

Blinking a couple of times, he directs his attention to his son, seeing that he was still picking at his frozen treat while purposely avoiding eye contact. It stayed that way for a good two minutes until you decided to speak for them.

“Dae-Jung, isn’t there something you’d like to say to your father?” The preteen sighs heavily, setting his now empty cup of froyo on the table. Shuffling his feet from side to side, he finally nods.

“I..I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t mean those things that I said, I was just…angry, I guess. It’s just…mom hasn’t been returning my calls lately, and you’ve been spending less time with me, and more time nagging me. I miss how things used to be, when you were my best friend, rather than this stick-in-the-mud. I apologized to Y/n…she’s actually really cool…I guess I kinda get what you see in her…so there. I don’t hate you, and I’m glad you’re here, and I’m sorry that I-”

Taehyung didn’t even let the boy finish rambling as he pulled him into a tight hug, making sure to squeeze the life out of him to reassure himself that he was still there. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you, Dae-Jung, I just don’t want you growing up and seeing me as a pushover. I can’t have you walking all over me like you mother did. And I’m glad you’re giving Y/n a chance, you’ll love her, I promise.” He beams at you, grateful to have someone like yourself in his child’s life, and his own. “But, you’re still grounded.”

“What? WHY?” He exclaims, trying to pull away from the hug, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him as he hugged even tighter.

“Because, you didn’t bring me back any frozen yogurt.~”

Jungkook

You had just gotten back from grocery shopping, with your little plus one ‘helping’ you carry the bags inside. After getting everything situated and put away, you set her in her little high chair, so she could enjoy the little treats you had bought for her - for being a good little helper. Soon, your husband walked in, hugging you from behind followed by a small peck to your cheek.

“Hello, gorgeous.~ And hello to you, my little bunny, where’s my kiss~?” Right as he went to give his princess a kiss on the cheek as well, she immediately screamed and blocked her treats from his sight. Taking a step back in shock, he tilts his head in confusion at his baby girl. 

You chuckle softly, leaning over the counter. “Looks like somebody isn’t happy with you.” 

“What have I done?” He tried again to get a kiss, only for her to scream once more, halting his movement. “What’s the matter, precious? Why can’t daddy have a kiss?” 

“No!” She chirps, shaking her head. “My kisses!”

“I can’t have just one?” She shakes her head once again. “Why not?” 

Jungkook, now in a dilemma, places his hands on his hips. It wasn’t until he noticed the empty bag of Hershey kisses that laid right next to her, did he finally realize the miscommunication. 

“Ah, no, I want an actual kiss! Not your candy, silly girl.” He giggles before puckering his lips, leaning downward until he was at her level. “Like this! Remember? You love daddy’s kisses!” 

The little one took a moment to register what he just said, until her eyes focused in on his puckered lips, blinking at them a couple of times. When it eventually clicked, she leaned forward as well until her forehead rested on his lips - allowing him to just go nuts with the tiny kisses to her head; the large amount of affection from her daddy was enough to make her giggle happily, enjoying the shower of kisses he continued to give her. 

The sight alone was enough to make your heart melt, Jungkook could be such a softball when it came to his little gir-

“Jungkook, you ass, I literally just saw you swipe some candy-”

“Shhh!” 

Breaking the Rules - part 5

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Word Count:2,326

Warnings: the usual 

Breaking the Rules - Masterpage

Originally posted by imissyourbattlecries

The next day was peaceful and quiet. The calm before the storm as Mary had said. You sat on the patio, cooking lunch with Bucky’s grandmother while he was playing basketball with his cousin, Peter.

When his grandmother caught you staring at him, she gave you a knowing wink and you ducked your head to hide your smile.

Winnie wanted to get to know you better and decided to take all the girls to the beauty salon to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Of course, Bucky whispered a stupid comment into your ear and you discreetly pinched his side, making him yelp.

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You’ll Float Too [Bill Skarsgård/Pennywise x Fem!Reader]

A/n: Well guys, I’ve finally made the foray into the fold. Done are the days I simply reblog for this fandom– look out for some more Bill or Penny x readers coming. It’s the first day of Halloween today, so be prepared, I’m spoopily inspired :) 

Warnings: Hint of dub-con. Brief smut. Sexy clowns.


“Bill?”

Your feet barely make a sound against the floorboards as you carefully trek out of the bedroom. Your husband, Bill Skarsgård, had told you he would just be a moment– that the noise was probably just the broken furnace in the old house you two had just bought. This was, of course, after you had so abruptly been interrupted.

“Fuck, baby,” you had whispered, grinding against him and dipping down to slip your tongue back into his mouth.

“Look at how wet you are for me,” he had growled, fingers curling up inside of you mercilessly as his thumb rubbed your clit. You bounce on his fingers, one leg on either side of his own long ones.

“Bill, I-” you gasp, squealing as he readjusted his hand, shoving his fingers even deeper.

“Love feeling that pussy squeeze around me…” he tugged you down, licking his fingers off with a pop. “Love feeling it around my dick.”

“I’ve got something else in mind,” you grinned, moving the covers down to brush your lips against his clothed, hardened cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed in turn, breath hitching as you give a lick through his pyjama pants. That was when the noise had sounded.

Your head had popped up. “What was-”

“That?” he echoed at the same time.

“It’s probably the rain,” you murmur, “The thunderstorm is loud.”

“Sure… but rain or no rain, if that fucking piece of shit of a furnace is broken again, I’m gonna-” You envelop his lips again, but he groans, softly pushing you off. “Here, I’ve gotta fix the thing, I don’t wanna freeze all night. I’ll be back in a second, babe,” he had promised, kissing your forehead. You had smiled, and tugged at his loose pyjama pants from the bed.

“You’d better be. I want these off.”

A smirk your way, and he had dashed off downstairs.

Now, it had been a long while, and you hadn’t heard him answer any of your calls for him.

Coming to the door of the basement, you open it cautiously.

“Bill, where are you?” You tug his oversized “cast” T-shirt he had kept from Allegiant further down over your panties. It was cold down here, and– you gasp. The basement was flooded. Was the thunderstorm really that bad?

“Bill,” you hiss, “I hate it down here… did you fix the furnace?!”

You hear a ripple in the water, and swallow, taking another step down. “Hey… can you hear me? It’s still freezing, it must not be wor-” You stop, and gaze around. There’s no sign of your husband. You turn, and bite your lip. Maybe he’s upstairs in the kitchen, and he faked the furnace just to get a midnight snack…

No, but you were about to go down on him. The day Bill evaded a blow job for the last slice of carrot cake in your fridge was the day hell froze over.

Speaking of freezing over… You shiver again, and begin to take two stairs at a time up– until you hear another ripple, and a small splash.

“Bill?” you repeat for the billionth time, sighing as you turn back. “What are you– oh!” You find Bill standing by the far wall, up to his knees in water.

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously, clutching your heart at the startle. He just stares at you. “What the fuck are you looking at?” you ask playfully, and smack your ass with a small smile. “Come up and get it.” You bite your lip and turn toward the door, but Bill doesn’t follow. You huff. “I’m getting a towel for you. No way I’m letting you in the bed with soaking legs.” He still makes no move. “Bill!! Come on!”

This time, he smiles.

“But (y/n),” he says quietly, “If you come with me… you’ll float too.”

“What?” you mutter, and then you roll your eyes so far back you’re sure they’ve hit the front of your brain. “Oh Christ. Your movie line? Really? My husband played a killer clown, I’m not scared of anything.” You let out a laugh that seems out of place in the eerie, dripping basement. “Stop being a dork and come with me, will you?” You hold out a hand, making a grabby motion.

He takes a step forward. “You’ll float too.”

“Only if you provide the finest duck floaties,” you tease, grinning, “AND poolside cocktails.”

“You’ll float too.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s nice, let’s g-”

“You’ll float too,” he begins to laugh, and you frown.

“Bill, st-”

“You’ll float too!” his voice takes on a giggly pitch, then his face changes. “You’ll float too, you’ll float too, you’ll float too-”

You back away, and your eyes widen as Bill’s face slowly begins to peel off, revealing flesh and teeth and bone. “You’ll float too! You’ll float too!” His voice is now low, demonic, and his eyes are clouding over as blood runs from them.

“Baby,” you breathe, a tear running down your cheek. He was decomposing right before your eyes, and you could do nothing about it– it was the most horrible thing you’d ever seen.

“You’ll float TOO! YOU’LL FLOAT TOO!” he begins to shout, eyes blazing as his mouth falls open.

“Stoppit!” you scream, and hide your eyes, clutching the railing. You suddenly hear silence, so you look up. There, in place of Bill, is Pennywise the fucking dancing clown, grinning over at you.

What the fuck?

“You smell lovely,” he titters, biting his lip with those sharp teeth you saw Bill take in and out during shooting. You could tell from the reflection of the water he was drooling, too. “So, so lovely, little girl.”

“Bill?” you ask softly, because really, it’s all you’ve remembered by way of words.

Bill? Bill?” Pennywise mocks, shaking himself violently, “Where are you?! It’s cold, and I’m such a slut that I can’t wait five minutes for you to fuck me!” He arches his back, mimicking your moans from upstairs, and you gasp.

“That’s right,” he giggles gleefully, “You don’t think I can smell i-t?” He takes a deep breath. “Mmmmm, I smelled it on him before I snapped his spine!”

“No,” you sob, and the clown glares.

“Yes! You smell good. Special. Like nothing I’ve ever taste-d… I want to taste you.”

You clench your jaw. Your legs are shaking, but… those eyes, boring down on you… they couldn’t… be doing things to you, could they? Suddenly, you’re disgusted with yourself.

“Are you scared?” he laughs, half to himself. “I do hope so. That will make it taste so much better.”

“Why?” you breathe shakily, “Why are you here?”

“Because,” Pennywise growled, “Just like your precious Bill said, before he died in agony…” The clown’s eyes lit up, glowing. “YOU’LL FLOAT TOO!” It came out as an otherworldly scream, and suddenly, Pennywise was lurching at you, slamming you onto the staircase and tossing open your legs–

“AH!” you shriek, and open your eyes. The room is dark, and the covers over you are strewn around. Bill turns over beside you, brow crinkling as he blinks open his own eyes.

“Hey… what’s going on?” He yawns. “You okay?”

“I,” you murmur, then start crying. He wakes himself fully up now, leaning over and cradling your head.

“Hey… hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s frowning, concerned, as he pulls you into his arms, “You’re okay… whatever it was, it was just a dream, (y/n).”

“You were… but you were–” you try to articulate, sobbing uncontrollably. Bill, with all his facial features still perfectly intact, stares down at you earnestly.

“Hey. Just a dream. Okay? I’ve got you. I’m okay. See? I’m here.” His soft voice lulls you back into a calm state, and you clutch his arms and bury your face in his chest. Maybe his movie had gotten to you more than you thought… and the secret you had kept from him that you actually found him attractive in his costume.

He lays you back down, and strokes your hair back, whispering how much he loves you in your ear. You never want to let go… sleep begins to take you again.

Bill looks down at your sleeping form, and adjusts his head on the pillow, turning over. You make no move to wake up. He closes his eyes, then they open again slowly to reveal yellow orbs. As you fall asleep, you think you hear a gentle giggle, but it was just a dream… just a dream…

Tongue (Ethan)

⚤ - CONTAINS SMUT

You laid back on your shared bed with your boyfriend, Ethan, scanning aimlessly through your phone. When you had texted Ethan on your way home from the airport he had told you he was out filming something with Grayson.  Neither of you had seen each other in two weeks since you’d come back from your family vacation. You had originally planned to come home a day later but you wanted to surprise Ethan by choosing to come home a little earlier instead. You waited impatiently, tapping your fingers against your thigh until your heart began to pound in your chest at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing. Heavy footsteps shuffled in followed by two familiar voices.

“Dude I think she’s gonna hate it.” You heard Ethan’s laugh and it automatically made your heart sing even though you were questioning what the hell he’d gotten himself into now. You couldn’t leave Ethan or Grayson alone for more than five minutes before one of them was hurting themselves or doing something they’d likely regret later on.

“Maybe she’ll think it’s kind of kinky.” Grayson replied. You heard a smack followed by a loud “Ow!” You narrowed your eyes. What the hell were they talking about? You shook your head and contemplated coming out of the bedroom until you heard Ethan’s footsteps trudging down the hall.

“I’m taking a nap bro. I’m beat.”

The door swung open and Ethan stopped dead, stumbling backwards, clutching his chest with widened eyes.

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— off limits | 06 (m)

pairing— kim seokjin x reader
genre/warnings— angst, smut and fluff !! Seokjin finally grows some balls ;)
words— 14,153

:: summary— you’ve been lusting after your brother’s best friend for a while now, ever since you met him at a house party, flirting it up a storm as you failed to realise who the other was. That was months ago now and things are still awkward, but you can’t ignore the sexual tension that’s simmers between the two of you…and it keeps getting worse…

  » 01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 ::

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