who lives in a blue box through all time and space

vernon; the boy next door (m)

genre/warnings: fluff/romance/smut, flangst, adorkableness, use of non-penetrative sex toys, (not so) dry humping

word count:  14737

feat: Hansol Vernon Chwe/Original Female, Joshua, Jeonghan + various 

prompts: roommate!Vernon, silliness, cuddles, mac n’cheese = love 

(a/n) my birthday project for my muse. thank you for everything vern:) and kisses for @vernkn​ who gifed my soft sweater vernon aesthetic. enjoy!

She loved Joshua Hong.

When she was so graciously offered to live in her aunt’s vacation penthouse close to her university of choice, the only catch was that she had to pay some of the bills. Completely fair, because it was a kind enough gesture to give away a freshly furnished space to a niece you barely talked to. Luckily, there was enough room for another guest, enough to split the rent.

So in comes the savior of her life, brother from another mother, Joshua Hong, decked out in sandy beige Sperry’s and ironed white jeans. Fresh from South California, he wore their sunshine on his smile, and their attitude in his Cheshire eyes. He was attending the same university as well, and was conveniently looking for a means to stay. Needless to say, she pounced on him at orientation before he could ask anyone else.

Keep reading

Let us also hate the smaller details of the Pepsi ad

Everything about the new Pepsi ad is repugnant and insulting, okay? The two supporting characters to Kendall Jenner’s lead role are (A) a hipster cellist who beckons her to join a “protest” and (B) a hijab-wearing photographer whose moment of triumph is capturing a celebutante model hand a cop a can of soda. The cumulative effort is the single most repellent video I’ve seen since I watched an actual beheading.

But! Let’s not get bogged down in think-piece territory. There are lots of LITTLE things to hate about the video, too. And we should appreciate every terrible detail.

“Join the conversation” is a blank-box social media prompt. It is not something you would put on a sign for a public demonstration, even if that public demonstration were for something as nebulous and inoffensive as LOVE or PEACE. 

“Hey, you coming to the peace rally?”

“Yup, got my Join the conversation sign and some cans of soda.”

“Perfect, that is everything you need for a protest in free democracy.”


It started as a circle with a line through it, but there doesn’t appear to be anything inside the circle, because the people who made this commercial couldn’t take the chance of being actually AGAINST anything, even if they were going to slap a heart over it to show that love conquers all. 

NO HATE? Whoa, slow down! We’re pro-love, but we’re not anti-anything. Nazis can love, you know. And they deserve the fresh taste of Pepsi as much as the woke millennials whose business we so desperately crave.”

WTF? “JoTin The conversation”? Hey, the milquetoast invitation for discourse wasn’t half-assed enough, let’s shittify it an extra 15% with a nonsensical design flourish.

“Hey man, made that LOVE sign you wanted.”

“Looks like the lettering was too small the first time so you painted over it and gave it another go.”


“And the second time was also not large enough to fill the sign.”

“Listen, I didn’t have all day.”

Bullshit fucking fake-ass spacious protest. “We’re marching for peace … and elbow room!”

AD EXEC 1: Y’know, not ALL young people like protesting. Can some of them just be, like, eating pizza?

AD EXEC 2: Should they get up and join the protesters? It doesn’t really fit with Kendall’s narrative.

AD EXEC 1: Fuck no, they’ve got pizza. 

Kendall Jenner’s mind is blown as she sees middle-class people for the first time! 

KENDALL: Ew, what’s that smell?

PA: I believe that’s a mix of debt and diplomas.

KENDALL: What and what?

OH SNAP. Kendall has shed the artifice of wig and lipstick to join the FIGHT to, uh, join a discussion about love? I feel so empowered! And thirsty!

Welcome to the protest! Everyone’s marching with plenty of space on a pleasant day in Los Angeles, but we have a hydration station that may or may not dehydrate you (the science is still kinda iffy, don’t look it up).

What’ll it be? We have Pepsi, Silver Pepsi, Pepsi Blakk, and Pepsi in bottles. Just some ice chips? Okay, but they’re not water. 100% Crystal Pepsi.

Step back from this article for a second, dear reader. Place aside your immediate thoughts of the protester-police unity achieved by Kendall Jenner giving a handsome cop a Pepsi (even though there wasn’t tension between the crowd and the cops before this, because that would have taken some sort of narrative risk). Table, if just for a moment, the emotional and political flashpoints of Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, the Women’s March on Washington, conspiracy theories about paid protesters, and the increasingly fraught existence of basically everyone in America except for a small percentage of exceedingly wealthy people.

Consider, instead, the marketing team behind this. This was born in a brainstorming session, or perhaps in an executive’s mind as he watched a throng of angry, desperate people stand up for what they believe is right. This is a branding opportunity, someone thought, fanning the flames of a garbage can fire in Rome. 

If I can give Pepsi any credit here, it’s the notion that a pretty white girl born into money and fame is the best person to bridge the gap between protesters and police. We could have really used her in Ferguson. 

I’m sure she was busy.

Yeah, totally. Join the conversation.

Seeing Stars

Prompt: Pre-Guardians of the Galaxy fun with Peter; Letting loose for the night the reader goes out for a fun night and finds herself back in the Milano for an intimate night with loosened morality.

Pairing: Peter Quill X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, explicit sexual content, and drug use (A fictional marijuana-like space drug called Lunar Shrub)

Originally posted by cute-guysxx

Tonight was going to be a night of escaping your inhibitions and indulging on impulsive desires. Full of physical pleasures and lack of responsibility. Nothing was going to come in the way of you having a good time.. But most importantly, nothing was going to get in the way of you getting laid. 

That’s what had brought you to this current situation, walking alongside the charming Peter Quill as he led you back to his ship. The handsome Terran had approached you at the bar and after a few laughs you had decided he would be the perfect escape. A nice night full of sexy fun and laughs, nothing more nothing less.

He had landed his ship in a public parking area not far from the bar and the two of you were almost there. He guided you happily with one strong arm wrapped snugly around your hips, his hand sinking closer and closer to your ass with each step.

Keep reading

Tasty* ~ [1/2]

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader
Rating: Mature - 18+ only
Summary: Reader prepares the last important details of Chris’ thirty-sixth birthday party, but he can only think of one or two ways he’d like to celebrate this day with her.
Word Count: 2.5k
Genre: Fluff/Mild smut
Warnings: build up; mentions of sex/innuendos, Chris being a dork and a butt guy, slight food play/kink, make out session and language!
Author’s Note: I know, Chris’ birthday was yesterday (June 13th), but I actually wrote so much that I had to split this into two parts. The actual smut will be in the last part hopefully up tomorrow. Once again, happy birthday to the Dorito and enjoy! xx

    “Dodger, come here,” you whispered and the dog padded out of the kitchen, stopping at your feet. You bent and patted his back as his tail wagged excitedly.

    Staring back at your reflection in the mirror of the foyer, you smoothed out your dress - the same summer dress you’d wear on your first date with Chris three years ago - and you applied your cranberry lip balm. You weaved a hand through your hair, pushed up your breasts and you picked up the breakfast tray you’d left on the entryway table.

    “What do you think? He’s going to like it, right?” You asked Dodger and laughed at how ridiculous you sounded. My God, I’m talking to a dog.

    Keep reading

    prettiestmess  asked:

    Oh my God, could you do a top 10 for Michiru's outfits? I feel like they tried so hard to make her a fashion plate (as she well she should be) but were so often stymied by the 90s-ness of it all. I'd love to see what you chose.

    The real question is, how will I narrow it down to only ten?? Michiru’s style is so hard to pin down because sometimes it works flawlessly and sometimes it’s hard to justify, in-universe, why she would ever choose to wear what she is wearing. (Thanks again to @sailorcivilian and @fukufashion for their comprehensive representation of Sailor Moon outfits!)

    10. The 1940s called. They said you look really good in that dress, feel free to keep wearing it.

    9. It is written in ink that this shawl may never cover more than one (1) shoulder at any given time.

    8. (”coming soon to own on videocassette” voice) She may have a tiny bow and a tiny backpack, but she’s got a big heart.

    7. They told me I could be anything I wanted, so I became the ocean

    6. Wearing formal gloves and a pencil skirt to the racetrack just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

    5. There are two kinds of people: those who say “you can never have too much denim on your body,” and liars

    4. On the back, these shirts say “If found, please return to Michiru”/”I am Michiru”

    3. The stylish yet practical baby-stealing ensemble

    2. The dress that is responsible for putting many a young boy through early puberty

    1. Look. I think there must be a story behind this one. I think this used to be a favorite tunic of Michiru’s; the pale lavender with the white belt is simple but charming. One day she was painting another one of her space whales, and Haruka yelled something from the kitchen about the shrimp paella leftovers in the fridge. In the one uncalculated move she had ever made in her life, she turned around and lowered her brush, leaving a short streak of dark blue on her dress. She tried everything; cold water, rubbing alcohol, Haruka’s Tide-to-Go stick, but she could still see a faint line where the space-colored paint was. Haruka would insist she couldn’t tell there was a stain, but Michiru would always know, and she couldn’t live like that. The next day, she bought a bottle of fabric dye. If she couldn’t remove the accidental stain, then she would make it an intentional one. She wears it as an act of defiance, a warning to the universe that Michiru Kaioh is not one to be defeated.

    Father’s Day

    Summary: Bucky Barnes is absolutely horrified when his four-year old daughter tells him she’s getting married. When he tries to figure out what the heck is going on, he gets the best surprise of his life.

    Characters: Bucky Barnes, Readers, OFC Becca Barnes

    Warnings: Insane amount of fluff

    A/N: So, this is super, ridiculously fluffy, but it’s Father’s Day and Bucky, not I’m not apologizing :P As always, thanks for reading!

    Check out the other two stories with these characters!

    Mother’s Day      She Gets It From You

    Bucky Barnes had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was way too early for a pair of blue eyes to be staring him in the face.

    “Becca, go back to bed,” he mumbled, pulling the covers over his head. He felt the bed dip as his daughter climbed up and cuddled against Bucky’s blanketed form. A small hand stroked the top of his head, and he couldn’t help but smile. He pulled the covers off and greeted his little girl.

    Keep reading

    Feelin’ Myself

    This is my contribution to @emilyevanston ‘s 1 year/ 2k blogiversary Cards Against Humanity Writing Challenge! Congrats, darling!

    author: sugardaddytonystark (formerly buckysbackpackbuckle)
    pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
    word count: 1017
    prompt: having break up sex by yourself

    After a break up, you introduce Bucky to all of your “friends.” (sex toys. they’re sex toys)

    Originally posted by little--batman

    Keep reading

    Love Laid Down (Part One)

    Originally posted by sensitivehandsomeactionman

    Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
    Rating: M
    Words: 2K+ (this part)
    Summary: You and the boys are working a long-term case in Indiana that requires you go undercover. It also requires that you and Dean pretend to be married.
    Author’s Note: This is my first multi-chap on this blog! I’ve tried my best to write the majority of it beforehand, but please be gentle if I don’t upload super regularly. I’ll queue up what’s already written and try to get the rest of it done ASAP. Thanks for reading! (PS - title comes from the song of the same name by Green River Ordinance.)

    “No.” Dean says, firm, his voice echoing loud in the library of the bunker.

    “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, or anything…” you mutter quietly, and Sam sighs.

    “Can the both of you relax? This is a good plan. It’s only going to be for a week or so, anyway.”

    “It’s not our kind of thing,” Dean argues, crossing his arms over his chest. “People go missing all the time.”

    “Four people in the last month? All of whom went to the same church in this one small town? That’s weird, Dean.” Sam says.

    Dean has that look on his face that he gets when he knows he’s wrong, but doesn’t want to admit it. You look at Sam. “So,” you start, “What does that have to do with us going undercover?”

    “The parishioners of that church are mostly married couples. This isn’t the type of town where single people move to for work or something. People move here because they’re trying to start a family.”

    You try not to gulp, looking back over at Dean, who is still glaring at his brother.

    “How are we going to explain you being there?”

    Sam grins. “I’m the super supportive younger brother helping his newlywed brother and sister-in-law move into their new home.”

    “This is going to be a disaster.” You say brightly, your calm tone betraying your words. You’ve done undercover with the Winchesters before. It almost never works out as planned. Someone always slips up, or forgets they’re supposed to be someone else for longer than a day, and then you’re left scrambling not to get caught by the local PD. “When do we leave?”

    Keep reading

    Reflecting on Grief

    Forwards or Backwards? Earth, or an alien planet? Or somewhere entirely outside of time and space as we know it?

    That’s part of the thrill of watching Doctor Who. Step inside that blue box, and you could be taken anywhere. And every fan has wondered, at some point, where they would go if they were given that chance.

    Peter Capaldi was asked where he would want to go at Calgary Expo earlier this year. He gave a few lighthearted answers about seeing the Beatles or the pyramids, before eventually saying: "I think I’d go see my folks, who aren’t here anymore.”

    I used to have wild dreams about where I might go too, but since my I lost my dad, grandpa, and uncle this year, my heart has been right with Peter. 

    Hand on the lever, with all of time and space before me, all I would want to do is go home.

    Doctor Who has always been comfort food for me. No matter how confused or messed up this world could be, it gave me hope that there was something I could do to get through it. Evil could be defeated, justice could be found, and loss – while painful – could be overcome.

    But after everything that happened, I was reluctant to come backWith my own pain so fresh, even Doctor Who could be too much. There are too many painful losses. There’s too much to dwell on. There are too many girls with dead and dying fathers. 

    I did come back to watch Series 10, thinking I might be safe from those painful feelings. And then along came Bill Potts, who lost her mother when she was a baby and had almost no photographs of her to keep her memory alive.

    At the time “The Pilot” premiered my family was preparing for my father’s funeral, and I was in charge of collecting photographs from family and friends. It was a heartbreaking task. I marked out the whole path of his life, from childhood to adulthood, documenting the things he loved to do and his relationships with the family and friends he left behind. There were official photographs with his sarcastic smiles, and candid pictures capturing small tics of his personality that we’d never see again.

    Bill asked the Doctor if pictures could really help after someone’s gone, and my immediate, bitter thought was that they don’t help nearly as much as you want them to. 

    But then the Doctor traveled back in time to capture new photos of Bill’s mother for her. The dam burst and I cried through that scene as Bill did. Pictures aren’t nearly good enough, but when they’re all you have, they help more than you could imagine.

    It was little moments like this that brought me back to Doctor Who while I grieved each of my losses. So much of grief is wrapped up in time – time borrowed and lost, regretted and re-lived, stolen and reclaimed. You spend far too much time reliving each terrible moment of your loss, pulling it apart piece by piece to figure out where everything went wrong. You regret the moments you didn’t take advantage of – the conversations you never had, the questions you never got answered. And you’re haunted by the future you were supposed to have with that person in your life. 

    Friends and family and a good therapist will tell you that you have to accept that there’s nothing you can do to change what happened. That’s true and good advice, but not always advice we’re ready to act on when our pain is fresh. Doctor Who gives you space to say to hell with that. Every impossible scenario ever dreamed up in grief is possible in a show where time and space aren’t boundaries any more. We’re free to imagine the impossible and indulge in denial and bargaining for just a little while longer. We can imagine going back in time to see the people we loved one last time. We might even imagine going back in time to save their life.

    When my dad was in the hospital, I kept going back again and again to “Father’s Day,” the story from Series 1 where Rose goes back in time and tries to save her dad from being killed in a car accident. I’d only ever seen it once, and it shook me so much that I never wanted to watch it again. It wasn’t just the thought that one day I would also lose my dad – that just seemed like an inevitable fact of life. I was terrified by the thought that maybe I’d know his death was coming, and still be powerless to stop it. That I could only sit there and watch it happen. 

    The moment where Rose finally says goodbye to her dad tormented me while my dad was dying. All I wanted to do was go back in time and just fix it. I knew exactly what I would say and do, but instead I was stuck waiting for the inevitable to happen. But when all I wanted to do was run away and hide from it all, I reminded myself that I wouldn’t get any do-overs. 

    I stayed, and I held his hand.

    Grief, like time, doesn’t move in a straight line. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance don’t pass one after the other in a neat, predictable order. You swing back and forth between each emotion, sometimes going around and around in circles. 

    If you want to know what grief looks like, watch “Heaven Sent.” Grief is our own bespoke torture chamber, a hell of our own making. It has a way of bringing out all of our deepest regrets and fears. And every time you think you’ve found a way out, you’re dumped back in again.

    Until one day, you’re free.

    I finally went back to watch “Father’s Day” a few months ago. It was painful, but unexpectedly easier to watch this time around. After all, my worst fear had already been realized. There was nothing it could scare me with anymore. Yet strangely, I felt comforted afterwards too. It felt like exorcising a bad dream. 

    After a loss, it’s normal to obsess over what you or anyone else could’ve done differently. It’s not entirely rational – even if you did think of something that could’ve been done differently, you can’t change what happened – but that doesn’t stop the thoughts of “if only…” from keeping you up at night. 

    Knowing you can’t change anything is very different from accepting it. And somehow it was easier to get that message from a science-fiction show where everything might be possible. Doctor Who doesn’t answer phrases like “If only I could have done this differently" with “You can’t.” It says, “Let’s try.” There’s space to release every grief-driven fantasy that’s trapped and clawing at your chest and tormenting you in nightmares.

    But Doctor Who rarely provides pure wish fulfillment. The Doctor and his companions can’t always save everyone. Rose doesn’t get to save her dad. He was always going to die. And as awful as it sounds, it was comforting to see the Doctor and his companions fail. Even with hindsight and a time machine, they can’t change everything. 

    It took all the power out of thoughts of “if only…” Somehow I needed to go to the most absurd, impossible scenario to accept that there was really, truly, nothing I could change that would bring my loved ones back. Because no matter what I could go back and change, it still might not have been enough. Seeing the Doctor and Rose and Bill and Clara and so many others discover the limits to their own abilities helped me accept how limited my own actions were. 

    The thoughts of “if only…” won’t go away, not entirely. But they can’t hurt me anymore.

    Life moves on, and I get a little closer to acceptance and something almost like being okay. It doesn’t help that this year manages to exceptionally suck even beyond my own family’s grief.

    After Deborah Watling passed away in July, I went back and watched “The Tomb of the Cybermen” again. It’s one of my favorite stories, but I’d been avoiding it this year. At the start of this story, Victoria has just lost her father, but the poor girl doesn’t get much time to grieve. Instead, she’s rushed in and out of the TARDIS with barely enough time to change into a short dress before she’s thrown back into another terrifying adventure. 

    But midway through the story, we pause for one of the most heartfelt scenes in the whole history of the show. As the rest of their companions sleep, the Doctor and Victoria sit together and talk about their families. Victoria confesses that although she enjoys being with the Doctor and Jamie, she still misses her father. She’s convinced that her memories of him will always be sad, tainted by the memory of his death. When the Doctor tries to convince her they won’t, she says that he probably can’t even remember his family, considering how old he must be.

    The Doctor responds:

    Oh yes, I can when I want to. And that’s the point, really. I have to really want to, to bring them back in front of my eyes. The rest of the time they sleep in my mind, and I forget. And so will you. Oh yes, you will. You’ll find there’s so much else to think about. 

    The first time I watched this story, the Doctor’s comment felt unnecessarily cruel. After all, Victoria’s still coping with her father’s death. The last thing she wants to be told is that one day she’ll forget him.

    But now I realize that’s not what the Doctor is saying at all. Victoria will always carry her memories of her father. But at that moment, they’re looming over everything else in her life. She can’t enjoy her time with the Doctor and Jamie without thinking about how her father isn’t there to enjoy it with her. But in time, they won’t overwhelm her. That grief and pain and sadness will fade. And Victoria will eventually be able to move forward with her life.

    This, I think, is the hardest part of grief. Building a life without your loved one is a way of acknowledging that they are gone. It feels like we are leaving them behind. It feels wrong to imagine a future where my grandfather and uncle won’t get to tease my partner, where my father won’t walk me down the aisle, where none of them will meet or help me raise my children. 

    But as another dearly missed companion once said, everything has its time. I wish we had more together, but I’ll treasure every moment that I had. 

    marmolita  asked:

    How about something about Gladio and Ignis or other Citadel-related people handling the fact that puberty turned Noctis from a cute kid into a really surprisingly attractive young man?

    Author’s Notes: I’m… not sure if this is at all what you wanted? H-haha, sorry. orz Anyway, thank you for the prompt, and sorry this got so long and rambly. ^^




    Puberty comes late to the crown prince of Lucis. At fifteen, he still looks like a child, with a certain softness to his face and a slenderness to his build.

    He tries to beg his way out of school picture day, because he knows well enough that, when he stands beside his classmates, he’ll be shorter than all but a handful.

    Then comes sixteen, and with it all the trappings of adulthood. Per the king’s instructions, Ignis begins briefing Noct in more expansive matters of state: in boundary disputes and diplomacy; in civic planning and rules of law.

    It’s as though Noct’s body rushes to catch up with the responsibility.

    He grows a foot in two months; his limbs take on the gangling, awkward look of adolescent puppies. He has to be measured for an entire new wardrobe, and then another, several months after that.

    Ignis notes the razor that rests by the bathroom sink now, a point of pride, though he doubts that Noct has much call to use it. He notes the frequency with which the maids have to change His Highness’ sheets, and he sighs, reminds himself of the hormone-driven days he was more than happy to leave behind, and sits Noctis down for the most embarrassing conversation that he has ever had call to engage in with another human being.

    It lasts for half an hour. It focuses primarily on responsibilities, and the importance of maintaining the royal lineage. It covers the unpleasant effects of certain sexually transmitted diseases, and what measures should be taken in order to avoid scandal. 

    It ends with Noctis in possession of a box of condoms. 

    It ends with the knowledge that Noct can turn that peculiar shade of dahlia pink, heretofore unseen.


    The damn kid has a fan club. 

    Gladio’s not sure when it happened, but hell if it isn’t the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

    Iris comes home from school one day, all worked up about it, and Gladio knows by now exactly which way to prod to get his sister to talk about whatever she’s excited about. She’s bad at hiding it; that’s just the kind of person she is. If she’s into something, it comes bubbling up out of her.

    So he prods, and she begs off answering, and then two hours later, she comes back around while Gladio’s reading in his father’s study. She sits herself down on the couch, and she says, “I wasn’t the one who started it,” and Gladio feels his eyebrow go up.

    Iris launches into a tale of intrigue and betrayal, one that ends with two of the most popular girls at their school founding the Prince Noctis Fan Club.

    And what else was she going to do? She has to keep an eye on them, to make sure they’re not doing anything that’ll be bad for Noct’s good name. So she joined, too. She might not be first in line to be Shield, but she can shield the prince from some things, at least.

    Gladio tells her that she did the right thing.

    He agrees that it’s best she keep tabs on membership, for Noct’s sake. 

    He sees her to the door, and he closes it behind her, and he sits back down with his book.

    Then he laughs so hard tears roll down his cheeks, and bites his thumb to keep from being loud about it.

    And when Iris’ class comes to the Citadel on their field trip, he cajoles Noct into playing tour guide.


    Noct’s new apartment looks like a space that can be lived in, finally.

    The cardboard boxes scattered haphazardly across the floor have long been unpacked. Their contents fill the shelves. Ignis saw to most of it, fiddling with considerations such as convenience and aesthetics, while Noct played games on his sofa.

    That’s months in the past, now. On the occasions when the space is clean, it actually looks quite nice.

    The young man that stands in the center of it, in his trim black suit and sloppy tie, looks at home here. It’s done Noct a world of good, getting some space for himself outside the Citadel.

    The new living arrangements come with several specific unfortunate downsides, however. Among them: the time between coaxing Noctis from bed and him walking through the door to the Council’s chamber has dramatically increased.

    Ignis glances him over, with a critical eye.

    He looks half awake, still. His hair has been gelled, but there’s a certain sloppiness to the way it’s been teased into its peaks and valleys. His face is washed, but the concealer and eyeliner the prince sometimes takes pains to apply is conspicuously absent, abandoned in favor of a few more minutes in bed. The tie knotted at his throat, a beautiful silken blue, looks as though it’s been arranged by a five year old.

    “Honestly, Noct,” says Ignis, and steps forward to straighten it up.

    His fingers slide against the silk; his touches are brisk and businesslike. But he’s aware of Noct’s eyes on him, that curious shade of night-sky blue. He’s aware of long lashes that truly don’t need the help of the eyeliner. He’s aware of the way Noct’s lips curve up at the corner into a smile, fond and familiar.

    Suddenly, Ignis isn’t certain when the chubby toddler he played with as a child turned into this young man before him, who looks every inch the dashing prince from the pages of a fairy tale.

    “You do it better, anyway,” says Noct.

    Ignis steps back and admires his handwork; the tie is crisp and even, and Noctis looks very much the young gentleman.

    “There,” he says. “That will serve.”

    It will more than serve. 

    His Highness has a photo shoot for a popular girl’s magazine next week. Ignis makes a mental note to ensure they fit this tie into the wardrobe.

    It complements the blue of Noct’s eyes quite nicely, indeed.


    They’re in the middle of training when Noct loses the shirt.

    Gladio doesn’t blame him; it’s hot as hell, and they’ve been going at it for damn near an hour and a half. He stripped out of his own at the start of the session, and he’s still sweating buckets.

    But Noct hardly ever ditches his.

    If Gladio had to guess, he’d say it probably has something to do with the mess of a scar halfway down the kid’s back. It’s pretty badass, honestly, but he there’s no telling what’ll set someone off. 

    Whatever the reason, Noct keeps the shirt on, most days. He hasn’t taken it off in training for – hell, probably almost four years now.

    He was a scrawny scrap of a thing, last time Gladio saw him without it, but those days, it looks like, are long in the past.

    He’s filled out, that’s for sure. The shoulders are broader, and the abdomen is all lean muscle. However much Gladio gets on him to lay off the pizza, he doesn’t need to. Sure, he’s not ripped. Gladio knows for damn sure he can bench press four times what Noct can pull off, easy.

    But Noct’s trained in just about every weapon in the armory, and it shows. He’s built like a gymnast, all sleek power. 

    It’s a good look on him. No wonder his fan club’s having its three year anniversary next week.

    When Noct glances up and catches him looking, Gladio gives an unimpressed snort.

    “Gonna have to step up arm day,” he says. “Can’t have the crown prince flexing with those noodle arms.”

    “Noodle arms,” says Noct. “Right.” There’s a flash of blue, and the biggest great sword in the Armiger flickers to life in his hands. It’s as long as Noct is. When they started, he could barely lift it, but now he falls into his stance, massive blade out before him, head tipped up in challenge. “That sounds to me like an invite to knock you on your ass.”

    Gladio feels himself grinning. He calls up his own sword in one hand – uses the other to crook his fingers, the world’s universal come-get-some gesture. “Bring it, princess. Let’s see what you’ve got.”


    The Accordan ambassador is tall and amiable, and entirely too familiar with the prince.

    At dinner, he’s seated to Noct’s left, and he spends the meal leaning in closer than is proper. After, he blames the drink; Lucian wine, he claims, is far more powerful than what he’s grown accustomed to.

    Ignis, who counts himself something of an expert on vintages, knows very well that the alcohol content from most Accordan wines is much higher, but for propriety’s sake, he presses his lips together and says nothing.

    After the meal, King Regis and his son retire to the lounge to entertain the visiting diplomat. There are certain concessions in the upcoming trade deal that His Majesty hopes to lay the groundwork for, off the books.

    Ignis won’t be needed for the remainder of the evening. He’s free to retire to his own quarters, and nothing pressing requires his attention. It could be one of those rare few early nights, if he so chooses.

    Instead, he lingers in the grand hall, seating himself where the tour groups pass to and fro, during daylight hours. Now, the there are no curious eyes about to see the sights. Now, the Citadel is nearly empty.

    He’s not certain what he’s waiting for.

    He idles there far longer than he can excuse as fancy, tapping notes to himself neatly into his phone for tomorrow’s meetings, for want of anything better to do.

    That’s where Gladiolus finds him. The man’s in a suit, hair slicked back. He had a tie at one point, but it’s been removed from its spot around his neck, crammed into a pocket haphazardly.

    “What,” says Gladio, slowing to a stop before him. “You don’t have anywhere else to be?”

    “Not at the moment,” says Ignis, primly, and taps in the last of his notes before looking up.

    Gladio sprawls onto the bench without waiting to be invited, legs spread casually in the manner of ill-behaved thirteen-year-old boys. Ignis spares him a lingering glance. 

    “Never seen you not in a rush to do something or other,” says Gladio, bemused.

    “There’s nothing wrong with keeping a tight schedule.” Ignis adjusts his glasses, though truth be told they don’t need it. “What of yourself? It isn’t like you to linger after hours.”

    Gladio lifts one big shoulder and lets it fall. “What, can’t a guy feel like hanging around?”

    It would be hypocritical for Ignis to argue the point, and so he doesn’t. He only opens up a new document for his three o'clock with the minister of finance and begins tapping in something new.

    He’s written barely two words when his phone buzzes.

    It’s a text from Noct, and it reads, “you still around?”

    Ignis replies immediately: “I am.”

    There is a moment’s pause, during which Ignis pretends to add to his notes but makes no alterations of any value. Then a new text arrives. “can you come here pls.”

    He’s on his feet before he’s finished reading, turning toward the elevator that leads up to the higher-security levels of the Citadel.

    Gladio says, “What’s the rush?”

    And Ignis, thoughts on the Accordan ambassador blaming the wine, says, “Noct,” and his tone is a bit tighter than he intended.

    Perhaps Gladio can read his inflection. Perhaps his posture, more closed off than usual, gives him away.

    But Gladiolus is on his feet an instant later, falling into step beside Ignis as he makes for the elevator. “On my way,” Ignis taps into his phone, as the doors slide closed behind him.

    They arrive at the king’s lounge barely five minutes later. Ignis knocks on the door, brisk and businesslike, and calls out, “Highness?” in a voice loud enough to be audible through the elaborate paneled wood.

    There’s a pause, and then Noct opens the door.

    He’s decidedly more disheveled than he was half an hour ago. His hair is askew, and the knot of his tie is sloppy. But more than that, his eyes are flat and guarded, in the way they get when he’s upset about something.

    Ignis takes in the scene: a room empty of King Regis, empty of anyone else save the Accordan ambassador leaning casually back against the couch, a glass of half-drunk scotch in his hand. His face is redder than it was before, and he looks a touch disheveled, as well.

    And Noct. Noct catches at Ignis’ cuff and stares up at him, and then toward Gladio, standing there in the hall. His grip is too tight, and his fingers are trembling.

    That tells Ignis all he needs to know.

    “Terribly sorry,” says Ignis. “I’m afraid the Council has announced an emergency meeting. His Highness is required elsewhere.”

    Then he holds the door wide and says, “Gladiolus, if you’d be so kind as to see the ambassador out?”

    He doesn’t think he imagines the way Gladio’s eyes linger on Noct. He doesn’t think he imagines the tightness in the man’s jaw. “With pleasure,” says Gladio, grimly.

    “Highness,” says Ignis. “Shall we? The timeline is rather pressing, I’m afraid.”

    Noct nods, and lets go of Ignis’ sleeve. He says, “Lead the way.”

    He follows Ignis out into the hall, toward the Council chamber. They walk in silence until they reach the first turn in the hallway. Then Ignis changes his route, circling back around to veer toward the Citadel’s private suites.

    It takes them just shy of five minutes to reach Noct’s old room. It’s maintained in his absence, for when an official function runs late and he wishes to stay over instead of returning to his apartment.

    He stands there in the doorway, looking somewhat harrowed, until Ignis says, “If he tries to reschedule, I’ll shift his appointments around until his ship sails. After he’s safely off our shores, the authorities in Accordo will receive a request for a new representative.”

    “Thanks,” says Noct. He swallows. “My dad had to beg off. His leg gets bad, you know? But I thought, it’s just groundwork, right? I’m okay at negotiating.”

    Ignis waits for the rest. He hopes that Gladio was rather less gentle than usually warranted, in seeing the ambassador out.

    When the silence stretches too long, Noct says, “He got kinda handsy. I would’ve punched him out, only I thought dad wouldn’t appreciate a diplomatic incident.”

    Ignis feels a strange swell in his chest at the words. He says, “The right ties in the Accordan media make certain diplomatic incidents all but disappear, you’ll find. As it so happens, I have the right ties in the Accordan media.”

    “So you’re saying I should have punched him out.”

    “I’m saying,” says Ignis, tone more fierce than intended, “that it would have been no more than he deserved.”

    Noct thaws a little, then. The guardedness slips from his eyes, and from his posture. He looks like he means to reply, but Ignis’ phone buzzes before he can. “Go on,” says Noct. “It’s probably Gladio.”

    It is, in fact, Gladio.

    “How is he?” the text reads. “Does this guy need to accidentally fall down the stairs before I cut him loose?”

    Ignis stifles a smile. “Your Shield,” he says, “is considering something of a diplomatic incident of his own.”

    Noct leans over to look, with a huff of something very nearly a laugh. “Call him off. And tell him I’m fine.”

    Ignis taps his reply into the phone and then slides it into his pocket again. “Are you?” he says, when he looks up.

    “I am,” says Noct. But the longer Ignis stares, frank and even, the less Noct seems able to meet the gaze. “I just didn’t expect it, you know?”

    Ignis takes a breath in and lets it out slowly. It’s a rhetorical question, but he finds himself answering, anyway. “Nor should you have had to.”

    They stand there for a moment, in silence. At last, Noct says, “Thanks, Specs.”

    “I would say any time,” says Ignis, “but frankly, I’m hoping we’ve never cause for a repeat occurrence.”

    Noct smiles, wry and crooked. “You and me both.” He turns from the door, toward the couch where he used to play video games at twelve years of age, and sits himself down on the indent that still indicates his favorite spot. “Hey,” he says, almost as though it’s an afterthought. “You mind giving me a ride home, when we get out of here?”

    “Not at all,” says Ignis. “Although I suspect we’d best wait for Gladio. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll be along shortly.”

    Gladio is along shortly, and he brings with him some choice words about the Accordan ambassador’s parentage. Ignis adds a few thoughts of his own, decidedly less crude but every bit as cutting.

    By the time they see Noct from the building, through the meandering back hallways of the Citadel and into the private attached garage, that shaken, uncertain look has been chased from his face entirely.


    A/N: Request from @inlovewithnovels. Tony is kind of an arsehole in this one. It just happened, I needed a culprit. & I heard strange noises in my room while writing this. Not cool. Not cool at all.

    16th October: Scare pranks. 👻 | feat. Loki

    Words: 1679
    Warnings: demons, mentions of exorcism, blood, gore and death, panic attack

    Keep reading

    Nocturne | Prologue

    Character: Jungkook x OC (feat. BTS)

    Type/Genre/words: Angst, Alternate Universe (Hitman!au, Assassin!au), Future Smut Scenes / 3,353 words

    Prompts: “What would you find when you keep chasing over the ghosts of your past?”

    Summary: It took only one night, one event, for the fate of two children to change. And it took another night, and another event, for Jungkook to finally met her.

    | Prologue | 01 |

    Music Playlist | Characters |

    Keep reading

    || Hybrid!Au || Jaebum 1-3 ||

    Originally posted by saranghaeyojw

    Summary: After the emotional way Yugyeom was taken away from you. The company noticed a change in how Yugyeom acted before he met you. To perfect the Hybrids, they decide to send you another Hybrid. The package that came to your door named ‘GOT2IJ’.  

    Keep reading

    Don't Leave Me Again

    Harry Hook x Reader

    Warnings - blood, lanuage and fluff

    It’s been 3 months since you first started dating Jack, son of Dr Facilicer the shadow man. As you walked to Jack’s house you noticed his bedroom light was off but green lights flicked throu his window. Once you climbed up his fire escape you saw him performing some sort of voodoo.

    Your knocking on the window grabbed Jack’s attention. “(Y/N) your here early” he mumbled placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

    “I know I’m sorry I just wanted to know if after we do this can we go out on a date? It’s been weeks since our last one” you tried to make sure that you where carefull with how you worded it to prevent him from getting angry. Everyone knows that has a short temper when it comes to what he wants.

    He sighed “only if you brought the stuff and I finish this potion” letting a smile spread over your face you grab your shoulder bag and tip out it’s contents.

    “One frog, a glass of sea water, a bottle of whisky and a lock of a young girls hair.” Smilling in joy at what you achieved, Jack picks up the items and carefully place them into the potion following his farthers book.

    “(Y/N) Thankyou for getting this stuff for me babe but before we go on our date I have to get something else.”

    Nodding your head Jack grabs your hand and pulls you out the window. As he interlocks your fingers he leads you to Ursula’s fish a Chip shop.

    “Stay here please. I’ll be back in a moment” as he gives you another kiss on the cheek, he leaves you out side the chip shop sitting on the edge of the dock.

    You slowly swing your legs back and forth looking at the black cloud over you. You shiver at the cold air that nips at your skin as the sun sets. After twenty minutes you start to get impatient.

    Going against his wishes you walk into the chip shop. Looking around you can’t see the short hair boy in dark leather clothing anywhere. You spot Gil your childhood friend and hug him. “Gil! It’s been forever” Gil returns the hug and smiles down at you “have you seen Jack? He came in here about twenty minutes ago.”

    Gil sighs and shakes his head “he was here talking to Uma but they disappeared out the back. You know he doesn’t deserve you right?” Gil has always been like an older brother to you. He never liked Jack and wished to kill him but couldn’t because he didn’t want to hurt you.

    You let out a sigh “Thanks Gil. I better go look for him. See you later.” As you drag your feet along the ground you hear voices coming from behind the back door.

    “Why do you stay with her? She’s useless and she can’t please you like I can.”

    “I know but she’s the only one who knows where to get the special pixie dust that I need. Once I’m done with this potion we’ll get rid of her. And we’ll control Auradon together! The stupid girl is still sitting at the dock waiting for me.” The voices started to laugh.

    You peek through the small circular window in the door and your heart breaks. Jack has his arms around Uma and is kissing her. You take a deep breath before slamming the door open.

    “So your a lier, asshole, user and a cheat. I can’t believe I fell for you and I believed you!” You stomped over to Jack and kicked him in the shin. “I hope you rot in hell.” Just before you walked out the door you turned around and held up a small glass flask of glowing gold powder. “I’m sure you know what this is Jack. Pixie dust. I’ve had it the whole time and I was going to give it to you. But you know what I’m going to keep it for myself. See you in hell… babe.”

    As you slam the door behind you, Uma laughs “How pathetic. Who needs her?” Jack chases after you calling out your name.

    You see Gil and grab his shoulders “please buy me some time I have to hide the pixie dust” Gil doesn’t question why your crying and shoves Jack away from you. While Jack is on the ground you slip the dust into Gil’s pocket and nod at him before running off.

    “(Y/N) RUN!” Gil struggles to hold Jack back.

    You make it if of the Chip shop before one of Jack’s shadow men grab you. “Let me go! Please” they all laugh and pull you towards the edge of the dock.

    “Well, well, well. Getting rid of that oaf was easier then I thought.” Jack appears from out of the shadows and whipes blood of his knuckles. “Did you honestly think that a monster like me would love someone like you” he lets out a low chuckle as he takes a step towards you.

    He reached out to touch your face but you take a step back. “Awe why are you running from me (Y/N). You love my touch.” Jack grabs your wrists. “Now tell me where is the Pixie Dust!” You smirk and whisper in his ear “I don’t have it anymore. Your so stupid to think I’d keep it on myself”

    Jack let’s out a deep growl as he digs his fingers into your arms “Where is it! TELL ME NOW (Y/N)!” You smile at him but before he can say anything else foot steps approach you.

    “Now tell me what have we h'er?” Harry Hook smirks at you as he approaches you. His accent filled with mischief along with his smirk. Jack pulls out his sword and puts you infront of him with his sword to your throat.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I where you Harry.” Jack challenged Harry and held the sword closer to your neck. “Ye'r always been so hot headed Jack. I’m h'er because ye beat up my best matey.”

    You and Harry haven’t spoken to each other since you where eleven. He was a quiet boy who always stole your toys and flirted with you. He’s so much different to the Harry you knew.

    “You mean Gil? That air head had it coming. He didn’t even put up a fight.” You see Harry clench his jaw and let out a growl. “He isn’t an airhead like ye!” Harry attacks Jack pushing him to the ground. He punches Jack multiple times. You stumble back with new tears falling from your eyes “sstop.” You try to pull Harry of Jack before he kills him. “No Harry stop he’s not worth it.” He stops and steps away from Jack who is now coughing up blood.

    You feel something dripping down your arm. You look down at your shoulder to see a giant gash running from the base of your neck to your shoulder. You try to stop the bleeding with your hand but start to feel light headed.

    Grabbing Harry’s hand you pull him away from Jack “common lets go” Harry refuses to move. You sigh realsing your arm. Blood covers your hand and you try to wipe it off. Before you realize Jack is up again and pushes you off the dock into the water.

    As your falling you hear Harry yelling and a loud thud. Your body sinks into the water and the pain in your arm intensifies.

    Living on the Isle you were to afraid of the water to learn how to swim. You slowly start to feel your body go numb when a pair of arms wrap around your waist pulling you up to the surface.

    You wrap your arms around your savour as you take big breaths. You lay your head in the crook of there neck as they carry you to shore. Once your feet are on the ground you look at your savior “Harry? You saved me?” Harry looks down at you with a smirk “The one and only Princess.”

    He bows at you before walking away. “Wait” you grab his hand to stop him “How did you know that I couldn’t swim?” Before he could reply pain shot through your arm making you fall to your knees.

    You grab your shoulder trying to stop the now bigger cut on your arm from bleeding, holding back tears.

    Harry sits infront of you and takes off his blue headscarf. “Let me help” you flinch away from his touch but let him look at the cut. “I’m gonna have to wrap it up to stop the bleeding so I can treat it back at me ship.” You nod your head and he starts wrapping his scarf around your shoulder.

    Once he’s finished he picks you up and carries you to his farthers ship. “What about Jack?” Harry stops for a second “I beat him up. He will never threaten ye again love” you blush at him calling you love and lay your head on his chest.

    Once he sneaked you past Uma’s crew and got you to his chamber he layed you down on his bed. Still soaking wet from the ocean you protested, but he wouldn’t listen “I’ll be back I have to get the first aid kit. I promise” nodding your head you watched him leave his room locking it on his way out.

    After a few minutes he returned holding a dusty wooden box and a glass of water. “Drink this” taking the drink from his hands you watch him arrange medical supplies next to you.

    “Thankyou for all this” Harry stoped what he was doing to look at you. “I saw what he did, what me Captain did. I’m sorry.” He looks away from you and continues to gather medical supplies.

    You place a hand on Harry’s shoulder “It’s okay” he sighs and nodds his head. Inspecting your arm again he let out another sigh.

    “For me to be able to clean this wound properly your going to have to take your shirt off” Harry’s cheeks turn a light pink as he looks away from you. You carefull remove your shirt leaving you in your bra.

    He tries not to stare at you but couldn’t help himself. He mumbled “Wow” before he started to clean the wound. You flinch before he applyed a bandage being careful not to hurt you.

    “Try not to get it wet or apply pressure” he wouldn’t stop looking at you. A cold breeze comes throu the window making you shiver. He walks over to his cardboard and grabs a black singlet and a pair of track pants.

    “I’m sorry it’s not much” he walks out the door letting you get changed.

    Once your done you open the door letting him back in. You look to the ground digging your feet into the floor “Harry can I stay here please? Just for tonight. I..I.. don’t have anywhere to go. It’s ok if yo…” He cuts you off by pulling you into a hug being careful of your injury “I’d love ye to”.

    He lays down in his bed patting the space beside him. “No it’s ok I’ll sleep on the coach.” Before you can protest he pulled you under the covers wrapping his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me again.”

    Noding your head you start to drift of with a smile on your face.

    You finally got your best friend back…Your crush

    Notice Me!

    “And you’re telling me this because?”

    “It’d be a shame if you died, that’s all.”

    Genre: Fluff???

    Pairing: Teacher!Jungkook x reader, BadBoy!Yoongi x reader

    1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

    The sun had begun to set. Gripping onto the train pole, your eyes were glued to the window as various buildings washed pass every other second. You inhaled deeply. Adjusting the straps on your bag, you winced as the heavy textbooks weighed down your spine. You were looking forward to take a shower at home and then taking a nap. Anything would be better than having to replay those words in your mind over and over again. You let out a heavy breath, closing your eyes.

    “Jungkook…” you mumbled.

    The image replayed within your mind like a broken record. His smile. His lips. The way the train blew his hair as his tie danced softly in the wind. You reach a hand to your chest, squeezing your sweater tightly. “Why am I acting like this?” you curse to yourself. The train carriage was nearly empty, leaving you standing alone in your thoughts.

    The day Jungkook transferred to your school was a Wednesday. Jungkook’s hair was black then and he wore his glasses often. The first time he had stood in front of the class you had assumed he was a new student just like you. “Hello everyone,” he said as he lowered down in a slight bow, “I’m Jeon Jungkook and I will be your new home room teacher.”

    “Teacher?!” Namjoon blurted, causing the whole class to laugh.

    Joy piped up, leaning forward in her seat, “You look like you just graduated high school?”

    Jungkook laughed as the class agreed in unison. He smiled widely as you watched quietly. He wore plain black dress pants and a white button down shirt. You instantly felt your chest clench every time he moved a muscle. The shirt was too tight on him. “Yes well,” he said, “I hope we all have a good time together!” He smiled. The whole class started to bicker amongst each other. All eyes were on Jungkook except for you who stared outside the window. How are you going to concentrate when there’s practically a celebrity idol walking around the room? You huffed, resting your chin in the palm of your hands.


    You felt a small tap on your shoulder. Turning to your side, Jimin pointed towards the front. Jungkook looked at you, eyes soft and filled with curiosity.

    “Sorry?” You asked, putting your hand down and placing your hands under your desk fiddling with the hem of your skirt. His voice was sweet like honey dripping off every word.

    Jungkook let out a small laugh, “I asked what your name was.”

    “Oh,” you puffed, “It’s (Y/N).”

    The class looked back at you and then at Jungkook who let out a soft smile, “Nice to meet you (Y/N),” he said, “Next time please refrain from daydreaming,” he laughed, “I’ve only been here for a few minutes and I’m boring you already.”

    There was an unfamiliar glint in his eyes you couldn’t decipher. His voice, you have sworn you have heard before. An eyebrow raised towards you as he leaned against the desk, arms stretched out in front of him, “(Y/N?)”

    Everyone chuckled as the heat rushed to your cheeks, “Sorry.” Your fingers held your heated cheeks as you returned your attention outside. Jungkook let out a laugh before picking up a marker, writing down on the board.

    During the rest of the week, Jungkook was all every girl talked about. You couldn’t blame them. Who would have thought a man like Jungkook would teach at your school? Even today, you can’t shake him off your mind. Every time you had closed your eyes, Jungkook’s mischievous smile looked up at you. 

    The train had started to slow down. The towns getting closer and closer to the window. The sky had become a dusty pink as bits of orange began to appear. Stepping out of the open train doors, you hopped onto the platform. Making your way home, a soft sigh escaped your lips. One step in front of the other, you watched your feet move along the pavement. How are you going to face him now?

    It was too early.

    You grumbled as your alarm screamed at you from the bedside table. Reaching an arm from under the warm covers, you slapped it back to sleep. Sitting up, you twist your torso from side to side feeling your back pull. You smiled, stretching with a grin. Pulling off the covers, you slipped on some socks as you headed towards the bathroom. Your tiny had apartment smelled like fresh coffee and breakfast cereal. The sound of cars and trucks driving by your apartment muffled through the windows. As your socks glided against the floor, you made your way to the laundry, pulling your sweater out of the dryer. You held the collar to your nose. “Ah!” you sighed, inhaling the fresh smell of soap and flowers. The faint melody of your ringtone echoed through the halls as you lightly jogged to your bedroom. Pressing it against your ear, you continue to wander around the house.


    “Good morning (Y/N)!” Joy’s voice chirped, “I need to ask you a favour.”

    You huffed, walking over to the bathroom mirror. You put the phone on speaker as you placed it on top of the sink. “What is it?” You asked, hands playing around with your hair. After fixing yourself up, you walked over to the kitchen. With a thump you placed your bag on top of the table, throwing in a water bottle. Opening up a cabinet above the counter, you felt the cold morning air nip at your exposed back. Reaching forwards, you managed to grab your lunch box.

    “I’m going to be late to school,” Joy said as you opened up the lid, rolling your sleeves up, “Can you cover for me?”

    You quickly scraped last night’s left over fried rice and sausages into the container before pressing the lid back down. Sliding the pink container into your bag, you rushed to the bathroom. “You owe me one,” you say, tying your hair up. Pulling some strands out around your face you looked down at your phone.

    “Thank you so much (Y/N) my loving baby-“

    Never being one for pet names, you grimaced, “Okay I’ll see you later!”

    Joy’s laugh sun through the speaker, “See you!”

    You had taken solitude in walking. Walking had meant that you could take in the empty street with open arms, listening to the leaves rustle in your remote neighbourhood. The early morning came through a bright blue sky as white blotches of clouds spread above like cotton candy. Turning to another street, a familiar figure had already began walking towards the train station. You craned you neck before spotting the black backpack, a small teddy bear swinging back and forth its zipper.

    “Kim Namjoon!”

    The trains were always cramped in the morning. Many people in your town had preferred to as it meant that they could save money on petrol. You looked around the congested train. Countless business men were reading their own newspaper. Students from different high schools laughed along with their friends. You were all huddled into one space, waiting to start your day.

    “Aren’t you helping Yoongi study?” Namjoon asked. The both of you had taken the train together nearly every day for the past few months. Not long after you had met Joy, you had also met the boy with the teddy bear backpack. Namjoon lived in the same house since he was a baby. It was surprising to see him greet you at your house when you had first moved into the tiny apartment.

    You nodded, fiddling with your bag, “Just until he gets his grades back up before the exams.”

    Namjoon nodded, humming, “Hopefully this will keep him grounded.” He said, his attention towards the small fluffy toy strapped to his bag. You chuckled.

    By the time you took your seat at the edge of the classroom, school was already in action. The loud cheers of classes outside, the whistling of cleaners, the turning of paper and the squeaks of shoes against hard wood floors have already begun. Another day was in motion. Everyone was writing down the notes Ms. Kwon had scribbled up on the board. A few rows ahead of you, Namjoon and Taehyung were already laughing at something they saw outside. A few seats next to them, a lump with blonde hair slept quietly. You smiled.

    “Hey (Y/N),” someone whispered.

    You glanced over to the seat next to you, Jimin smiling. You raised your eyebrows. A worried look filled his eyes as he fiddled with his pen, twirling it between his fingers. He looked at the empty seat a few rows ahead of him before turning back towards you, “Where’s Joy?”

    A cheeky smile rose on your lips, “She slept in don’t worry Jimin,” you tried not to grin, covering your mouth. The silver haired boy slowly nodded, turning back towards the front. You had almost missed the sight of him tucking his bottom lip under his teeth, flipping through his notebook quietly.

    You turned to the window, one arm propped up as your chin nestled into your palm. You were grateful that Ms. Kwon gave you the seat right next to the window. Many classes had been lost in translation as your gaze was always fixated outside. There was nothing better than to let your mind doze off in a daydream. However today your attention had been occupied by a familiar figure making its way across the field. You watched quietly. Jungkook stood at the edge of the field smiling. The same blue clipboard was tucked beneath his arm as he had one foot on top of a soccer ball. You gulped as Jungkook brushed a hand through his hair and continue to roll up his sleeves. Yesterday’s events still fresh in your mind.

    Silently your eyes followed him around the field. Jungkook kicked the soccer ball towards a group of boys before laughing. He laughed the same way. Slightly leaning forward with one hand clutching his stomach. His eyes would slightly crinkle as his smile would show. You had memorised every inch of that laugh. The same sweet melody that played as he walked with you after school.

    You huffed, paying attention to the many notes you had forgotten to write down. “Stupid Jungkook.”

    The whole day you had been avoiding him. You had made sure that you wouldn’t bump into the teacher with the bright smile and coffee coloured hair. Throughout the day, every step and every turn had been perfectly designated. Joy had complained how weird you were numerous times as you dragged her through the longer hallways rather than taking the stairs to get to class. You hadn’t told anyone about yesterday’s incident. Not even Joy. You had thanked the heavens that Jungkook was not teaching your class today. You couldn’t imagine what would happen. The thought of his eyes on you once more made your bottom lip tuck in between your teeth.  

    By lunch, you had felt your stomach grumble. Everyone was making their way outside, desperate to get away from papers and pens.“Let’s eat,” you told Joy, pulling her through another lengthy hallway around the school. Making your way outside, your eyes caught onto the small brown bench in the sun. A grin appeared on your face as your hand clutched tightly onto Joy’s, pulling her, “Come on-”

    Suddenly, Joy came to a halt. Turning your head, you watch her look back inside before turning back to you, “(Y/N) Can I ask you another favour?” she asked. You raised an eyebrow and lightly let go of her wrist. You watched as her eyes danced around outside before making eye contact with you. 

    “What is it?” you asked curiously. Joy giggle sheepishly, rubbing her hand up and down her arm. You raised your eyebrow higher, wondering what she was up to. 

    You didn’t know why Joy wanted to eat in the cafeteria today. It was loud and rowdy inside, everyone sitting down and talking. It was the complete opposite of how you preferred to spend your lunch break. Rigid in your seat, you listened as Joy continued to sing about how Jimin’s hair looked ‘so ridiculously cute’ today. You pouted as you looked out the window. You missed the bench. You missed the fresh air. You missed the sun. You were not fond of the chaotic mess, the smell of student sweat, over sprayed perfume and screeching cafeteria chairs. However, after countless tugs on your sleeve and whiny cries of reasoning, Joy had managed to sit you down inside. You huffed. 

    “So how was teaching Yoongi yesterday?” Joy asked, ignoring your attitude as she rummaged a fork through her salad. She picked up a piece of chicken, staring at you as she nibbled on it, “Is he dumb?”

    Your eyes widened as your head quickly whipped behind you. Not too far away, Yoongi was sitting with his friends at a table not too far away. You quickly gazed at how he took a swig of water, focused on whatever was on his phone. Surrounding him was Jimin, Namjoon, Taehyung and a few guys from the class next door- Jin and Hoseok. They were all laughing at a joke Jin had said. Yoongi was silent, as if no one was in the room. As if he had felt your gaze, his head lifted from his phone. Turning back to Joy with a worried look in your eyes as you said, “Joy, you can’t just ask people if they’re dumb.”

    “I just did though?” she asked. Her dark hair was tied up in a big bun, curled strands of hair framing her face. You were amazed as she pulled the fork out of her mouth, eyes wide.

    You chuckled, “Whatever,” you said, taking a sip of your water, “Teaching him wasn’t as bad as I thought. He picks it up really well.”

    Joy hummed as she finished her salad, pushing the empty container away from her, “Aren’t you guys meeting up again after school?”

    You nodded, finishing your sandwich, “He better not be late this time,” you muttered. Joy shook her head, laughing.

    Yoongi was late again.

    The clock on the wall above you had laughed at you as another ten minutes had passed. Craning your neck to look outside the window, you couldn’t see him anywhere. Frustration began building up inside of you.

    “Where are you?” you mumbled to yourself, tapping your nails against the wooden desk. You weren’t getting paid for this.

    Getting up from your chair you didn’t bother packing up your books, just in case he came in last minute. Tightening your ponytail, you made your way outside of the library. “Maybe he’s making another phone call?” You asked to yourself as you walked around outside. He wasn’t near the boy’s bathroom. Nor was he at the cafeteria. After a few minutes of playing hide and seek by yourself, the frustration had begun to rise as you ran around the school trying to find him.

    “I could be at home eating,” you whine, standing outside the library with your hands on your hips. Just before you turn around to go back inside, a small sliver of grey had caught your eye. The grey smoke swirled into the air before disappearing into the fading blue sky. Your eyes traced it to the back of the library. You frowned, taking your steps towards it. You found yourself making your way to the back of the library, curiosity bubbling within your stomach. However, as you turned the corner nothing but shock had caused your eyes to slightly widen,

    “You smoke?”

    Yoongi stood at the back of the library, back against the wall with one leg propped up. He was looking up at the sky, white ear buds covering his ears. You coughed, waving the smoke away from your face,


    His eyes darted to you, “Crap.” He looked down at his phone, checking the time, “What are you doing back here-“

    “You smoke?” you repeated.

    He stood turned towards you, one hand in his pocket and the other pinching a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled both ear buds out, letting them dangle against his chest. You watched him bring the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling it before releasing a cloud of grey from his lungs. His stare almost piercing through you. Your eyes narrowed.

    “Cut it out.”

    Rolling his eyes he dropped it on the gravel before squishing it down with a black sneaker. You watched it fizzle as its ashes drowned itself. You couldn’t believe it. “How could you smoke?” you asked.

    Yoongi craned the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he massaged the back of his neck, “Because it helps me relaxed,” he said before peeping one eye open at you, “maybe you should try it sometime.” 

    You scoffed, “You know I don’t have to teach you English so I don’t get why you’re acting this way.”

    He shrugged, kicking down at the now crushed cigarette, “Then why don’t you?” He asked, looking up at you with a sly smirk. He looked tired, “No one forced you to anyway.”

    You had never been at the back of the library as it was considered an out-of-bounds area. You assumed that was the place neighbourhood cats would roam. It only made sense that Yoongi would have a smoke here. It was a place no one would ever think of going to. You sighed, “Because you need it.”

    His ears perked as he let out a low laugh, “What do you get out of it? Some dirty fling with Jungkook?”

    Your lips parted as a small gasp escaped, “Excuse me?”

    Yoongi let out a laugh, a mocking tone laced within, “As if you think I didn’t notice,” He said, “Don’t act like you didn’t practically undress him with your eyes right in front of me yesterday,” he chuckled, eyes never meeting yours, “I’m not an idiot.”

    Words couldn’t configure in your mind as yesterday’s events flashed back into your mind. Your hands clenched beside you as you looked away, “I never said you were.”

    Yoongi shrugged as he reached into his pockets and pulled out another cigarette, “Whatever, do whatever you want,” he chuckled, “or whoever you want, I should say.”

    You watched intently as the cigarette dangled in between his pink lips before pulling out a black lighter, bringing it towards the tip. With a click, Yoongi held the orange flame against the cigarette and grey smoke escaped his lungs once again. “It’s none of my business,” he began to say, “but you shouldn’t go after him.”

    You pressed your back against the cool brick wall beside him, eyes never leaving the leaves that swayed along the tree branches, “And why’s that?”

    Yoongi took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it besides him, tapping against it, ash falling onto the ground, “He’s a jerk.”

    “How do you know?” you ask.

    “I just know.” He replied.

    You laughed, nodding. For some strange reason, the both of you standing behind the library had felt peaceful to you. You had felt your shoulders loosen, one leg propping up against the brick as you folded your arms, “Well, there’s no point in teaching you today,” you turned your head to the side, facing the blonde as your head leaned against the cool brick, “you better not be late tomorrow.”

    His eyes finally met yours and you felt your body fail to move. There was something within his gaze that held you tightly. Strands of light hair fell against his forehead, the remaining pushed back in a rugged manner. He smelt like cigarettes and soda. “You still want to teach me?” he asked, “After blowing you off twice?”


    He rolled his eyes, “I had a smoke yesterday too, idiot.”

    “You said you had a phone call.”

    He shrugged as he brought it back to his lips, “It’s called lying, Sweetheart,” he laughed as he turned back towards the sky. You felt his gaze release your body as you felt your limbs moving again. Rolling your head back to the trees, you felt the wind hit your knees. Your skirt lifting lightly from the breeze. Placing your hands on top of your thighs, you continued to watch birds fly by.

    “Ever done it before?” Yoongi asked as he ruffled the top of his hair. His uniform was rugged, only half tucked in. His watch slid up and down his thin wrist as he ran thin fingers through his bleached hair. He continued to stare up at the sky. A trance playing within his eyes.

    “Done what?” you asked.


    You didn’t reply. Instead you stood in silence, watching the blue sky continue to fade. Time had felt slow once again. The clouds had spread out like wings. Yoongi didn’t min either, inhaling and exhaling his own clouds into the atmosphere.  The bitter smell irritated your lungs.

    Turning back towards him, your eyes narrowed, “Give me that.”

    Before he could question what you were saying, you stepped towards him. “What are you-“

    You pinched the cigarette out of his lips and you watched the smoke escape his lips. Without a thought you placed it between your fingers, handling it gently as you inhaled it. Yoongi’s eyes widened at the sight. The cigarette was in cased between your soft lips. Running a hand through your hair, you felt the smoke swirl and escape your lungs as puffs of grey drew into the air. You coughed. Vigorously. Yoongi watched you quickly drop the now small cigarette, stomping it into the dirt. A flash of something you couldn’t decipher had shone through his eyes before he rested back against the wall.

    Yoongi clicked his tongue, “Why did you do that?”

    You let out another cough, “Smoking kills you know?” you said. You rested back into the wall, coughing out the remaining tobacco. You sighed, trying to inhale the fresh air above you.

    Yoongi sighed, “And you’re telling me this because?”

    You turned to look at him. You couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or genuine disinterest pointed at you. His eyes were so dark against the blonde strands that covered the bits of his forehead. His skin was so pale and you let out a little cough. You had felt the heat in your skin from your coughing fit.

    “It’d be a shame if you died, that’s all.”

    You couldn’t see the way Yoongi looked at you as your attention turned back towards the green and gold leaves. The way they moved captured you. You coughed once more, “Never again,” you mutter. Pushing yourself off the brick, you began to make your way back inside to get your bag. Making your way back towards the front of the library, your body came to a halt as you bumped into someone.


    Looking up you were met with a face you have been avoiding all day. The teacher with a bright smile and coffee coloured hair. You glanced up. His eyes were cold. His jaw clenched. You stood at the side of the library, one foot digging into the dirt. Jungkook’s eyes were narrow as he tilted his head to the back of the library, “Is there anyone else back there?”

    You lowered your head, eyes not able to meet his, “No.”

    Jungkook nodded, “So you smoke?”

    Again you shook your head as you started down at your shoes, “It was just a one-time thing.”

    He scoffed, “Where did you even get one?”

    You couldn’t reply.

    “Answer me (Y/N).”

    You didn’t.

    Right,” Jungkook muttered, “grab your things and come with me.”

    You nodded, scurrying into the library to get your bag. The sky had dimmed to a dull blue, all the clouds disappearing from above. You grabbed your bag, following behind an angry Jungkook. You felt the bitter taste of Yoongi’s cigarette still lingering in your lungs. You wanted to throw up. Walking silently to his office, small tears had slowly started to form in your eyes.

    Jungkook walked ahead of you, quietly.

    Pen Pal

    The majority of Elsewhere U. students really interest me. Those who live in a liminal space and refuse to see anything out of the ordinary.

    This is my first time writing in second-person POV (it happened on accident) and I hope you like it.


    It started dully enough. Someone had written ‘Hello’ in the bathroom (in fancy curly purple script, so extra). Juvenile, but it was the single-stall Everyone bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library, so you were willing to write it off as a bored freshman or something. And maybe you were a little bored yourself. Or lonely. Because you replied. You bought a green Sharpie specifically to respond to the purple word on the light orange paint.
    ‘Hey. W/ u studying?’

    You went to check the little-used bathroom a few days later.
    'Humans’ was written in beautiful purple handwriting under your green message.
    'Psych major, cool. I’m eng-his double major’
    You hoped the janitors wouldn’t clean off or paint over this little conversation. It was a little like having a pen pal. A couple days later you had another reply in purple swirls.

    'Would you do something for me?’
    The request was weird, but so were college kids; and you could always just not do it, you didn’t know who you were talking with, and were pretty sure you weren’t being followed. Like 75% sure. 70% sure.
    'W/ u need?’
    'Bells NOT silver candy cream beads appreciation’
    It took you a few seconds to understand that the beautiful words written at all angles on the wall were a list. (Seriously? Upside down?) It was a pretty cheap request, aside from 'appreciation’, but most college kids lived off dark humor, so you didn’t pay it much mind. Maybe they were doing a psych-sociology experiment; you didn’t want to screw up their data.

    You got some cheap gold-painted aluminum jingle bells, thread, and a package of plastic beads at the craft store. They were the same kind of cheap beads a lot of the art majors wore on necklaces, so you figured that’s what your pen pal wanted. At the grocery store you added a box of unflavored single coffee creamers and a bunch of candy, including caramel with creme centers (you couldn’t tell if 'cream’ and 'candy’ were meant to be combined on the bathroom wall or not). You brought it to the single stall bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library and left the bag in the corner. You threw out the receipts, thought a second, then tore out a piece of paper from your notebook and grabbed your green marker.
    'I appreciate you :)’ You wrote, messily folding the paper into a crane, the only origami you know, and leaving it on top. 

    You went back to your dorm, finding a small pile of pretty-looking junk on a huge leaf on your pillow. Your roommate wasn’t there. Must be a weird prank or some new internet challenge or something. You sorted through the odds and ends. Pretty rocks, tiny animals carved from wood, marbles, pieces of broken safety glass cracked through with green-blue and so fragile that some crumbled off the sides when you picked them up (you cleaned the miniscule slivers of broken glass off your pillow with some duct tape)… Eventually you found a little purple origami turtle. You opened it to find writing inside. 

    'Your assistance is appreciated*’
    There was no other asterisk anywhere else on the paper, so it must have been a stylistic choice, not a grammatical one. You put it out of your mind and carefully refolded the turtle and set everything on your desk to deal with later. Maybe you’d give it to an art student, they always seemed to have little trinkets like that. Or trade, the student body really liked trading, or maybe most colleges full of poor college kids were like that.


    In the week before midterms you suddenly awoke one night. You almost groaned and rolled over to preserve what sleep you could, but when you grabbed your blanket your hand landed on paper. You squinted at the post-it in the dim light, making out swirly fancy handwriting. Across the room, your roommate was asleep. Whatever. You stuck it to your phone and went back to sleep.

    You read the post-it the next morning.
    ‘*I can help’

    “What does that mean?” You asked your roommate, slightly accusingly. He frowned at the note.
    “You should probably leave this alone.” He tells you seriously.
    “Then why did it you stick it to me last night?”
    “What? No I didn’t. My handwriting looks nothing like that.” He had a point. 
    “Are you having a friend write the notes? Is a friend of yours messing with me by way of you?”
    “No, I have no idea what that’s about. But if I were you, I’d steer clear of it. And make sure you have iron, salt, and cream on you.” Pippin was a theatre major, so he may be lying, but if he wasn’t lying his superstitions were true to his nature. The only group that could rival theatre majors for superstitions were D&D players.

    You frowned at the post-it, debating what to do. You decided to stick it to the backside of the dorm door, adding your own post-it below in your green marker.
    ‘Help how?’ You didn’t think your roommate was the plagiarizing type, hopefully he only meant studying together because of how english, history, and theatre all came together.

    You checked the back of the door after lunch to find a new post-it.
    ‘If you want to find out, come to the pool party tonight. I’ll find you.’
    You debated. You knew you needed to study for midterms, but what if your roommate could help? What if he was trying (in a really weird roundabout way) to take your mind off midterms and get you to relax? You decided to go.

    The pool party was more fun than you thought it’d be. You jumped in the deep end and swam around there early in the evening, before you could get drunk. They were playing good music, had more than just cheap beer in the coolers. You were genuinely having a good time.
    “Hey.” A smiling girl in a bikini put her arm around your shoulders. “You’re Green Marker, right?”
    “You’re Purple Marker?” You asked. She nodded. “How do you know Pippin?”
    “I know all the theatre majors in passing. And I know anyone down that deep in the library could use a hand come test time. What do you say?”
    “You’d help me study? Without plagiarizing?”
    “You’d have to provide me with something, too. Fair’s fair.”
    “What would you want?”
    “What are you willing to offer?”
    “More candy?” You tried.
    “To help you ace your midterms?”
    “Okay, um…”

    You tried to think. People were always saying to never wager something you couldn’t bear to lose. What was something valuable enough to get studying help, but that you could bear to lose? You glanced around and realized you’d been slowly walking away from the party, into the darkness.
    “I’ll give you…” She wanted appreciation. “I’ll give you my friendship. How’s that?”
    “Wonderful.” She sighed, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.


    Kenneth Branagh interview: ‘Tom Hiddleston and I were always honest about Hamlet’

    Kenneth Branagh has directed the theatrical event of 2017 – but there will be no encore, he says

    Kenneth Branagh is bounding about on stage at RADA’s Vanbrugh Theatre in Bloomsbury, central London. As well as being one of the country’s best-known actors and a feted film director, he’s also president of the oldest, most prestigious drama school in the UK, and everything about his bearing suggests confidence and an ownership of this plush space. But at this precise point, he’s recalling the moment in 1979 when he recited a soliloquy from Hamlet – “Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I…” – in front of the Queen and Prince Philip to mark the school’s 75th anniversary.

    He gestures round the intimate auditorium, incredulous: “There was John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson, Edward Fox, John Hurt, all these people – and the Queen of England! I was about 19. Talk about learning to deal with nerves!” At the end, the Queen asked him how he managed to remember his lines. He meekly replied that he didn’t know.

    In contrast to that daunting rite of passage, Tom Hiddleston – playing the Dane under Branagh’s direction in a special fundraising production at the school, where Hiddleston also trained – might be thought to have got off lightly. Yet he too has felt the heat this past month. A huge talking point, “Hiddleham” has eclipsed this year’s putative standout account of the part from Sherlock star Andrew Scott.

    Keep reading

    Labels - Jeff Atkins

    HAPPY FRIDAY SURPRISE! This is one of my original writings, unrequested, just me. You may also notice it’s a 13 Reasons Why character……That’s because, when I open my request box…

    13 Reasons Why character requests will be taken!

    (once I open my requests again)

    The reader is kind of an outcast so fair warning : much self-loathing and dramatic loneliness. Gender neutral reader as well.

    Originally posted by words-plus-wisdom

    The music seemed to echo through the crowded house as you pushed your way through the crowd. You decided, on a whim really, that you should at least attend one party during your High School career. It didn’t help that everyone of your friends was begging you to tag along. It was really just one friend, one of the few one you had made at Liberty High.

    “L/N!” You turned your head and smiled at Jeff, who was walking into the kitchen when he saw you. His bright eyes were wide with excitement and the high of social interaction. His extroverted lifestyle made your friendship even more outlandish. You were awkward, shy, and above all else, totally unworthy of Jeff’s attention. Let alone his friendship. As pointed out by almost everyone at school, you were odd to say the least. When people saw you and Jeff exchange, they’d stare at you for minutes after; as if trying to reason through what they saw.

    “Atkins,” you shouted back, trying to sound as enthused as he had. His blue-green eyes flickered from your eyes to your apparel, making you slightly self-conscious. As he walked closer to you, you felt your heartbeat start to increase.

    “You look great, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, “really good.” Your cheek enflamed at his words and you were left with no idea how to respond. The effect he had on you was overwhelming at times, but you down played it with joking in return. Though sometimes, like this moment for instance, it was hard to dish it out. He pulled away from you, just enough to met your gaze while still remaining close to you.

    “T-Thanks, Jeff,” you stuttered out. He grinned at you brightly, his deep dimples showing on his slender cheeks. With his familiar smile, a sense of ease washed over you. You were no longer at a noisy party, you were just with Jeff in that moment.

    “I’m glad I was able to convince you to come,” he said over the loud music. “I was worried you weren’t going to show.” Now it was your turn to grin.

    “How could I say no to Jeff Atkins?” A light pink blush rose to his face, bringing out the color of his eyes even more. You were gaining your edge back. Your relationship with Jeff always consisted of teasing flirtations and jokes, and trying to help out Clay. The two boys became your closest friends at school, despite the shock of Jeff’s teammates. You often found yourself thinking about how strange it was to be, someone like you, but be so close to someone like Jeff.

    You didn’t have a set label at school, despite the gossip you’d pick up on sometimes. People would try to figure you out; maybe you were gay and felt isolated? Perhaps they’re an outcast? Or the emo loner? These titles would loom over your head like rain clouds at school. It didn’t help that you hardly spoke up in class, or spoke to anyone at all. Hanging out in the library with Clay was your only social outlet. Later on, through Clay’s tutoring of him, you met Jeff. Jeff didn’t care about the things whispered by the others, he saw you as you; unique.

    A warm hand on your fore arm shook you from your thoughts of darker days turned bright. You looked up at met Jeff’s eyes once more. His face was full of concern.

    “You alright? You spaced out a little.” You nodded quickly, breaking the eye contact between the two of you.  

    “I’m fine,” you said trying to play it off. Jeff was having none of it, he knew you too well. He leaned closer to you, making you meet his eyes again.

    “What’s wrong?” You placed a careful hand on his broad chest and pushed him away a little. He looked at your hand and back to you face, still waiting for a real answer.

    “Really, I’m fine, Jeff. Go off with your friends and play beer pong or whatever cliche high school party game of choice.” A soft smile crept onto both of your faces at your sarcasm, but Jeff’s faded soon after it’s appearance.

    “You’re my friend too,” he whispered. You just shook your head and gave him a shy smile.

    “Go have fun,” you said brightly, “I’ll be fine.” Jeff gave you a hesitant look until your pushed a little ways away. You let out a small chuckle.

    “Go,” you said once more. He smiled and let out a sigh.

    “You leave me with no choice,” he said walking backwards towards the living room. “But I will come back for you!” With that, Jeff disappeared into the crowd behind him. You watched until you could no longer see his brown hair above the crowd. You turned back to the counter full of food before you. More people were starting to file into the kitchen so you quickly grabbed a cup of some drink and left. As you walked out, your ran into the one and only Bryce Walker.

    “Y/N, who pegged you as a party person?” You swallowed hard as his question. You knew better than to become friendly with Bryce. Anyone who did tended to fall head-first into trouble.

    “Yeah, Jeff wanted me to come,” you tried to push past him as you answered his question. He was quick as he blocked your way with one of his arms.

    “How do you and Jeff know each other again? It just seems like an unlikely pairing, the two of you?” You raised your eyebrows at him and tried to escape him once more; to no avail.

    “We met through a mutual friend,” you hissed, but Bryce didn’t take the hint.

    “How does someone like you keep Jeff Atkins around?” He grew closer to you as he spoke. “You’re just…and he’s the star-member of the baseball team. You must do favors, right? Would you mind doing one for me?” You tensed as he grew closer, his almost predatory eyes watching you like a hawk. The couple that had been standing behind you moved, freeing up space so you could back away from Bryce. You turned away from him and darted out of the kitchen the other way. Tears were forming in your eyes as you rounded the corner into the living room. When you glanced up, your eyes met with Jeff’s. The smile on his face faded when he saw you and he walked away from his conversation with Sheri. He headed towards you, his eyebrows furrowed.

    “Y/N, what happened?” His hands went to your upper arms, but you shook them free. Jeff watched worriedly as you struggled to find the right words.

    “I’m leaving Jeff. I’ll see you around.” You pushed past him, despite his protests, and out of the door. The outside air was cold against your skin, but you needed to go home. Get away from everything; but Bryce’s words echoed in your skull like the music through the house. Why would Jeff want to hang out with you? The favors Bryce referenced never happened, but to be around someone like you without such ‘favors’ must be horrendous.

    You shook your head at the thought, trying to focus on walking home. You watched as your shoes hit the sidewalk over and over again; not even hearing the car driving alongside the path. When you did hear it, you didn’t look up, just ignored it. Until the driver spoke up.

    “Y/N! Please get in the car,” Jeff shouted, “it’s cold.” You looked over and met his eyes. His face was filled with concern and you wondered why he even looked at you at all. You looked back down at your feet and continued walking. The car stopped, causing you to look up as Jeff opened the door. He ran towards you, catching up to you in a matter of seconds. His hands grabbed your shoulders, stopping your walk. You turned to face him and his gaze softened when he noticed the tears.

    “Y/N,” his voice was quiet when he addressed you now. Instead of waiting for an explanation, Jeff just pulled you to him and wrapped his arms over your shoulders. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, until you felt the need for affection. Your arms snaked around Jeff’s waist, trying to hold him as tightly as he was holding you.

    “You’re too good for me,” you choked out through tears. Jeff remained quiet, waiting for you to tell him more.

    “I’m so unlikeable, I’m not even close to how friendly you are. People stare at me, wondering how a loser like me can be friends with someone like you. They just stare, judging and it’s just…” You trailed off, burying your face into Jeff’s chest.

    “Are you nuts? You’re too good for me,” he whispered and you pulled away from him. “You’re beyond any label anyone could put on you and that’s amazing. People see me, they think ‘jock’ but when they stare at you,” his hand traveled up to your cheek.

    “They see someone so complex they don’t even know what to say. Now that’s amazing.” His thumb traced over your cheekbone as he stared into your eyes. “I love that about you.”

    Jeff’s eyes glanced from your eyes to your lips, as if thinking about the impossible. Your feelings rushed towards the surface, feelings you didn’t even realized you had. You stepped closer to him, hands resting on his chest softly.

    “You gonna push me away again?” His voice carried a soft, teasing tone to it when he spoke. You smiled up at him shyly, your whole body fluttering with anticipation.

    “No,” you whispered as your heart sped up in your chest. His hand still caressed your cheek, while his other moved to your waist to pull you closer. It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. The noise of the party drowned out as you became immersed in the feeling of Jeff’s lips on yours. The loathing thoughts in your head melted away, leaving you with a warmth you felt only with him. His hands pulled you closer, closing any gap between the two of you. Your hands curled in the soft material of his shirt, causing a grin to spread on his pink lips.

    “Ya know what the shirt is made of?” Jeff asked as he pulled his lips away from yours. You caught your breath and hummed when you felt his lips land on your cheek. He kissed his way all over your face until your finally replied.

    “I don’t know, what is it made of?” Jeff pulled away, a smug grin on his lips.

    “Boyfriend material.” You stared at him for a long moment until finally giving into the laughter. You slumped your head against his shoulder, trying to stop your fit of giggles. If anyone could turn a horrible night around, it had to be Jeff.

    “That was a really dumb, well timed joke, Atkins.” You lifted your head and met his eyes, which held pure amusement within them.

    “If it made you smile it was far from dumb.” You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and smiled at Jeff.

    “Now what do you say we get out of the cold and away from the prying eyes of half the student body?” You nodded at his offer, causing yet another grin to spread across his lips. He let go of your briefly, only to wrap a strong arm over your shoulders to lead you to his car.

    “So where to?” You smiled and shrugged; for it didn’t matter where you went. As long as your were with Jeff, nothing seemed to matter at all. Not even a label.