you were such a joy to talk to

..miss you

Lately my lips, they dont feel like mine. I miss you. I miss your walk, your annoying whistle that you do when you get home from work. I miss your stupid questions like whether fish understand english or not, that you felt the need to ask at 1 am. I miss your smell, the way you pour your cereal before the milk or how you hate it when i give the dog more attention than you. He misses you too by the way. Mostly i miss your kindness, you were my personal source of joy and wellbeing that i didn’t realize how much i needed till it got up and walked out the door behind you. I miss the way you would talk really slow, it made me hang on your every word.

I however don’t miss the fights, the way you would come home at 3 am smelling of beer and burnt cigarettes. I don’t miss the feeling of ache that spread in every inch of my being when you left. I don’t miss the sleepless nights i sat there, staining your old shirt that you left behind with hot tears and self doubt. I don’t miss the feeling of knowing this would never last, regardless of all of the love that was shared both physically and mentally, you were a wildfire and I was an ocean and one of us wasn’t willing to extinguish for the other.

Originally posted by hrrystyles

“how can you be intimate with someone if you’re aromantic??”

sharing secrets, trusting them with your life, telling them about that stupid thing you did when you were 14 and haven’t told anyone else since, being there for them any time day or night, talking til three in the morning, letting yourself cry around them, sharing grief, sharing joy, getting excited about the things they’re excited about just because you love to see them so happy about something

anonymous asked:

Do I really have to exist

i am not god; i sometimes think about how much doesn’t have to exist, myself included. it’s a problem i find a lot. i don’t feel necessary.

but then, neither is my dog. he is a sheepdog with no sheep. he has nightmares a lot. his purpose is moot.

one of my cats only eats bugs. he won’t catch mice. for an obligate carnivore, he loves moths.

is it required that i or you or anyone else exists. maybe not. but i kind of think of it as a small miracle. you do exist. despite how scientifically improbable it was for you to be created, you were. and something in that is beautiful, you know? the universe needed eyes to watch all these unnecessary things it created. you don’t spend hours on your sim house just to put no people in it. does a house require people to exist? no. but it does require people to be a home.

i know the world demands you Fulfill Thine Divine Purpose. i think that’s kind of bogus. you don’t have to be useful or valuable or exceptional to be worth something. my dog is worth so much to me. the idea that he’s not necessary is silly to me.

yes, i know. life goes on when people leave. true, and true indeed. i think about that a lot. but i also know that my sister’s cat goes to check to see if she’s home every night, and she’s been gone for months. 

grand scheme? who knows. but the truth is that other people need you because you help them feel like they exist with purpose. maybe you haven’t met the right people yet. i felt strongly in senior year of high school that nothing i did mattered - after all, i had no friends. i was bullied. if i died, it would make zero difference. and maybe it would have. maybe the gap would have filled after me. maybe my cat would learn that i was gone, that nobody was coming. maybe my mom would foster a new daughter. who knows. i’m not god.

but i do know if i didn’t exist. if i had taken myself off the table because i didn’t have to exist…. i wouldn’t be here talking to you and all of my new friends here. i wouldn’t tell you that, since you’re here, you might as well enjoy the rest of the things that shouldn’t exist. televisions are sound and image boxes. music and art and dance and writing don’t have to exist, but they do because they bring us joy, fill us with harmony. airplanes are godless flight machines and if god wanted us off the ground he would have given us wings.

airplanes were someone saying “this doesn’t have to exist, but i want it to.”  and i want you to exist because it’s worth it. it’s worth it for the dog you might adopt or the tattoo you might get or skinny dipping or writing songs or planting a garden. all things in life that won’t exist without you, that won’t happen without you around to make them happen. that need you to exist so they can exist too. 

please stay on this earth. i can’t force you, i can’t offer you a promise that the world ever stops hurting. but i can say that somewhere, to someone, you matter. and you matter to me, because you exist, because you reached out to me, because you have a question that i ask myself daily. 

here’s my suggestion. when i’m at the point that the rope has a stronger pull than the art of the world, i make myself count the things that are good, and didn’t have to exist, but do. libraries. books. bath bombs. me and you. because i know we can be a force for good, you and i. somewhere on some level we can help others or just help ourselves and that’s…. good. and i think, really, in this universe that loves entropy, yes, absolutely, we need you. we need the good you can do. and we need you. or, at least: i do.

rule breakers. (m)

based on the prompt, “best friend’s sibling au”
drabbles

pairing: kim taehyung | reader
genre: fluff, light smut
warnings: light voyeurism
word count: 20,453
description: there’s some unresolved history involving your best friend’s brother… but hey, maybe some rules are meant to be broken.
author’s note: i get inspired by the oddest little tidbits, and i swear the word count was supposed to be half the amount you see up there. also, say hello to the longest one-shot i’ve done so far.

Originally posted by kths


You have one of the greatest fortunes to be acquainted with the Kims in your first year of primary education, and perhaps it’s what has led you to one of your greatest downfalls (but we’ll get into that later on).

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Mothers’ Weekend

Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k


Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.

It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.

She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.

See. Bad mother.

A good mother would have known somehow.

A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.

A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.

She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…

God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.

A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.

Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.

She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.

And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…

She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.

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the floor is lucretia’s radiant smile that you learnt to treasure during your 100 years of journey, full of joy and relief that is the same you just saw, moments ago, when magnus burst into the dome, alive again, a mannequin no longer. her friends were here again, in her hour of greatest need, but that smile is gone now. the hunger is here, again. youve escaped it a hundred time but no more. this is it. THIS IS IT.

elennare  asked:

First, I wanted to say that I love love love your Harry Potter fics and what-ifs! thank you so much for writing them :) And I also wondered if you ever written what if the Dursleys had refused to take Harry in?

When Petunia Dursley refused to take Harry in she forfeited his birthright protection, so Dumbledore took the baby to the safest place he knew: Hogwarts.

The applicable staff (mostly just… not Snape) took Harry in on a rotating schedule as he grew from baby to toddler to child. They traded extra credit for babysitting among the older students, and Harry grew up knowing a few dozen different laps that were safe and warm to nap in.

This was a Harry who grew up among books, among old transient walls and learned professors. They gave Binns night duty sometimes, and let him talk young Harry to sleep. This was a Harry whose world changed, on principle, daily. The stairs moved. The walls became doors. You had to keep your eyes open–you had to pay attention. So he did.

He grew up in a school. Knowledge was power, but knowledge was also joy. This was his sanctuary. There was magic in his world from birth.

“The castle will keep him safe,” said Dumbledore, when McGonagall came into his office to complain for the eighth time about Albus’s rather cavalier take on child-rearing. “That’s what it does.”

Then why do we bother with chaperones ever,” McGonagall said, tempted to shriek it. “Should we let all the children run about willy-nilly at all hours, or just the orphan waifs?!

“He’s not a student. He’s a ward of Hogwarts. It will take care of him, Minerva.”

McGonagall walked off fuming. A cat with spectacle markings followed Harry almost constantly from ages three through four. At some point McGonagall was far enough behind on her paperwork, and had seen enough suits of armor carry the kid back to his room, enough draperies lift off the wall and tug Harry away from edges, and enough stairs creakingly shift their slope for his tiny toddler legs. She gave a grumpy sigh, stole some of Albus’s lemon drops, and resigned herself to a magical world.

The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, didn’t really like boys but she liked children. She especially liked patience, and politeness, and Harry had been raised by McGonagall’s stern table manners, by Victorian portraiture and quite a few House Elves. He said please, thank you, and ma'am, and as a child he was very cunning in how he got bedtime stories and bedtime snacks out of most every adult he met.

The Grey Lady told the best stories, you see, the ones with riddles in them. You had to think and ask questions to get all the way through them. So he hunted her down with big patient eyes and plates of very smelly cheese, and she told him stories that made him think.

When Harry was stable enough on his feet to walk, and then to run, Sir Cadogan would race him through the castle, the knight scattering banquet tables and galloping across landscapes, twisting through the abstract gallery up on the seventh and a half floor. Harry stumbled and sprinted up stairways and didn’t notice for years the way Cadogan waited at the end of corridors for him to catch up.

Harry was a chubby-legged toddler, in this world–cute cheeks and stubby limbs. It’s a cute image, yes– but this is important. He was a chubby kid. He ate in a high chair on the teacher’s dais, getting peas and mashed potatoes on the adults beside him– Sprout laughed. Snape didn’t.

But this is important–Harry filled his plate. He wobbled up on little legs and grabbed biscuits from the table, slurped his soup, got marinara sauce on his chin and forehead and somehow behind his ear. When he was hungry, he ate. If he snuck down to the kitchens at night, it was for the adventure of it and nothing else. When he was hungry, he ate.

When he was four, they started letting him go sit down with the students. Bill Weasley, on route to be a prefect next year, took him under his wing and scrubbed his face down after meals. Harry was passed around the Hufflepuff table; theirs was the House Common Room he most liked sneaking into, with its barrels and cozy warmth. Nymphadora Tonks turned her nose a dozen different shapes to make Harry laugh, gurgling, as a toddler (and then a child) (and then for the rest of her life, honestly–it never stopped being funny).

The whole Ravenclaw table got distracted from meals, trying to solve riddles from a book one of their Muggleborns had smuggled in.Harry pushed his fork through his gravy, trying to draw out his thoughts but only making squiggles.

It was years before Harry sat at the Slytherin table for the first time–no one had ever set him down there, like they had with the others. But he liked green–it was the color of Professor Sprout’s greenhouses, where he went and napped sometimes in winter. It was the color of his mother’s eyes, from the little book of moving pictures Hagrid had given him when he was three.

All the Slytherin kids seemed big, but everyone Harry ever met seemed big–except for Flitwick, who was seeming smaller with every growth spurt. He leaned forward, teetering on the bench, and grabbed a chicken drumstick. “Hi,” he said, because he’d had a childhood full of tea parties with high portrait society– the French nobility and the tired housewife from the third floor and an old witch with her sleeve on fire but very particular table manners. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

By the end of the meal, they were flicking peas across the table with their spoons, like catapult projectiles. Harry had been unwelcome in so few places in his life, after he’d left 4 Privet Drive, that he simply didn’t expect it. He asked Warrington, a Slytherin with shoulders like a bulldog’s, to help him with the juice, which was too unwieldy for his kid-sized wrists. Harry sat there blinking, smiling, until Warrington took the jug and poured him a brimming glass.

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two rotten apples [m] | pt. 2

credit: x.

❛❛we’re next-door neighbors and have hated each other since middle school but now we’re going to the same university how can we avoid the other person like the plague so there isn’t a crime scene— what do you mean you promised my mom you would keep an eye on me???? you fucking planned this❜❜ AU

COUNT → 17.686

GENRE → smut | eventual angst

PAIRING → jungkook | reader

WARNINGS → dom and sub tones | spanking mention | mild cum play | explicit language | male and female masturbation | penetration | erotica mention | public sex | restraints | dry humping | graphic dirty talk 

LINKS → 1 | 2 | 3COMING SOON


The second the timer on the drying machine went off to alert you of your shirt finally being dry enough to wear, the band from its neckline snapped against your shoulders when you slipped it back on. You pulled some of the cotton material to your nose, trying to see if it still even faintly smelled like beer.

Unlike your underwear which just smelled like cum and farts.

The farts courtesy of Jungkook. Well, you didn’t know if he actually farted, but he just naturally smelled like that to you—like old beans and moldy cheese.

You’d spent the past two hours in the laundry room in nothing but a bra and your loose-fitted skirt. It still hadn’t hit you yet—at least not entirely—that you had let your next-door neighbor spank and bone the living shit out of you. That was something you were going to put on your list of stupid-things-you’ve-done-but-did-anyway-for-some-reason. Maybe his mother could relate after giving birth to him. You were pretty sure she found him just as annoying as you.

But then everyone else thought rainbows shined out of his ass.

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10

Her speeches were about the sanctity of the home, about how women should stay home. Serena Joy didn’t do this herself, she made speeches instead, but she presented this failure of hers as a sacrifice she was making for the good of all. 

Blood (Batmom x Damian Wayne)

Originally posted by sixofclovers

Request:Hi! :D a Batmom request where Damian meets Batmom and doesn’t accept her motherly love towards him until some paparazzi commented something about how she feels knowing Damian isn’t her blood son and is Bruce’s blood son. Like Batmom says some inspirational stuff about blood doesn’t define family. I mean, she knows Bruce wasn’t in consent..but I’m sure the press doesn’t know that part of the story.

I totally stole that “family don’t end with blood” from Bobby Singer from Supernatural. Oops.

Tagging: @crazyfangirl1810


You had been dating Bruce for two months before you met his kids. 

It wasn’t on purpose, you’d just been visiting the manor to return Bruce’s coat to him. He’d lent it to you on a cold night on one of your dates.

Tim was on the couch with his laptop, drinking what was probably his 6th cup of coffee that day. Damian was in his room doing God knows what. Dick was visiting and he stood in front of Damian’s door, attempting to get him to play a video game with him.

A very loud “GO AWAY GRAYSON” startled you as you walked through the door. It probably wasn’t a good idea to come here uninvited. 

Alfred had been the one to open the door but he quickly walked off after excusing himself. By the delicious smell that wafted through the manor, you assumed he was cooking.

“Uh, excuse me?” You said timidly. Tim looked up for the first time and he gaped like a fish. If you weren’t so nervous you would have laughed at his face. 

“You… You’re not a slut?” He whispered, but you still heard. You were confused and unsure if you should be insulted. A loud TT startled you and you looked behind you to find a young boy, no older than 13.

You assumed it was Damian and smiled lightly. “Don’t be so quick to assume, Drake.” He said cockily. “She could still be a whore.”

You were flabbergasted at his language and rudeness. Had the 13-year-old son of the most amazing man you’d ever dated just call you a whore? 

You stood there, shocked. An older man who stood beside the boy nervously chuckled. You assumed he was Dick.

“I’m terribly sorry. Damian has.. well, no filter.” He said quickly. You brushed it off, not wanting to make a bad impression. Too late, you thought bitterly.

“It.. It’s okay.” You managed. Dick gave you a dazzling smile and charm radiated off of him. “I’m Dick, this is Damian and Tim,” He said, pointing at respective persons. 

Damian just scoffed. “What are you doing here, harlot?”  

You nearly fell over from shock. This kid seriously had issues.

“I-I’m here for Bruce. I wanted to return his coat.” You lifted it up as proof.

Bruce finally arrived after you stuttered that out. “Apologies, I was in my study.” He rushed toward you. “Y/N, these are my kids.” He smiled.

You stood there shell-shocked for a moment before smiling lightly. “We met.” You say, a bit of an offended tone to your voice.

You seem to remember what you came for and lifted up his coat. “I, uh, brought your coat,” You let out a shy, cute smile. You handed it to him and said your goodbyes quickly, ignoring Damian’s glare as you said goodbye to him.

After that, you made it your mission to get Damian to like you.

You tried everything. You made him breakfast, which he threw into the trash immediately because he “doesn’t like blueberry pancakes”. You tried to get into what he liked, which was swordplay apparently. You studied for weeks, and he had you beaten in seconds. He insulted you and pointed out your flaws. You were embarrassed, but you didn’t give up.

Bruce offered to speak to him about his behavior but you declined. He’d never like you if you had Bruce talk to him.

It had been 3 months after you met and still, nothing changed.

Until one night. You were attending an auction with Bruce and he had brought Damian along.

Bruce had been answering some questions and you were getting desperate for a drink. You walked over to Damian, hopeful. “Hi, Damian.” You greeted brightly. 

He didn’t answer, he just looked away. At least he didn’t call you a harlot.

You didn’t give up. “Come get a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course.” 

He looked back at you, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m thirsty.”

You nearly jumped for joy but instead smiled and made your way toward the bar. You were interrupted by a reporter. 

“Y/N, you’re dating the Bruce Wayne, aren’t you?” She questioned quickly. You smiled nervously, not prepared. “Yes, I am.” 

“What’s it like? How do you feel about his children?” 

You were growing uncomfortable but answered anyway. “It’s amazing. He is a perfect gentleman. His children are wonderful.” 

Damian was growing annoyed. “Is that all?” He snapped. The reporter looked at him as if she just realized he was there. 

An idea popped into her head and she smiled cockily. “How do you feel about Damian? After all, he isn’t your blood child but he is Bruce’s.” 

Damian nearly started to verbally attack the woman but you answered. “I think of Damian as a son. He might not be my blood, but blood doesn’t make family.” 

You continued, “Family doesn’t end with blood. Family’s got your back, even when it hurts. That’s family. And I consider the Wayne’s to be my family.”

Damian and the reporter looked at you, shocked. Bruce, who was lurking, smiled. You really were perfect.

“Well, I think we should get going.” Bruce smiled at the reporter as he guided you and Damian out of the building.

When you got to the manor Bruce excused himself, leaving you and Damian alone.

You were about to go upstairs when Damian spoke up. “Did you mean that? About family.” 

You turned and smiled at him lightly. “Every word.” 

He nodded, walking away and going up the stairs to his room.

The next morning you were making breakfast, humming along to a song you had in your head. Damian walked toward the kitchen counter and huffed loudly.

You turned your head and smiled. “Good morning, Damian.” His cheeks had a red tint to them and he coughed. “I had a particularly hard training session today. I request blueberry pancakes.” 

You grinned and started cooking.

When they finished, you and Damian sat eating breakfast together. You started to truly feel like a family.

After all, family don’t end with blood.

His || Jungkook || 0.12

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12

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BTS Reaction to Them Being Insecure Before Getting Intimate

GENRE: really fluffy & a tad angsty

WARNINGS: insecurities

REQUESTED: yes

A/N: i got a lil carried away, but i hope you enjoy! sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted at times! enjoy!

MASTERLIST || PLEASE REQUEST


JIN


You reached for Jin’s top button of his shirt, and his breathing hitched. You stopped immediately, feeling as if you did something wrong. You opened your mouth to speak, but soon shut it as Jin’s large hands were placed on top of yours. You locked your eyes with his, and you noticed how zoned out he seemed. You felt your heart ache as you two stood there, wanting to know what was wrong. Jin had never stopped you, and you had never stopped him.

“The managers told me that I need to lose some weight. They want me to cut my diet down, so that’s why I’ve been cooking more healthy foods for us… I still feel as if I am not up to their standards. If they feel that way, you must too. I feel as if you will leave me if I don’t thin up.” Jin spoke quietly, only loud enough for you to hear. You lowered your hands from his chest, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. “Y/N, it’s not that big of a deal; I’ll just keep my shirt on if that’s alright—”

“Jin, you’re so small,” you croaked out, not understanding why he was seen as anything less than perfection. Jin shook his head as he placed his hands on your cheeks. He looked you in the eye, seeing the pain that those words had caused you. You couldn’t imagine being in his spot and being told that. “Please don’t lose weight, Jinnie. I don’t want to see you in an unhealthy place. If you lose weight you'll—”

“I love you,” Jin interrupted. Jin wiped the tears that left your eyes with the pad of his thumb. He nodded at you, not needing to hear the rest of what you had to say. He knew what his baby wanted, and that was the healthy version of him. “I’ll talk to them, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up.” Jin smiled faintly before connecting his lips to yours again. The returned feeling made your heart beat out of joy instead of sorrow. Jin reached his hands down to yours, placing them on his chest again.


YOONGI ( SUGA )


Yoongi’s hands would be on your thighs as you straddled him, his lips on the crook of your neck. You were already down to just your underwear, yet he was still fully dressed. Lowering your hands down to the hem of his shirt, Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered open. His eyelashes tickled your neck, and you stopped yourself there. Usually he would just help you remove his shirt, not wanting to wait much longer. This time, he removed his lips from you.

“Yoongi, did I do something?” You asked, looking him in the eye.

“N– no, you’re… you’re great,” Yoongi breathed. You could hear the pain in his voice as he took your hands in his. You would have gotten off his lap, but he held you close so you wouldn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. “I just haven’t been with you enough. I’m always away working, and we rarely have nights like this where it’s just us.” Yoongi was never good at expressing himself, but neither were you. “I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you what you want.”

“Yoongi,” you squinted your eyes at him. He let out a small sigh, leaning back in the office chair you both resided on. You saw the pain in his eyes as he held onto your hands, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Time doesn’t change how I feel about you. I don’t care if we both don’t feel satisfied; I just want to be with you. I would be just as happy sleeping with your arms locked around me.” Yoongi nodded. “Plus, name one time we did not receive a noise complaint from my neighbors or the boys.”

Yoongi chuckled, “never.”


HOSEOK ( JHOPE )


Hoseok smiled as the two of you sat on your shared bed. He had just thrown your shirt to the floor, and so far everything seemed picture perfect. Hoseok picked you up and placed you on his lap, your cheeks reddening as he did so. He loved seeing the impact he had on you, and you could help but let out a soft giggle as he tapped his fingertips against the small of your back. He grinned against your collarbones at the sound, closing his eyes. You reached down for the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling it up to tease Hobi. He kissed your collarbones.

“My stomach is kind of fat right now jagi,” Hobi stated, making you stop. You could tell with the tone in his voice that he was unhappy with his body. You could see no imperfections, and his words had surprised you. You had seen him shirtless this morning when he got out of the shower, and his abs were definitely there. Even if they weren’t, you didn’t care. Hoseok was Hoseok no matter his body, and you would love him anyway. “Baby?”

“You’re not fat,” you mumbled. Hoseok sighed softly as he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. He smiled at you, glancing down at your lips. “If you think you are, then you shouldn’t. Hoseok, I don’t see where you got that idea at all! I saw your abs this morning when you were getting ready. I can feel the muscles in your back!”

“You always used to praise me for my figure, and you no longer do,” Hoseok explained. You rolled your eyes.

“I thought you got bored of the same compliments I gave out,” you pressed your nose against Hobi’s. He smiled, knowing you didn’t mean to hurt him. He was beautiful no matter his size, and you didn’t have to vocalize that. “If you need me to, I’ll tell you every second of the day how much I love you. I’ll say all of the words that will change your mind. I will kiss you and assure you that your abs now are far better than what they were. Want to know why they’re better?”

“Because they’re mine, and I love them too,” Hoseok finished with what you had planned to say. You giggled, nodding. He grinned widely before throwing his shirt off, placing his lips on yours.


NAMJOON ( RAP MONSTER )


Namjoon had not been in the best mood lately, due to the constant spotlight on the two of you. Because both of you are idols, you both get hate from either sides. His seemed to be more intense than yours, and he understood why. You were gorgeous, with hair that always seemed to flow effortlessly, and a body that could stun anyone. He was lucky to call you his, and he knew you felt the same about him. You constantly told Namjoon how much you adored him, but times like this he forgot.

The words repeated in his mind as he had you pinned against the wall of your room. Your hands were tangled in his hair, which had always been his weakness. With your back arched, his only desire was to have your body covered with his kisses. He reached around to your back and began unzipping your dress, noticing how the fabric loosened on you. He placed his lips on your shoulders as he slid the straps of your dress off, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor.

You placed your hands at the waistband of his jeans, holding Namjoon close to you by his belt loops. You unbuckled his jeans, and he slid off the hoodie that he wore. You wrapped your arms around his neck with a smile, your lips connecting again. With your body pressed against his, Namjoon couldn’t help but smile. You were his everything, and he could feel your love whenever you were around. The words began to replay again, and he slowed his kiss down. You knew something was up, being able to tell easily with Namjoon.

“I love you,” you breathed as you looked Namjoon in the eye. You smiled, feeling his fingertips tap on your lower back. The words seemed to disappear with you standing in front of him. You didn’t know why he was upset, but you knew he was. Namjoon wasn’t an open book, but he had a few ripped pages on the floor. If you had to guess, it was the attention constantly on the two of you. “I wouldn’t want anyone else, Joon. I’m the lucky one, and you shouldn’t feel insecure about yourself.”

“I love you too, baby,” Namjoon smiled, and he meant every syllable.


JIMIN


You woke up early one morning, not feeling the warmth that Jimin produced beside you. Squinting your eyes open, you could vaguely see Jimin standing in the bathroom you shared. He had practice, and you knew that he got up early to get ready. He didn’t notice that you had woken up, and you watched as he pinched the skin on his stomach. He carried a frown, clearly unhappy with the skin on his stomach. He only wore a towel covering his lower half, and you knew he had just showered. He let out a sigh, running his hand through his wet hair.

“Chim, you’re not—”

“Ah,” Jimin turned around swiftly to face you. He must have saw the displeased expression on your face, because he looked down at his feet. You wanted to burst into tears then, begging for Jimin to never do that again. He self-consciously wrapped his arms around his stomach. “I was supposed to leave a few minutes ago.”

“Why haven’t you then?” You asked, sitting up. He frowned, turning towards the bathroom mirror, his back to you. You could see his muscles on his back, and you didn’t understand. “Jimin, you are tiny. What you were pinching is skin, and last time I checked, everyone has it. You don’t need to stress, oppa. I have that too.” Jimin nodded, sniffling. He turned around to face you, clearly feeling terrible now. “I love you, Jiminie.”

“I’m sorry,” a tear slipped down his cheek as he rushed towards you. Jimin sat down beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You hugged him tightly, kissing his bare shoulder. “You’re perfect, and I am doing what I hate you doing. You’re so beautiful, Y/N, and I’m sorry that we both are being stupid and ignoring each other’s words. I love you more than the stars in the sky, and I promise to never make you feel sad like that again.”

You then realized that you had been crying.


TAEHYUNG ( V )


Tae loved you more than anything else in his life, and he’d give up everything for you. Because of that, he often felt as if he was not good enough to be with you. He felt as if you were the most unique and fascinating person in the entire universe, and he felt lesser of himself. Whenever it came to taking any clothes off around you, he did not feel comfortable. It only got worse as your relationship hit the one year anniversary mark, and the two of you had yet to ever undress in front of each other. He wasn’t alone with his insecurities, because you felt the same.

“Tae,” you greeted him as he stood in the kitchen eating leftovers. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and his heart started beating. You two were never a pair that did much skinship besides loose cuddling. You both often wished that you had done more, but you couldn’t help it. Clinging onto Tae, that was probably the closest you had ever been to him your entire relationship, including when you two were just friends. “Good morning.”

“M– morning,” Tae stuttered, placing his free hand on top of your hands. “Do you want the rest of this? We can go get something to eat if you’d like. Or, I could ask Jin to make something for you.” Taehyung spoke quickly, clearly wanting you to let go of his waist. You took the hint, removing your arms from him. He immediately felt guilty after seeing your expression. You loved him, and he knew that you didn’t see anything wrong with him. “Baby.”

“Taehyung,” you breathed unsteadily. He saw tears brimming in your stunning eyes, and he quickly wrapped his arms around you. He shushed you before you could say anything, feeling your hands grip onto the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t want to hug him back, fearing that he would feel awful about himself again. “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely perfect and I don’t understand why you are insecure. I’m sorry I made you feel bad about yourself…”

“Shh,” Taehyung breathed. “I’ll ease up, but that means you have to too, okay?” Taehyung spoke softly, and you nodded faintly. It would be hard to get out of your habits, but you had Tae with you. “You’re the most amazing and incredible creature, and I love you, baby.”


JEONGGUK


A smile would be on your face as you sat on Kook’s lap. It would not be the first heated makeout session between you two, but this one seemed to last a lot longer than the others. He held onto your hips, his hands under the fabric of your shirt. You would lower your hands down to the hem of his shirt, knowing what was on both of your minds. You had been together for eight months, and nothing had come out of it yet. Today that would change, or at least you thought so.

“Babe,” Jungkook breathed as you broken away from him. You quickly removed your hands, knowing he was uncomfortable. Jungkook held onto your hips still, letting out a sigh. “I don’t have much experience… I don’t see why you’re the one always initiating this, because you can probably tell I’m not as good as—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupted. He tilted his head, confused. You would smile, placing your hands on either sides of his face. You would kiss the tip of his nose, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “I don’t care if you aren’t experienced. I want to be with you, and I know that you’re great already. You’re more experienced than me, so I should be the one talking about not being any good.” Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head.

“You always find a way to boost my confidence,” Jungkook stated. He took your hands in his and placed them on the hem of his shirt. “I love you.”

MASTERLIST || PLEASE REQUEST

  • Hermione : *Sitting down in front of Harry, arms full of books* Hello Harry, I have a few things to talk with you about.
  • Harry : Uhh, yes Hermione?
  • Hermione : You are at the age where you start to become more sexually adventurous, you have already begun puberty and, seeing that you have no parents to talk about this with, I took it upon myself to explain everything. Now, do you have any questions?
  • Harry : *groaning* Hermione, whhhyyyy?
  • Hermione : *plowing on* No? Good. I see that you have started to date Ginny, have you had any sexual interactions so far?
  • Harry : NO! AAHHGGGG!
  • Hermione : Stop being silly Harry, sexual intercourse is a very wonderful thing, especially with someone you care about very much-
  • Harry : HERMIONE!!
  • Hermione : Of course you should always use protection, always before sexual intercourse make sure your partner is checked by a proficient healer to make sure that they do not carry any STDs. Now, STD stands for Sexually-
  • Harry : *running away* McGonagall already gave me this talk! For the same reasons you did! IT WAS VERY UNNERVING!!!
  • Ron : *wandering in* What were you talking to Harry about?
  • Hermione : The joys of sexual intercourse!?
  • Ron : Ah, that. Well I'll go calm him down.
  • Hermione : Thank you. *kisses Ron on cheek*
Queen in the North {Pt. 4}

Originally posted by snows-os

Requested: By some very lovely people, and myself, an actual piece of human garbage

Pairings: Robb Stark x Reader

Previously: {Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Y/N was sent to live with The Stark family at a young age, and ever since then, she seemed to fit perfectly, maybe even more than she had ever noticed.

Warnings: Injured!Robb

Word Count: 1,858

A/N: Long time, no see. I don’t know how I let this sit on the backburner for so long, as it is certainly one of my favorite things to write. Now that Robb is absent from my Game of Thrones viewing, I have been coping with this, so I hope that you guys enjoy! Feedback is appreciated, as always!

Somehow, Robb had managed to disappear. You’d made plans yesterday to meet in the library before going out for a ride. Although you didn’t accompany them on hunts anymore, you did love racing through the woods with Robb and Grey Wind. Ever since Ned had brought the direwolves back for the children, you had wanted one of your own.

He had brought them back when they were less like wolves and behaved more like puppies, really. You had smiled and laughed along with your family, happy that such a small creature had brought them such joy. But, try as you might, you couldn’t hide your want from Robb.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, tugging lightly on a bit of rope that you had procured for Grey Wind to play with.

“I was just thinking that I would very much like a dog.” You sighed, stroking your hand over Grey Wind’s fur.

“How many times are we going to have this argument?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.” You laughed, burying your face into Grey Wind’s side.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

When you were younger, you had come to Winterfell convinced that their house sigil was a dog. Robb had taken immediate offense, but to his credit, he bit his tongue for as long as possible. He hid his anger for a long time, but after a few days, he felt that he was going to combust if he didn’t correct you. He danced around the subject for days, before gently sitting you down in the library with the big book of house sigils.

At the tender age of four, you had mistakenly read “Wolf” as “Oelf” and Robb had never let you live it down. He brought it up often enough that you knew that one little mistake as a child was not going away anytime soon.

“Oh, Arya!” you called, spotting her hurriedly making her way around the corner. When she didn’t stop, you quickened your pace, easily catching up with her. “Arya, have you seen Robb?”

Arya took your hand, and resumed her earlier pace, explaining between her shallow breaths. “I have been looking for you all morning!” She paused for a moment, meeting your eyes before casting her glance once again to her shoes, tapping quickly on the stone. “Robb is in the infirmary.”

“I was just in the library, wait- what do you mean that Robb is in the infirmary?” You felt your heart beat quickening in your chest. It was your job to get hurt, and it was his job to baby you until you got better, and then do it all over again.

“I mean that Robb was trying to help Bran with his bow work and something went wrong.” Arya took your hand and tried to lead you to the infirmary again, but you were rooted on the spot. Your mind was a blur, you could barely think straight. “Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt” ran through your mind, a rather uncomforting mantra that was only making matters worse. 

“Y/N, he’s asking for you,” Arya’s voice was calm, somehow drawing you back to the situation at hand. Robb was hurt, and he was asking for you. Arya took a tentative step toward the infirmary, wanting to make sure that you were with her. You met her eyes, nodded your head, and tried to get yourself together before you got to the Robb.

Arya threw open the door to the infirmary, and you felt yourself holding back a gasp. Arya had insisted that he was barely even hurt, that it practically a scrape, but Robb looked as if he was close to death.

“This is why it does you good to get hurt every once and awhile.” You took a seat on the bed by his side, twining your pinky with his. It was a simple act, something that the two of you had done since you were children, who didn’t want to be made fun of for holding hands. Now, it was something that felt like second nature, even if people smirked when they saw it. He gave you a look, one that you knew meant explain yourself before I wallop you over the head. “Well, Mr. Perfect never gets hurt and now a knick in the side makes you think that you are dying.”

You held your breath, waiting for a response. Jokes in times of crisis could go either way. Robb’s laughter filled the room, and you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders. It definitely wasn’t as serious as you thought that it was if he was willing to laugh at it.

You caught a glimpse of Abigayle over Robb’s head, rolling a bandage and chuckling to herself. At least she was taking your humor in stride. More than a few people had reprimanded you for your particularly unladylike jokes in times of trouble. But they always made your family laugh, and making them laugh was more important to you than being ladylike anyday.

“But you are okay?” You asked in a hushed voice. As much as it hurt you to admit it, he had scared you.

Robb tried to hold back a reaction, but despite himself his mouth quirked to the side in the annoying almost smile that he had developed when the two of you were younger. But you had been though enough with him to notice when he was holding something back.

You hadn’t missed the look that the nurse maid had given the two of you before pointedly laying down her linens and slipping out of the door, taking Arya with her. Robb tried to sit up, holding back a grimace that if you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t have been able to notice.

You reached forward to grab him, to help him sit up. But, before you could, his hands came to cradle your face, bringing your forehead to rest against his. If it was any other time, you would have told him to shove off, but after all of the excitement of the last few days, you needed a moment.

A moment to be alone with him, to just breathe, and accept that everything was going to be okay.

“I’m sorry that I worried you.” Robb said, his voice quiet and timid, afraid to break the silence that had taken over the room.

“You should be, it’s my job to worry you.” You said, attempting to muster a laugh. It didn’t sound like a joke, though. Your voice was shaking just the slightest bit, trying to hide the emotion behind it.

“How could I forget? It is your job to fall off of a horse and then immediately walk directly into a wall. The same wall that has been in the same spot for hundreds of years, might I add.” He laughed, a real laugh this time. A laugh that made him throw his head back and made his stomach hurt just a bit, because he really, truly meant it. And after a few moments, you couldn’t help but join him.

“Well, I don’t want to interupt, but I’ve heard that Bran has maimed my eldest.” Catelyn said, letting herself in. You were about to stand, in order to let her have your place at Robb’s side, but she lazily motioned for you to sit down, taking a spot by the fire instead.

“It was really nothing, mother.” Robb said, looping his pinky with yours again. “Bran’s bow work obviously needs a bit more work, but I am going to be good as new.”

You held in a chuckle. Bran needing more bow work was the biggest understatement that you had heard in your life. He would get there eventually, but you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time that someone ended up in the infirmary before he learned to shoot a target. Maybe Arya could help him. She was wonderful with a bow, and even though she was less patient than the boys. Then again, that might be what Bran needed if he was ever going to hit a target. You made a mental note before returning your focus to the situation at hand.

“I’m sure that you will be, after all, it seems that you have an excellent nursemaid with you.” You didn’t miss her glancing down at your hands resting on the bed. You stuck your tongue out at her.

She didn’t reprimand you, knowing that it would only encourage you further.

“Abigayle is wonderful.” you said, eyes shifting to the door that the gray-haired woman had left through a few minutes ago.

Catelyn’s eyebrows arched the slightest bit, and Robb was chuckling to himself.

“I have a feeling that my mother wasn’t talking about Abigayle.” His pinky tightened around yours, not too tightly, but enough to make you understand what he was trying to say.

They were talking about you.

“Well, I haven’t done anything.” You insisted, unsure what they were trying to say.

“We both know that Arya is going to have to drag you out of this room before you leave his side.” Catelyn laughed, standing up from her chair. “Which is why I know that I can take my leave to help Sansa and the girls with their needlepoint.” Catelyn placed a kiss on the top of Robb’s head, and then yours. “I will see you later, my loves. She said, pausing for just a moment in the doorway, before making her way out of the room.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You said, untangling your pinky from his before moving to get a strip of cloth to change Robb’s bandages. Abigayle had given him fresh ones a few hours ago, but with all of the moving around he was sure to need new ones. “I help everyone when they are hurt.”

The look on Robb’s face said that he wanted to say more, and you felt a wave of relief when it seemed that he was going to hold his tongue, for now at least.

You motioned for him to take off his shirt, allowing you a better look at the wound on his side. It was a shallow wound, but it ran the length of his ribcage, jagged and rough against his pale skin. Thankfully, it looked as if it would heal in a few days. Unfortunately, you were left to coddle Robb like a child until he was good as new.

He had a tendency to be clingy when he was hurt. You didn’t honestly know if it was because it truly made him feel better, or if he liked having an excuse to be around you, even more often than usual. Your head said that it was the first option, but it was getting harder as of late to ignore what your heart was saying.

Refocusing on the task at hand, you found that you had been right, and the bandages were nearly soaked through. You made quick work of them, not allowing your fingers to linger any more than was absolutely necessary.

You can read Part Five here!

City of Love

Pairing: Teacher!Derek x Teacher!Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, spanking, vaginal sex, oral (fem receiving, and male), no dk unfortunately

A/n: It’s very rare that I write fluffy Derek smut, but damn I do love it as well. This was a request, and I did alter the request slightly so apologizes but I just find this works <3 Thank you to @ninja-stiles for reading through this <3

Masterlist

Originally posted by iminlovewithderekhale


“Remember class, we’re meeting at the airport tomorrow morning at four am.” You announce to your class full of teenagers who were chatting among one another. You could tell they were excited about their trip to Paris, France but you could bet you were more excited than all them put together. It was always a dream of yours to go to Paris, you loved everything about the city.

When your principal asked you to organize a trip abroad for your class, you couldn’t help but choose the one place that fascinated you the most. You ran it through the school board, highlighting the array of activities that were available over in France; The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower and Disneyland. Six days away from Beacon Hills was everything you needed.

“Miss Y/L/N, what other teachers are coming with us?”

“Miss Martin and Mr Hale.” His name fell from your lips with a hiss, and the class giggle at your tone. “Right, have a good evening and I’ll see you bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow.”

Keep reading

His || Jungkook || 0.5

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5

Keep reading

Muse || Peter Parker

Prompt - Y/N is an artist who tends to find inspiration in others, as in she draws other people, and she draws Peter the most. He sees one of her drawings of him and asks her about it. FLUFFY!

Warning - none. 

A/N: haven’t written anything in awhile and this might be a little short. Besides, I was getting bored. I am also in the midst of writing some smutty sin, so you can look forward to that. 

not my gif

Originally posted by gryffinclaw-in-wilde-times

She was a creative person, incredibly above average when it came to expressing her imagination. Her art was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, those who saw it wondered how a girl of such a young age could possibly make something so realistic. She had a talent for capturing the person’s essence in every drawing, or portrait to be more specific.

She drew everyone, whether they noticed it or not. 

But there was one person who she absolutely loved to draw.

That person was Peter Parker. 

The boy in the layered sweaters and graphic t-shirts. 

She adored that boy’s physique because to her drawing him came like second nature. In her drawings, his fluffy brown hair would be perfectly styled, his clothes exactly the way he had them; disheveled. 

But there had been one day when he had been late to school. He walked into their shared class, his hair tousled, his clothes in disarray. He had ran his hand through his wild morning hair in an attempt to tame it, and at that moment Y/N had already pulled out her sketchbook to draw his rugged appearance that captivated her so much. 

She watched him for the duration of the class period to get his features perfect. Nobody noticed her watching him, it was a normal sight to see her staring at someone. Everyone knew that she was an artist and that she drew anyone that captured her eye, some people took it as a compliment, others didn’t. 

She loved that drawing, she was proud of it. 

Everyday she drew someone new, and among those new drawings was always an even better drawing of Peter. 

In the beginning, when she first started drawing him she barely knew his name, she was just intrigued by his noticeable Star Wars t-shirt. But then as time went on, she became more infatuated with the young genius. 

She tried talking to him but the moment she caught a glimpse of those chocolate brown eyes, her face would become warm and her eyes were immediately back on her sketchbook. He was her muse. 

She found comfort in sketching his cheekbones, his jawline, his nose, his beautiful hair. It enraptured her. 

She was in her last class of the day, off to the side in the last row of desks. Peter sat directly to her left.

She had already finished her classwork so she pulled out her almost completed sketchbook and opened it to an empty page, her pencils were already laid out waiting for her to use them. 

She didn’t really mind if he noticed her drawing him, maybe he’d want to talk to her about it and then she’d actually be able to talk to him without being a shy idiot about it. 

She began with the outline of his face. She had done these steps so many times that she could probably do them in her sleep. 

She continued to sketch him, but she was so engrossed in her drawing that she didn’t notice Peter’s eyes flickering to her paper. He recognized the face as his own and his eyebrows furrowed together. 

She’s drawing me. She’s actually drawing me,’ he thought. 

A ghostly grin etches its way onto his face as he watches her, the pencil running over the paper, her index finger smudging the graphite for the appropriate shading, her bottom lip in between her teeth in concentration. 

He noticed that she didn’t even need to glance at him to complete her drawing. Unknown to him, but she had his face permanently etched into her brain. 

The bell rang signaling that it was finally time for the poor students to go home. Y/N packed up her stuff but carried her sketchbook in her arms. 

As the students began to excitedly file out of the room, Peter followed behind Y/N to try and talk to her. 

Y/N liked to take her time when she left school because she didn’t really like being in a crowded subway surrounded by tons of people, downside to living in New York. She walked slowly as she let her beat-up converse hit the newly polished school floors. 

Peter tapped her shoulder making her turn around. When she saw that familiar face looking down at her with a gentle grin, her heart fluttered. 

“Hey,” she said trying to make it seem like she wasn’t dying to run her fingers through his fluffy hair. 

“Uh hi, I’m-uh, I’m Peter,” he managed to say, she smiled at his nervousness. 

“Yeah, I know. You’re in most of my classes, you’re not invisible,” she clutches her sketchbook tightly in her arms. 

He’s talking to me. He’s actually talking to me,’ she thought.

He blushed cherry red, “I um, I noticed you drawing me during class and I-” she wanted to let him finish but she had to ask. 

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” She asked, he shook his head vigorously.

“No! No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I just know that you draw everyone and I was curious as to why you were drawing me,” he explains.

“Because you’re beautiful,” she blurts out without processing the words as they left her mouth. 

Peter’s grin then turns into a full blown smile, cheeks blazing red. 

Y/N knew that she should feel embarrassed about what she had just said to the object of her artistic affection, but she wasn’t embarrassed. 

“You think I’m…beautiful?” He couldn’t stop smiling, his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling but he couldn’t help it. 

A gorgeous and talented girl had just called him beautiful.

“Yeah. You’re my muse, my inspiration,” she wished she would just stop talking, but she had already started so there was no point in stopping.

“I know it’s a bit awkward but I-I draw you all the time, I find your features…fascinating,” she tells him, he chuckles. 

“Well maybe we could hang out sometime and you can draw me as much as you’d like,” he offers awkwardly sliding his hands into his pockets, she hides her absolute joy by looking down at her sneakers as her cheeks turn a bright red. 

“Um yeah, yeah I’d like that,” she accepts.

“Great.”

They leave the school together and he walks her home only for her to insist that he stay so she could take him up on his offer of making another portrait of him. He accepted, but this time it wasn’t a drawing…it was a painting. 

He flipped through the pages of her sketchbook as she prepared the materials that she needed for the painting. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of drawing me? I mean, I’m nothing special.”

She laughs, “Not at all, like I said…you’re my muse.”

.

.

A/N: I hope this was satisfying enough. I’ll probably be posting another fic this week because I’m having lots of inspiration. <3 

Touched.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: A soulmate AU in which you are “branded” with a mark that signifies the first time your soulmate will touch you. In this, the reader fears meeting their soulmate, but is beyond pleasantly surprised.

Warnings: There might be swears, the reader is bullied, there are mentioned of abuse. Please don’t read this if that makes you uncomfortable ily

Word Count: 1575

A/N: Hey y’all! College takes up sO MUCH fucking time you guys. Doing sorority recruitment and getting ready for bid day and trying to learn how to be an electrical engineer is so fhjdskfhsadlf,,,,, But yo! I started this before going off to uni, and I love this AU so,,,, hope you love this

Everyone would always talk about the handshake soulmates.

They had it so easy. The scars across their hands were in gentle curves. The moment they met their soulmate, the scar would burn as they shook hands for the first time. They fell in love so easily and so perfectly with one another. In some cases, they would trade “I love you”s at that first moment instead of their names. Everyone would always cry at handshake soulmates’ weddings because the moment they met was always so perfect. When handshake soulmates are born, mothers almost always cry tears of joy at the wonderful future their children had ahead of them.

Your mother cried when you were born, too, but it was for a different reason entirely.

Keep reading

8

It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. “Robert is coming here?” When she nodded, a smile broke across his face. Catelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a direwolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its throat. Dread coiled within her like a snake, but she forced herself to smile at this man she loved, this man who put no faith in signs. “I knew that would please you,” she said. — A Game Of Thrones II, Catelyn I

Dating FP Jones would include...

Inspired by a request. The real request will be out soon!!    Masterlist 

Sleeping in late with lazy days

  • There was some day where FP didn’t want to face the world. He found no more comfort than being beside you all day cuddled into you knowing for the first time you aren’t going anywhere and he wouldn’t be left alone.

Reassurance kisses

  • FP had been through a lot. You knew that the most so you did what you could to keep him himself and if that meant reassuring him you would do it in any way possible. You would often, normally in private, give him sweeter, softer kisses letting him know you would always be there.

Looking at each other from across the room with him always looking at you

  • There was no doubt in any ones mind that FP liked the look of you and he would make it known by almost never taking his eyes off of you when ever you were around him, and especially when others were around. 

Make out sessions and PDA

  • At the end of almost every night at the Whyte Wyrm ended up with you, pushed up against the wall outside or on he couch of his trailer, with his tongue down your throat and his hands placed firmly on your waist, yours firmly planted in his back pockets. Even when you weren’t completely infatuated with each other he would have his hands on you in some way or have his arm wrapped around you.

Lots of mind blowing sex

  • Lets admit it to ourselves now. FP Jones is a sex god! You had never been with anyone better, and you never would be again. He could be passionate but the best was when he was rough with you knowing just how to take care of you and get everything right to leave you a moaning mess beneath him and make you blissfully ache the day after. 

Putting your head on his chest and similarly, putting his head in your lap

  • Even you needed the reassurance sometimes. On some nights, you would give him the puppy dog eyes and he would never be able to refuse you and so you would stay in instead of going out. You would just cuddle on the couch with some pointless show on that neither of you were paying attention to and just talk, his hand running through your hair or yours through his as you spoke your mind.

Waking up In his arms

  • There was always a fear in FP’s mind that one morning he will wake up and you wont be there like so many before you. The joy and relief he got when he found you, still in his arms wearing nothing but one of his flannels and your hair fanning around you as you continued to sleep or, waking to find you not there but making breakfast in his tiny kitchen, still in very little clothing.

Always worrying about you and being so protective of you

  • He was a serpent. There was no guaranteeing your safety with some of the things he and some of the others had to do. He hated not being able to provide safety for you but he tried his damned hardest to do what he could, even if it wasn’t much. You appreciated it of course, how he was willing to try and change for you and for Jughead, but you wished he wouldn’t be so concerned you could look after yourself but you did like it when he became a little protective, pulling you into his side in public.

Getting jealous easily

  • You were constantly around his men and rarely around women that weren’t serpents so you could see how FP became jealous very, very quickly. It would be funny to watch him become jealous as he became possessive of you and you often did it to wind him up a little but it could turn a little dangerous. It was known that FP had a temper and could easily turn nasty with some of the men that really pushed the boundaries.  You have more than once had to pull him away from almost beating someone to death.

Being afraid of hurting you

  • He could turn nasty, indeed. And one of his biggest fears was turning against you without even realising. You would never come to find out how big this fear of his was but it was there and it was huge, you two would argue and sometimes quite badly but never, ever would he take it out on you even if it meant him sleeping in the bar and you at the trailer, he would walk out in fear of lashing out at you. He had even cut down on drinking around you in the pure fear for hurting you and not even remembering.

Only being sweet and gentle to you

  • He is scared of hurting you so his only manner to you would be kind and gentle. Ever since he once truly lost it in front of you and he saw the small fear in your eyes. Since then, he would be the most gentle to you, soft caresses when he was tucking your hair behind your ear, kisses on the forehead before he went anywhere letting his lips linger at your hairline for a moment and gentle hand holding.

FP Jones could be rough with you, leaving the sweetest bruises along your neck or your waist but his heart was big, and it was all for you.

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