ARCHIE ANDREWS: It never took much to wake Archie up. You would wake up, his face stll nuzzled in your neck. Slowly moving away from him, he would stir in his sleep, but stay that way. You pushed the hair from his face, pressing your forehead to his. At this point, he would already be awake, but you would kiss him until he kissed you back.
“That–” Archie mutters kissing you again “Is the best way to wake up”
JUGHEAD JONES: Your eyes opened to see bright light pouring into your room. You looked over to see Jughead laying next to you, still asleep. You studiet his calm features, his mouth slightly agape as quiet snores fell from his mouth. Smiling to yourself, you ran your hands up and down his bare chest.
He groaned lowly, wrapping his arms tighter around you, nuzzling his face in your neck.
“Wake up Jugg” You cooed in his ear.
He signed slowly, a shiver going down your spine as his breath fall against your neck.
“Jughead” You said rubbing his shoulders.
“Fine” He groaned, his voice muffed against your neck.
REGGIE MANTLE: When you wake up, you typically laying on Reggie. You would lean up, smiling down at his calm sleeping face.
“Reggie” You whisper, running your fingers through his long tangled hair.
“Reggie babe, wake up” He groaned lowly, rolling over, bringing you with him.
He would pin you under him, his face nuzzled in your neck, his hair ticking your face. “Reggie let me up!” You gigled, playing with his hair.
“C'mon Hero, we need to start our day” You laughed, pushing him off of you
“Fine” He groaned against your neck
hey, its me I’m back. I hope you like it tell me if you want more x
Levi scrubs the last of the dirt off the coffee table. “Finally.” That’s the last time he trusts Isabel to bring a ‘mystery box’ into the apartment.
He hears a crash in the kitchen, followed by a squeak of “Oops!” Isabel is a freaking tornado with legs. He sighs as he goes to investigate what she’s mussed up now.
“I was never-”
“I know,” Isabel interrupts. “You were never this crazy when you were 5!” she mimics with R’s that sound suspiciously like W’s.
Levi suppresses a grin at her sass. He shoos her off while he rights the stool she managed to topple over.
The doorbell rings and Isabel rounds the corner at top speed. “I’ll get it!”
“No, no, no!” Levi scoops her up. “Remember what we talked about? You’re going to watch a movie while Eren and I study.”
Isabel nods wisely. “‘Cause it took you a whole year just to invite him over.”
Sure, tell the kid a million times not to jump on the furniture with muddy shoes and it’s in one ear and out the other. Mention your undying crush on a certain football player while you think she’s napping, however, and she remembers every single word you say about him. Unless, of course, Hange told her. Quite frankly he wouldn’t put it past them.
Levi takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that again,” he says. “Ever.”
Eren knocks on their door. Levi sets Isabel down. “You remember how to set up Netflix?”
“Duh,” Isabel says proudly before marching towards the living room.
Levi laughs. He never imagined himself as the guardian of such a spunky kid at the age of 19, but she makes him a little more grateful for it every day. Even if she does like to pour an entire bottle of bubble bath in the tub and turn the water on full blast. He shudders.
He makes one last stop at the mirror in the hallway to fix his hair before he opens the door. He has to pause a second, the same as always, and just admire Eren’s radiant smile before he can say hello.
“Levi!” Eren says. “How’s it- oh, who’s this little angel?” he asks, peeking around Levi.
Angel. Levi almost snorts.
“I’m Izzy!” Isabel says confidently. “And I’m-”
“Supposed to be watching a movie,” Levi finishes for her, turning around to fix her with a stern look.
Isabel sticks her tongue out at him.
“Izzy, huh?” Eren smiles another brilliant, blinding, beautiful smile. “That’s a cool name.”
Isabel nods. “And you’re Eren.”
Eren tilts his head at her and Levi’s stomach drops a little. “How did you know that?” Eren asks.
“Green eyes. Nice hair. Pretty face.” Isabel ticks each point off on her fingers. “You gotta be Eren.”
“Izzy!” Levi whispers.
Eren raises his brows at Levi’s back.
Levi’s face burns. He refuses to turn around; half because he can’t look at Eren right now, half because he’s having a stare down with a pint-sized hurricane that possesses just as much bravado as he does.
Eren pipes up against the silence that has fallen over the apartment. “Pretty face, huh?”
And like a switch, Isabel goes from scowling to grinning. “Uh huh. Levi talks about you lots. Like, all the time.”
“S’kinda annoying. But he really, really likes-” Levi clamps a hand over her mouth.
“She’s had a little too much sugar,” he explains apologetically. He shoots Isabel a look. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get anymore for a while.”
Isabel glares at Levi. A hint of mischief lights up her eyes, and before Levi can work out what she’s up to- “Ew!” - she licks his hand.
Levi grumbles his way to the bathroom, turning the water on as hot as he can handle it.
Eren shifts under Isabel’s intense stare. She’s sizing him up, lips set in a firm line and eyes narrowed. She nods, satisfied with whatever conclusion she’s come to and takes Eren by the hand. “C’mon. I’ll paint your nails.”
Eren laughs, and allows her to lead him into the living room. She chatters away a mile a minute. He tries his best to keep up, and nods encouragingly when she finds the perfect nail polish to match his black shirt: the brightest blue in her collection.
He looks around at the pictures on the walls, tempted to ask who they all are, but Isabel says something that catches his attention.
“What was that, Izzy?”
“You’re nice,” she repeats. “That’s why Uncle Levi likes you so much.” She brushes another coat on his index nail. Half of it ends up on his skin. “You like him too, don’t you?” She looks up at Eren and smiles. “I can tell.”
Levi watches them from the archway, waiting eagerly for an answer. Eren simply smiles at Isabel, and when she resumes her work on his fingernails, he gives a small nod.
Isabel is a freaking tornado with legs, and Levi loves her more than anything in the world. Though, watching Eren ruffle her hair with his clean hand, he’s becoming a close second.
Headcanons for the chocobros when they discover their lover keeps photos of them with embarrassing captions like "love of my life", "best bf", "prince charming" xD
Omg I love this idea so much! :’) I’m sorry if these are a bit long!
- Noct would be lounging around in the tent one day, probably
looking forward to going to sleep or something.
- His eyes happen to land on his s/o’s bed set up, realising they hadn’t put
away all their stuff properly. Something in particular was quite curious…
- Of course, this boy cannot resist going over to check it out. (This is the
same guy who wants to check out dungeons just because after all).
- He’d pick up the slip of paper to see it was actually a picture. Of him. With
a cutely drawn crown on top of his head. Underneath his face were the words ‘My
- Noct would gasp and blush like mad.
- Awkward mode initiated.
- But he would also feel so happy and loved. God damn it my lover is too cute.
- He’d also really like that they used the phrase prince charming, since he half
jokes that he is one constantly.
- Once he’d recovered his cool as best as he could, he’d head out of the tent.
- “Be back in a bit guys!”
- When he comes back he is super shifty, s/o notices at once.
- “Can I uh… uh speak to you, like, over there?”
- Chocobros are amazed at his smoothness as always. S/o humours him and
they finally have privacy.
- He is soadorable and awkward. One hand behind his back, the other scratching
the back of his neck and dear gods
his can’t make eye contact.
- “So… I just went for a walk, and well, kinda found these.”
- Literally shoves flowers into his s/o’s hands.
- Crickey is it hot in here? Nope, just my
- S/o can’t stop grinning. It’s obvious he went to look for them.
- When they return to camp, the others look at each other and just shrug.
- Noct mentally pats himself on the back.
- Ah yes, smooth as silk.
- Would be walking behind his s/o one day seeing that they
have a photo in their hands.
- “Hey, whatcha got there?”
- S/O would grip the photo tightly and run around the room, Prompto would
literally have to chase them down if he wanted to see it! Which of course, he’d
be dying to.
- Finally manages to snatch the photo out of his lovers’ hands, only to see
it’s a candid picture of him that he didn’t know existed. With some writing on
- “Sunshine boy, l-love of my life…?”
- His face is on fire. Like, tomato boy red, his hand covering his mouth.
- Heart is racing. I’m… I’m the… of their life?
- Doesn’t realise he has the most ridiculous, most goofy grin on his face
behind his hand!
- S/O is like… “Prom, are you okay?”
- Finally snaps out of it.
- “Yeah… but you could have used a better photo of me, look here are some of my
selfies from our journey.” Tips a handful of photos out, mostly with his
chocobo. Distraction tack-tick!
- S/O face palms and snatches the picture back.
- Prompto is smiling for the rest of the day, cannot get the image out of his
- Would tell everyone. “Hey, hey
guess what I am. A sunshine boy!”
- I don’t think his s/o would understand just how much it would mean to him. Is
an absolute lovely dovey mess.
-Gladio and his
s/o would be lounging under a tree together in the brief moments they could manage
to steal away together.
- S/o would be laid on his chest, both with a book in their hands.
- They would turn the page, totally forgetting what they had been using for a
- Both watch as the little square falls and lands on the centre of Gladio’s
- His lover goes to reach for it but damn
it he is so much quicker.
- Damn those lighting fast reflexes!
- “Hmm what’s this?”
- It’s a picture of him that Prompto had taken mid-fight, his s/o must’ve
swiped it from him. And in the corner was a heart with the words ‘My gorgeous Gladdy’
scrawled in it.
- S/o has their head in their hands this is so
- Gladio laughs so warmly, and moves the fingers obstructing his lover’s eyes.
- “So you think I’m gorgeous huh?”
- He is not shy at all, he thinks that it is so cute.
- His heart is singing, confirming just how much he was head over heels for his
- “Ob coush.”
- Gladio sits up causing his s/o to move their hands and repeat themselves.
- “Of course.” They can’t look at him.
- Gently he would lift their head until their eyes make contact, seeing that
dazzling, warm smile of his they loved so much.
- “Let me show you how gorgeous I think you
- His arms bring them back down on the floor where he gives the most passionate
kiss his could muster, hoping that he was getting across just how happy that
photo had made him.
- He was.
- Iggy would be at his s/o’s house, waiting for them to come
back when he spotted their jacket on the sofa.
- Can’t resist picking it up and putting it back on the coat hook for them.
- As he puts it away, something falls out of the pocket and flutters to the
- He reaches down to pick it up and put it away, but stops as he sees it’s a
picture of him.
- It’s a picture of him and his s/o laughing at something Gladio was saying,
but it looked like there was writing on the picture…
- Ignis’ heart would thump as he read the words written in the handwriting he
knew so well.
- World’s best boyfriend!
- Would definitely love knowing his s/o felt that way, but would seriously want
to live up to those expectations not that he doesn’t already.
- S/o gets home finally to see a banquet pretty much, prepared for them with
all their favourite things.
- Ignis pampers them anyway, but that night he would seriously ramp it up a notch.
- Backrubs? You got it. Kisses? Constantly. Cuddles? Absolutely!
- Here let me run you an extra bubbly bath.
- S/o wouldn’t say anything because they would be enjoying it too much,
but wonder what brought it all on.
- Later they would go to sneak a look at the picture they keep in their jacket
pocket like usual, but this time look at it in surprise.
- There was now some more elegant script on the photo next to them.
- World’s most precious partner.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, bright, warm, intruding, and Reyes scrubbed his eyes as the cheery breams dragged him from the depths of a very satisfying sleep. He groaned and threw an arm up over his face, something ticking the back of his mind as gentle fingers began to tiptoe their way across his chest. Soft, gentle, and decidedly feminine. The fingers traced their way across the planes of his chest and dipped lower, drawing a soft grunt from him.
The previous day flashed through his mind; his sniper taking out Sloane, he and Sara stumbling their way deeper into the cave system to be alone, their more baser needs taking over as they clawed their way free of their armour and finally gave into their desire. They’d returned to his apartment afterwards, Reyes drunk on success and riding the incredible high from having everything he desired fall straight into his lap; Kadara Port, all the power he’d ever wanted, and of course, Sara Ryder.
He stretched out on the bed like a jungle cat, enjoying her early morning attentions. The pillows and linen smelled of whiskey and biotics, of spice and perfume, and Reyes opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as her mouth joined her hands on his body. Soft lips pressed kisses to his flushed skin and he shifted eagerly towards her gentle touches. The scent of her skin and the subtle perfume of her hair were a heady mix, the kind of thing he could get drunk on, and he let his eyes drift closed as he sank into the sensation of her touch, her scent, and, as her lips met his, her taste …
“Great, ten past twelve at Euston station. All I wanted when the train we were booked on left exactly one minute ago,” Eden looked at her companion, blame written all over her face.
“Shower,” he reminded her.
“Look,” Harry began to walk to find the ticket office. “We’ll ask to see if we can just exchange them for the next train and if not then we just pay up and live off beans on toast when we come back after New Year, not like we haven’t struggled before.”
Summary: (of this one shot) A simple visit to your best friend somehow tears you and your sister apart.
You heard the grunts and the sound of tools being used coming from the garage. His garage, to be exact. He was under a car that was propped up and all you could see were his legs bent at ninety degrees when you came closer.
“Baekhyun.” you say as you step closer to where he is.
Wheeling away from beneath the car, he sits up as he looks up at you.
The thin layer of glistening sweat covering his forehead; his little hairs sticking to his skin. His ruffled dark hair all over the place. The sleeveless tank top showing off his biceps in the most perfect way attracting your eyes right away to it. When you force yourself to look back at his face, you see a smear of car grease across his cheek.
“What’s up?” he asks, his voice scratchy and hoarse, probably from not drinking water on this hot and sunny day.
“She told me to bring you this,” you say, holding up a bag filled with cold water and food.
Hand-to-hand combat is a necessary skill in their line of work—one that, in Allura’s opinion, they don’t get nearly enough practice in. It’s the reason she’d called them all to gather on the training deck, to practice not only the moves necessary to fight Galra enemies, but also to learn from each other. “The better you understand your teammates’ fighting styles, the better you’ll work as a group,” she’d declared.
Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.
Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.
As it turns out, Jungkook isn’t angry with me for wanting to sneak into a dark, creepy, fortified hallway in the middle of the night.
No, the first thing out of his mouth is, “You couldn’t even think of a good excuse? Just in case?”
“What do you mean?” I huff in faux annoyance, “I got the watch. Isn’t that what’s important?”
My raven haired friend purses his lips momentarily before replying, “You broke down and told me what you were planning on doing the second I asked.”
“Yah! I held out for at least like ten.”
“I was rounding,” he rolls his eyes, flipping to lie on his back and look at me upside-down. “But seriously, I don’t think it’s a good idea to-”
“Before you start lecturing,” I interrupt, “I want to remind you that you don’t OWN me, no matter what your overly hormonal wolf alter ego says.”
Jungkook laughs, a reaction that is reassuring, “Eun-ah, I’m not mad at you for being curious. If you’d let me finish… what I was going to say, was I don’t think it’s a good idea to go alone. I’m coming with you.”
“Yeah. Do you really think I’d let you put yourself in that kind of danger?”
“But… you’re not mad?”
Shifting so that he sits upright, Jungkook’s voice suddenly lowers a few notes, “I told you, there’s something about this place that bothers me.”
And with that, I momentarily abandon searching through my backpack, slowly walk over to him, and wrap my arms around his neck, whispering, “I love you.”
He returns my embrace easily.
“I love you too.”
Midnight. The watch band is loose on my wrist, but I’m too nervous to attempt to tighten it again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jungkook pressing his ear against his bedroom door. While I’m not entirely keen on involving him, I can’t help but admit it’s nice to know I have someone to rely on- especially when that someone is both my best friend and a werewolf that will kill anything that tries to hurt me.
Show me lonely, and
show me openings to
bring me closer to you, my dear—
Dean keeps thinking about time. Can’t help it.
Sam stirs, at his side. Dean keeps his eyes on the window,
where the half-drawn curtains are barely keeping out the slowly darkening gold
of the afternoon. A hand pets down over his naked back, smooths down his flank
in a heavy stroke, and Dean stretches out under it, tries to focus on the
warmth, the weight. He’s got his arms folded under the thin motel pillow, but they
kicked away the covers in that first frantic fuck, hours ago, finally alone
where no one could see or interrupt. The sheet’s wrecked, beneath them. What’s
left is just this pillow, and Sam—the long, warm, familiar body, tucked in
against his side. They’re pressed together at hip and shoulder, Sam’s leg
snugged up against his, and now Sam’s hand on the small of his back, stroking
slow circles with one restless thumb. Some family group from next door clatters
out onto the sidewalk outside their room—a man’s voice calling for them to
hurry up, or Mount Rushmore will have
walked away! Little-girl voices shrieking dismay. Sam huffs, and Dean finds
he’s clenching his fists tight, tries to relax them. They listen as car doors
slam, as an old engine whines to life and drives away, and then it’s quiet,
“What time is it,” Sam says, soft.
His breath is warm against Dean’s shoulder. Dean shrugs. “Don’t
care,” he says, and it’s too-low, gravelly, but so what. Not like Sam’s going
to say anything.
Sam makes a noise, kind of like disapproval, but too quiet
to really count. It’s what Dean expects to hear from his little brother,
though, and he turns his face into the pillow, squeezes his eyes closed. He hasn’t
cried, not yet. Maybe it’s because the horror of what’s coming is too great.
Too big to even think about. “You think Bobby’s right about those signs in Des
Moines?” he forces out, to distract himself.
There’s a pause. “Probably,” Sam says, after a few seconds. “He
or Cas will call, when they know.”
Dean nods, his face moving against the too-warm pillowcase.
He’s having a hard time breathing. Bobby came and found them, back this morning
when Dean was just sitting on the Impala’s hood, with Sam silent next to him,
and he took one look at their faces and he must’ve known the conversation they
had, but bless him, he didn’t say a thing. Just let them know that there were maybe
some demons they could bleed, down in Iowa, and that he’d go check them out.
That he and Castiel might not be back for the rest of the day. Dean had nodded,
too fucked-up inside to speak, and once Bobby was gone, once they were alone,
he should’ve been able to—he should’ve said—
The hand on his back slips over to his hip and tugs, and he
lets out a shaky breath into the pillow but turns over, as he’s urged, because
he’s not going to deny Sam a thing. Not today.
He ends up flat on his back, the pillow shoved up against
the cheap fake-oak headboard. Sam props himself up on his left arm, raised
halfway to sitting, and just looks at him. Dean licks his lips, feels himself
flushing, but he lays there, spread out and naked, and looks back. Sam’s tan,
lately. Bare, there’s no way to distract from how he’s also just—big. Grown up,
and up, when Dean can still remember him as a little smartmouthed fragile
thing, looking up to Dean. Like Dean ever knew what he was doing. Dean reaches
up and touches his arm, where the curve of bicep’s bulging out; traces that up
to his shoulder rounded with muscle, then over his tattoo, then over his heart.
Sam catches his fingers, there. Traps Dean’s hand flat against his warm, living
Dean can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe he’s
not fighting this with everything that he has. He drags his eyes up, a little higher,
even if he dreads it, and Sam’s just—watching his face. He’s got a tiny furrow
of concentration there, between his eyebrows, his lower lip caught between his
teeth. His hair’s completely screwed up, and in other circumstances Dean might grin,
but instead the only thing that comes to mind is that this is the last time he’s
going to see it, like this, all fucked up from sleep or from Dean’s hands in
it, from Sammy scrubbing through it during research or after he works out, and Dean
could just—“Sammy,” he says, thick, and Sam looks right into his eyes and Dean
sees that he’s thinking the exact same thing, and his fingernails dig into Sam’s
skin—but then Sam’s leaning in, he spreads his hand wide over the side of Dean’s
face and kisses him, knocks his mouth open with his own and tongues into him,
deep, slow, their teeth knocking together clumsily. Dean closes his eyes, winds
his arms around Sam’s neck. He’s holding onto his resolve by the barest thread,
like trying to haul a ton of lead in with a single strand of fishing line, but
there’s no other choice. The universe has brought them to this—after everything,
they’ve arrived at this horrible, gorgeous summer’s day, just a few handfuls of
hours left until the world cracks in half. Sam lets out a little sob of a noise
into his mouth, his fingers slipping back into the too-short hair at the back
of Dean’s skull, and Dean slides his hands down, gets them around Sam’s waist
and drags him, urging, spreads his legs to get Sam between them. Sam pulls away
from his mouth, ducks his head down against Dean’s shoulder, his breath rasping
loud and too-fast against Dean’s skin, but he’s hardening up, warm and stiff down
against the inside of Dean’s thigh, and that’s it. Dean grips his ass tight in
one hand, slides the other up into his hair and clenches, pulls a little, and
Sam jerks between his legs, slams a hand down against his hip, and—yes, that’s
it, Sammy, please, and then Dean
pulls his knees up high, wrapping himself up and around all that dear familiar
weight, lifts his hips and then the push in,
slick where Sam’s already used him twice, a stinging deep ache, and he closes
his eyes, keeps Sam close enough that there’s hardly room for him to thrust—but
he does, grinding in close, his hands heavy and bruising on Dean’s skin, and
they breathe together, hot and close and suffocating, the bones of Sam’s
forehead crushed in tight against Dean’s, his nose on Dean’s cheek, their
mouths slipping slack and open against each other.
After. Sam’s shifted them around so he’s laying on his back,
Dean sprawled out over his front. He’s got to be crushing Sam, but he remembers,
from his own looming death—that’s the point. He tucks his face in against Sam’s
collarbone, curls his fingers where they’re crammed in under his shoulders. Sam
settles both hands on the backs of Dean’s thighs where they’re spread around
Sam’s hips, thumbs stroking in repetitive circles. Dean’s sticky-wet, leaking,
sweat-sheen all over him, and it reeks of the two of them in here. He wishes
they could never leave.
“What’s it like?” Sam says, soft into his hair. “After.”
swallows. He knows what Sam’s asking. There’s no answer. His hell was nothing
like Sam’s will be, and there’s nothing he could say that’ll help, and, anyway—“Just—not
yet, Sam,” he says. He settles his weight more heavily onto Sam, their bellies
slipping slick together, and presses his ear tight against Sam’s chest,
listening for the thud of his heart. The squared light of the window is a
little dimmer. Who knows how long ‘til Bobby’s call. He has to take what he can
get. “Not yet.” Sam’s breath hitches, but he settles one hand tight over the
back of Dean’s neck and doesn’t say anything more. Dean listens to Sam’s heart,
trying to ignore the tick of the face-down bedside clock. They breathe, waiting.
Baekhyun was busy. Really busy. His texts were getting shorter and spaced out farther between each other and you were getting ready to start your second summer semester of school. You would be very busy soon. This would be the last of your basics and you could focus more on your pre-med classes. There would be labs and practicals and you’d really start getting into the tough stuff. With your low grade last semester you vowed to focus less on your super addictive sexy boyfriend, and more on school.