#rattwrites

[hoffmannwrites]

On My List

1  - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 + 1 Masterlist

Author’s Note: OMG this is the last part. I can't believe I actually finished a fic?? who am I??? anywho, this part gets a little hot and heavy, so just a warning there. Nothing super explicit, but like dicks are mentioned. Thank you for reading alone and indulging me!!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Description: 5 Times Steve and Eddie kiss as friends, and one time they don't.

Warnings/Tags: Everyone lives, Nobody dies, 5+1, Kissing, Fluff, Idiots to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, heavy petting, brief sex talk, gay stereotypes, brief mention of Upside Down induced PTSD and panic attacks, uhhh they're gay your honor, no beta we die like Barb, let me know if I missed anything?

I Think We're Alone Now

+ 1

There’s only so many platonic kisses from a super hot jock that a single-braincelled gay man can take. And 5 is the limit. Eddie has been absolutely losing it since he high tailed it out of the last sticky situation he was in with Steve, still trying to wrap his brain around what the fuck was happening. He’s gone back and forth between a bunch of different theories, but usually ends up ping-ponging between “Steve is just a very affectionate friend who is comfortable in his heterosexuality” and “Steve keeps kissing me for a reason”. Eddie refuses to acknowledge the fact that this reason is because Steve actually likes kissing other boys in a very gay, very homosexual way, refuses to even toy with the idea that Steve likes him in that kind of way. But even though he fully believes it is actually impossible, Eddie has been mildly avoiding Steve for the past few weeks. Not totally! But anytime that Eddie isn’t sure if Robin is also working, he waits to return his tapes until he’s sure she is. And anytime Steve calls to invite Eddie over for movie night or to do something with the kids or anything, Eddie makes sure he leaves early enough that he’s not the last one standing. Makes sure he only goes into the kitchen for a snack when someone else is already in there. It’s just safer this way, he thinks. He doesn’t have to deal with the issue if it’s never really an issue, right? Doesn’t have to answer or ask any questions if he and Steve aren’t alone together for them to come up. 

However, Steve isn’t a complete fucking idiot and notices something is up. It takes him a little while, assuming Eddie is just busy with the band or D&D for a couple weeks before he really starts to notice the pattern. But once he does, he’s worried. Worried because he knows what Eddie’s been through in the past year, knows from personal experience how hard it is to live in "the after" of that. He knows that sometimes it can take a long time to really process and show any signs of PTSD, knows it can get even worse around the anniversary of the event (which is right about…now actually). And above all of it, he knows how fucking lonely it is, how hard it is to try to do it by yourself. I mean, hell, Steve didn’t really have anyone to talk to until Robin came around, because it was just too weird with Jonathan and Nancy, and the kids were just kids. And even after he had Robin, he still had to go home sometimes. Usually to an empty house. And even if it wasn’t empty, it’s not like he could tell his parents what was going on, just had to put on a brave face and blame his weird mood on a failed algebra test or a bad day at work. So yeah, he’s no stranger to having to go through all this shit alone and trying to just deal with the impossible- with the way his scars itch and he always feels like there’s something just around the corner and the ringing in his ears sometimes and the migraines and the way his chest starts to tighten when he thinks about any of it too hard. And Steve is determined to make sure Eddie doesn’t have to go through that alone, not like he did. 

So they have a movie night. It’s supposed to be Eddie’s turn to pick, but he’s waiting for the new Evil Dead to get in at Family Video, so they let El pick and she chooses The Goonies (after some helpful suggestions from Robin), which no one is opposed to because it’s fricking The Goonies. And they're at the point where Chunk is telling the Fratellis about everything bad he’s ever done when Steve gets up and goes to the kitchen to make more popcorn. He hates yelling during the movie, but knows it’ll actually be less distracting in the long run. “Eddie can you come here and help me with something?” He knows Eddie is about to complain, ask why someone else can’t do it, he can feel it in his bones like a sixth sense, so he continues. “I need someone tall.” He knows Argyle is actually the tallest out of the group, but he’s been passed out in the recliner since the Truffle Shuffle. He also knows Eddie will never resist an opportunity to remind everyone that he is exactly one inch taller than Steve and yes it matters. 

Eddie hops up from his spot on the floor, too blinded by his own ego to see this is obviously a trap. Steve would never ask him for help to reach something, his pride would prevent him. But Eddie is in the kitchen now, and Steve is pointing to the cabinet above the fridge “there’s more popcorn in there, I just can’t reach it.” 

“Aw, too short down there in under 6-foot land? Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you, seeing that I’m the tallest man in the world,” Eddie says, patting Steve on the head patronizingly. 

“In the world?” Steve just repeats, in disbelief at how Eddie’s ego knows no bounds. 

“Ever, actually,” he casually replies, handing Steve the box of Pop Secret with a smug smile. 

He turns on his heel to return to the living room, but Steve grabs his wrist before he can. 

“Uh, actually I wanted to talk to you for a minute.” Steve says, voice softer and eyes kinder than they were a minute ago. 

Oh no. Oh no oh fuck oh shit. He was about to tell Eddie that he thought this had all gone too far and he knew Eddie had a big fat gay crush on him and that Steve was flattered but just Straight with a capital S. And that was fine! Eddie could live with that, it was honestly probably the best let down he could hope for. But it was so nice living in this delusion where every kiss with Steve didn’t have an overcast cloud of “he rejected you!” over it yet. But Eddie realizes that he’s going to have to have this conversation sooner or later. And he wants to run, oh god does he want to high tail it the fuck outta dodge, but he can’t. No more running, right?

“Ohkayyyy,” Eddie says, feigning oblivion. He decided to stay, not to face it like a man. Baby steps. 

“I just uh.. I just noticed that you’ve been ya know kinda off the past few weeks." (Eddie starts to sweat) "You haven’t been around as much-" (his eyes are looking everywhere except Steve) "-and you pretty much always leave while it’s still light out-" (oh god was it that obvious that he didn’t want to be alone with Steve at night?) "- and you’re just keeping to yourself a little more.” (God he’s so fucking transparent) “I just wanted to let you know that, I get it." (Here is comes) "It’s been a year since everything and it’s never easy on the anniversary and I know it’s fucking scary but you don’t have to do this alone."  (Steve is still holding his wrist) “You know, you have me and Robin and everyone else to talk to or to stay with and we get it. And I know it’s hard to talk about this shit, but you went through literal hell and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. " (Wait he’s confused) "We’re all still processing and dealing with that trauma and PTSD is super complicated, so like we’re here to talk. It helps a lot more than you think, and I just don’t want you to have to deal with all your Upside Down shit alone, okay?" (He’s still confused but putting the pieces together.) 

And Eddie just stairs at Steve for a minute, computing everything Steve just said. Just stares for too long then is appropriate, probably. And Steve looks so concerned, so sincere. And Eddie can’t help but laugh. Fucking fully toothygrincan’tbreathe LAUGH. And now Steve’s a little pissed because, hey man-we all went through shit and people died and we almost died it’s not fucking funny. But before he can chastise Eddie, the taller man is apologizing. “Oh fuck I’m sorry. I’m not—that was really sweet. And I appreciate the fuck outta you. That’s just so not where I thought this conversation was going.” 

Steve’s relieved. “Oh.” 

Eddie’s relieved “Yeah.”

“So where did you think it was going? “

Eddie is no longer relieved. “Oh it’s nothing.” 

“Because something is definitely up with you.”

Fuck. Damn Harrington and his spider sense for always knowing what’s wrong.

Eddie has a couple options. He can keep walking on eggshells, ignoring his friends, and flaking early and pretend like nothing is happening forever. (Or until his crush on Steve goes away. Which it won’t. So forever). He can stop doing that, but still avoid this conversation, and just act like nothing ever happened. (Which notably will be impossible, with the way he can’t ever take his eyes off Steve when they’re together.) Or he can face this. Right here, right now. He can tell Steve what’s going on and they can both get the fuck over it. And hell, the man saved the entire world with a guitar solo, he can face a straight boy not liking him back. 

“I like you” 

“Yeah I’d hope so. You’re in my home and we’ve been hanging out for like a year.” 

“No like… I have, uh, romantic feelings for you. And I know you don’t feel the same and you’re straight and that’s fine, I just couldn’t keep dealing with being around you all the time and you flirting back and kissing me because even though I know it never meant anything to you, it meant something to me and was really confusing so I just had to put some distance there. And I know that you’re probably gonna be pretty upset with me for, like, being gay and letting you joke with me or whatever and that’s fine, I just, uh. Yeah. That’s why I’m being weird. The Upside Down stuff is like, completely secondary to everything else going on in my head right now.” 

Steve just lets Eddie ramble. Lets him get it all out while he listens with his arms folded across his chest and eyebrows raised. Once Eddie finally finishes, finally meets Steve’s eyes, Steve can’t help but quirk his brows into the bitchiest expression he can muster. 

“First of all, you gotta sort out your priorities. The anniversary of our group shadow dimension almost-death should definitely come before worrying about boys. Second of all, who told you that?” 

Eddie’s a little taken aback at Steve’s nonchalance. And confused again. “Told me what?” 

“Like. Half of that shit. That I’d be mad at you for flirting with me? That it was a joke? That I’m straight?”

Now that last one really catches Eddie off-guard. “Well. No one. But like. You are. Right? Straight I mean.” 

Steve’s face is just getting more contorted as this conversation goes on. “Eddie!” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Who’s my favorite singer?” 

“What?” 

“Answer the question” 

“Springsteen. Or Madonna.” 

"And what’s my favorite movie?"

“You tell everyone its Animal House but its Rocky Horror.” 

It’s like Eddie doesn’t even hear the words that are coming out of his own mouth. And Steve is looking at him wide eyed with an eerily similar expression to the one Robin gave him in that Star Court bathroom stall in the summer of ‘85. “Eddie…” he takes a step closer and Eddie move his eyes to meet Steve’s, brow still furrowed, ass now pressed against the countertop. Steve boxes him in, puts both hands on the counter on either side of Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie, wants to kiss him and shut him up and drown in those stupid big eyes so fucking bad, but apparently that hasn’t worked yet! Apparently kissing 5 times is just too vague for the metal head. So Steve does what he does best, he flirts relentlessly. His mouth is inches away from Eddie’s and Eddie looks almost drunk off it, trying to follow around Steve’s eyes and lips at the same time. “Remember what you called me in the RV when you were hotwiring it last spring break?” Steve is whispering into Eddie’s blushed skin. 

Eddie swallows heavily trying to focus on the meaning behind the words and not just the fact that he can feel them on his skin. “Uh…big boy?” He says, voice almost squeaking, completely void of all previous bravado or sex appeal. 

“Mhm,” Steve nods slightly. “I always knew I was into guys. But you calling me that, while hot wiring a fucking trailer. It wasn’t just Johnny Depp in Nightmare on Elm Street in a crop top or Tim Curry in those fishnets anymore. It wasn’t a hypothetical anymore. It was right in front of me. It was you. A little dirty and in leather and me in your fucking vest and you grinning up at me like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.” The whole time he’s making this confession, he’s whispering it straight into Eddie’s skin. He’s getting impossibly closer and ghosting over ever where Eddie needs him. But they’re crotch to crotch at this point and Eddie can feel Steve getting half hard against him at the thought of the memory and Eddie is quick to follow in his footsteps. Eddie is silent, eyes half closed and just relishing at Steve being all over him. “Eds..” Steve practically licks up Eddie’s neck, getting only a hum that sounds like a question back. He removes his right hand from its place on the counter and brings it to Eddie’s chin, gripping it just enough to shock him into opening his eyes and really looking at Steve. “Kiss me.” 

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands are in Steve’s hair, his shoulders his waist, his ass, just moving trying to feel all of him. Steve is pressing him into the counter so hard now Eddie thinks there might be a bruise across the backs of his thighs, but he doesn’t fucking care because the way the front of their bodies press together is worth everything. Steve’s hands are in Eddie’s hair now, tugging just right and Eddie’s mouth opens enough to let Steve bite his bottom lip and tug. And Eddie almost moans out loud, but catches himself just in time. “Steve.” Now it’s his turn to return a noncommittal hum. “Steve-“ Eddie says more pointedly this time, pulijng him back just slightly by his pockets. Before Steve can protest, before he can let out the whine he's on the verge of, Eddie reminds him of their current situation. “There are kids in the other room. And if you keep going, I’m going to cream my jeans in your kitchen.” Steve loves the idea of Eddie cumming in his pants for him, if he’s being honest, but understands the issue. “Stay the night?” He asks with a few more kisses to Eddie’s neck. “You’ll be lucky if you ever get rid of me again” and Eddie has to practically drag Steve back to the living room, where they’re now sitting almost on top of each other on the floor against the couch. It takes about 10 minutes before the kids realize they never brought back popcorn and Nancy decides to go do it her damn self. 

A/N:

The Goonies came out in June of 1985. It’s a banger. I think that El would really like it because it’s got adventure and friendship and bad guys who get what’s coming to them and has a happy ending. It remind her of her friends and she has a crush on Mikey (also rip Bob) 

Popcorn was like huge in the 80s? Act 11 and Pop Secret both came out in the early 80s as microwave popcorn and so did a bunch of other brands. I didn’t know it came out so late??? Wtf??? I forget microwaves didn’t exist.

I named each of these chapters after a song from the 80s and they've all been period accurate accept for this one, which came out in August of '87 ( this would take place around March/April of '87), but it's fucking TIFFANY so I made an exception. Anywhore, here's a list of the songs in case you wanna check them out.

You Spin Me Round by Dead or Alive

Every Breath You Take by The Police

Happy New Year by Abba

Suddenly, Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors

Drive by The Cars

I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany

Thank you for reading my little fic, gay people in my phone! Feel free to follow my fandom Twitter @ hauntedvaginas , check me out on Ao3 @ hoffmannwrites or shoot me DM here if you ever wanna be my friend. I love you and I'm kissing you on the forehead.

#fluff #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things au #rattwrites #steve harrington #5 + 1 #5 + 1 fic #steddie fanfic #smut if you squint #idiots to lovers

[theycallmeratt]

Colder than the Grave

CW warning: non-graphic dog death.

I did a lot of stupid things growing up. Saw the alien movie where agents burned off their fingerprints, so I held mine to the stove 'til the heat forced me to pull back and spent days poking blisters the size of marbles. Heard of the actress who lay in ice water to stay young, so I did, too, my whole body seizing as it went so cold it was sure it was dead. I was always into things like that, things that made me more than human. Things that made me strong and fresh and secret. Always chasing that high into the darkest places.

All I felt when I came back was cold, like the ice bath was poured into my chest. Frozen down to my marrow. My breath came in sharp, frigid gasps, through lips and throat so dry I couldn't swallow. Took hours to finally move. My veins crackled like my blood was slush and I shook so hard my tendons snapped over my bones. Shivered like my uncle when he quit the drink.

The cold forced me to get warm. The cold made me instinctual, animalistic and cruel.

I found Milo in the living room. He looked at me like he does when I clean his ears, back curled, tail tucked but wagging, pressed against the wall. Scared but trusting because it's me. His fur was so short, warm velvet, and his skin was hot, the only heat in my world. His blood was hotter. It soothed the stabbing ache out of my teeth and skull, it freed me from the wracking shivers and thawed the brain freeze and ice in my joints and let me swallow and when it was over I took the cheap sewing kit I got in a Christmas cracker, two buttons and a paper spool of thread, and sewed him back up the best I could. Grey thread for grey fur.

He was a good boy. I buried him out back. My palms were cold and my fingertips ached as the frost of death climbed back into my empty veins.

I knew what I was. I knew what I needed. I knew Milo wasn't enough.

Nothing could be enough.

I waited for dawn.

The sun brought heat, not comfort, but pain. Worse than the stove, too much to let wash over me. I thought it could end this, burn away my mistakes, but like the cold earlier, the heat took my thoughts and moved my legs and I came back to myself in the cellar.

The floor creaked above me. My roommate, back from her trip. First her steps went to the closet where she'd gather the laundry, like she did on every return, then they'll go to the stairs, then down here, where I sit on the washer.

Cold again, so cold. Lips cracked, shivering like an addict, choking on air. Waiting for her heat to help me swallow.

Notes: Lately I've been thinking a lot of vampires who aren't driven by thirst.

#short horror story #short fiction #scary stories #vampire #original writing #rattwriting #no gore horror

[hoffmannwrites]

The Artist Formally Known As Ratt

Hello sweet babies! Long time, no talk, huh? Just wanna give y'all some updates:

FIRST AND FOREMOST, I am no longer going by the name RattWritesFics. It was just a super old nickname and I wasn't feeling it. I have rebranded to HoffmannWrites. You can find me her on Tumblr under that, on Twitter (boo) at HauntedVaginas and on Ao3 at HoffmannWrites. I still have all my old stuff tagged under the RattWrites brand, so you can still find shit under that.

Therefore, I had to update all my links to my fics. This is, as you may know, a laborious task. I am in the process of it, but if you notice any broken links or can't find anything, as always, let me know.

Second, I haven't updated You Better You Bet in, oh, probably a year. I started that fic when I was 19 and now I am 23. 4 fucking years, dude! I honestly planned on writing 3 additional chapters, but I don't know if I ever will. Maybe! I've been on a writing kick so maybe even soon! IDK, I just have placed it on indefinite hiatus for the time being. I hope to finish it, I just gotta find the inspiration. BUT I haven't forgotten about you beautiful bastards, so if you are on the taglist for that, you will remain on it until my dying breath. And one day, you're gonna be sitting with your grandkids, and get a notification that I updated, and it will be a glorious day for all of us.

Third, I finally made an Ao3, SO??? Check that out, I guess. Nothing is on there yet, but you can see all the depraved shit I read there too.

Lastly, I am posting a new fic. It is Steddie fluff from Stranger Things. it is a series and it is already finished so I'm gonna for real post that one. Like right now.

I love you all endlessly and forever and I hope you have a day like a little frog on a lily pad, okay? I'm kissing you on the forehead tenderly.

#rattwrites #rattwritesfics #hoffmannwrites #you better you bet #update

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART TEN - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: I’m garbage. You know what it is. Also, editing this in the bathtub by candlelight, drinking wine and listening to a twilight playlist. Very on brand for me I think.

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap, Forbidden love bullshit, brief mention of female masturbation, bi!FP and top!FP if you squint, fluff in a sarcastic way, getting caught red handed

Song Inspiration:  illicit affairs - Taylor Swift

The word felt weird on your tongue. Girlfriend.  It felt even weirder calling him your boyfriend. You didn’t use them in front of other people, not yet. It all still felt so delicate. You had admitted to Betty and Veronica that you were seeing FP, but didn’t divulge that it was exclusive or serious yet. You were also quite aware that Jughead was not as oblivious as he pretended to be, but neither of you dared bring it up to the other. 

As days slipped into weeks, you got more comfortable with the words. Eventually, you had slipped into a routine with FP. You’d see each other a few times a week, either at his trailer or the Wyrm or occasionally the overlook. Usually, you’d sleepover and either drive yourself home or to school in the morning. It was comfortable, almost domestic, how easily you wrapped your lives around each other.  He bought more food (you preferred that he let you cook, but he at least owned spices and herbs now); the trailer stayed cleaner and brighter with fewer empty beer cans littered around. You were brighter, too. You had always felt like a person out of their time- too old to still be in high school by most standards, the oldest kid in your family with no siblings or cousins to keep you company, forced to grow up too fast, but too young to be considered an adult in all the ways that mattered. Nothing that was supposed to feel right ever did. So it made sense that the first thing to ever feel right was a man that was supposed to be wrong. It worked, though. Somehow, it worked.

Easily your favorite part of your newfound relationship was sleeping next to FP. Falling asleep to the sound of his even heartbeat and low breath had become soothing in a way you would have never imagined. Waking up to his messy hair and gruff voice might have been even better. On the nights you couldn’t spend with him, you tossed and turned violently for hours-unable to find the comfort of sleep without being wrapped up in your man’s arms. Unfortunately, this was one of those nights. No amount of pillow flips, weighted blankets, or calming audios would put you to bed like FP could. You picked up your phone to text him- but the bright white numbers reading “3:30” made you decide against it; it was much too late to bother him. Instead, you decided to tire yourself out in the only way you knew how: with your hand slipped into your sweatpants lazily working yourself up until maybe-just maybe an orgasm would tire you out enough to put you out. But apparently, sleep wasn’t the only thing FP has ruined for you. Why were you sitting here touching yourself in vain when you could be getting railed by your boyfriend? Unfair. Ridiculous. You would just have to spend the rest of the night tossing until maybe sleep took you. 

The next day was frustrating, to say the least. Working on barely two and a half hours of sleep, school was painful to get through. The only thing keeping you from going home to sleep was knowing that you were headed to FP’s trailer as soon as the end-of-day bell rang. You spent most of your day tapping your foot impatiently and chewing on your pen cap with heavy-lidded eyes, praying that somehow the clock would speed up. Somehow, you slugged through your day and eventually heaved your limp body into your car. By the time you had realized you had forgotten to turn on your radio, you were already halfway to FP’s trailer. 

Once you finally arrived, you wasted no time on the usual once-over of yourself in your rearview mirror. You walked right into the trailer without even bothering to knock, took one glance at FP sitting on his sofa, and collapsed directly on top of him, head snugly in his lap. He chuckled as he ran his fingers through your hair and brushed it out of your face, which turned to look at him. “Long day, huh, baby girl?”

“You have ruined my life, Forsythe,” you informed him in a low monotone. 

“Naw, don’t say that, baby. What happened?” He was actually concerned which made you feel a slight pang of guilt. Maybe you shouldn’t have started with that. Oops.

You sat up and took off your coat which you hadn’t originally bothered to peel off. “I can’t sleep…” you muttered softly. 

“How exactly is that my fault?”

“You’re too comfy!”,  you whined at him dramatically. “How am I supposed to get any sleep in a cold empty bed, when I’m used to passing out on your stupid warm, soft chest?”

He looked at you with stars in his eyes as a smile grew on his face. “You’re mad at me because I’m too good of a cuddler?”

“Precisely!”

“Jesus fucking…” he muttered as he got up from the couch and took your hands, leading you up with him. “C’mere…”

You followed him gratefully into the bedroom and sat down on the corner of the bed, slowly inching up towards the pillows to crawl under the covers. 

“You’re gonna sleep in jeans?” he asked for with a quark of his brow. 

“Sorry I didn't put PJs in my backpack today,” you replied snarkily, ready to just sleep. 

“That hasn’t stopped you before,” he threw a large flannel over at you. “Get comfy, kiddo.” 

You started to strip down to just your panties, “I hate when you call me that.” 

He shot you a questioning glace, prodding you to explain. “It makes this weirder than it already is.” 

“Wasn’t aware that it was weird.” It was his turn to strip down now, just to his teeshirt and boxers. 

You lifted up the covers and set underneath them trying to get comfortable at once. “I mean it’s not weird but I just don’t need to be reminded that you’re over twice my age, thank you very much.”

He followed you into bed and pulled you close, hiking your leg up as far as it could go. “Shush. You’re just mad that I was backstage with Motley Crue while you weren’t even born.” He kissed your forehead with a smile. “Now sleep, little girl.” 

Sleep started to take over your body but you’d be damned if you didn’t get the last word in. “I still can’t believe Tommy Lee bottomed for you.”

As your eyes closed and you faded into sweet oblivion, you could hear FP faintly whisper “I never should have told you that.” 

—————————————————————-

You woke up with a startle to what sounded like the trailer door opening. FP was still next to you, also starting to wake and looking just as confused. 

Your first thought was that this was going to end bloody. Some ghost from FP’s past or some new Riverdale Psycho was gonna come to turn your cozy little life upside down in mere seconds. What ended up being reality was quite possibly way worse. 

“Dad?” Jughead’s voice rang loud and clear through the trailer. You and FP looked at each other with wide eyes, panicked, to say the least. 

“Go!” you whispered to him, hitting him out of bed frantically as you began to look for your pants at least. 

He scrambled out of bed and the small bedroom slamming the door shut behind him as he came into view of his son. It was close too; one more corner and Jughead would have found you. 

It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want Jughead to know. it was just easier. You had no idea how you would begin to explain how this bet had blossomed into so much more. When the time finally came, you definitely wanted it to be on your own terms and not caught half-naked in bed on a Tuesday afternoon. 

You could barely hear the conversation between the father and son, too focused on your own thoughts of what you would say if Jughead for some reason needed to come into the bedroom. From what you gathered, Jug needed help fixing up a motorcycle he picked up and wanted to see if his dad was up for the task. All you could think about was how that could have been a phone call, a text even. But no, he just had to come all the way here to ask this 5-second question. FP was quick to agree to help him and set up a time later this week for him to come over with the bike to work on it. He made up some excuse about having a long day and being exhausted, ushering Jughead out the door just as quickly as he burst in. once he was sure Jug was gone and not coming back, he walked back into the bedroom and ran his hands through his hair. God, he looked sexy when he was stressed. 

“Well that was close,” you said simply 

#fp jones x reader #fp jones fluff #fp jones smut #fp jones #bi!fp #top!fp #riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale smut #wip #rattwrites

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet - Masterlist

**Currently On Hiatus**

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11,  Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 

#You Better You Bet #rattwrites #fp jones #fp jones x reader #fp jones smut #fp jones fluff #masterlist #riverdale imagine #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale smut

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART EIGHT - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: We are back in business BAYBEEE!! I posted a full detail update if you want to read that for all my juicy secrets. Thank you ever so dearly for being to patient and so kind. I can’t even fathom that so many people actually like this. It’s really crazy. Y’all are the best. Stay safe and stay home if you can. 

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap, Teenage drinking, Sex talk (but no actual hanky panky here), Wholesome female friendships, Pining, Brief mention of female masturbation

Song Inspiration:  Savage (Remix) by Meg Thee Stallion Ft. Beyonce (Nothing to do with the chapter, but this has been on repeat for 24 hours)

It’s been 7 days. One whole week since you last saw Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second. The morning after your last little rendezvous proceeded much like that after the first, however when you finally returned home, you stayed there. No texts from a taunting Sweets. No follow up calls from the man himself. Not even a disapproving glare from dear old Juggy. A whole week had passed and nothing changed at all. It seemed to be that the entire world had forgotten you fucked FP Jones (many times). School crawled on as usual. Betty and Jug were off playing Holmes and Watson. Archie and Veronica were fucking on every expensive piece of furniture they could find. Cheryl bought a new red lipstick. Kevin decided that Spring Awakening was his latest Magnum Opus. Homeostasis achieved. Right? 

Wrong. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t seem to pry your mind away from thinking about The Serpent King. You’d find yourself in the middle of a class, biting on your pen, absentmindedly thinking about the way his brown eyes looked right before he was about to...until someone called your name loud enough and often enough to snap you out of it. You’d get a shiver down your spine getting a flashback of his hands on your hips. The worst, though, was the smell of him. It followed you around and cling to your hair and clothes no matter how much time had passed. When the wind blew the right way or you turned your head quick enough, you’d get a strong gust of him that was enough to make you whimper. 

No one tells you this, but it sucks when someone you don’t particularly want to date is the best lay you’ve ever had. It’s not so much that you didn’t want to date FP, but you couldn’t. He’s more than double your age, and a father of 2 children (one of whom is your best friend), AND he’s the leader of a gang. Imagine brining that home to mom. As much as you didn’t have any feelings for him, you couldn’t very well track him down anyway. You didn’t have his phone number (and weren’t planning on trying to get it from anyone else) and a trip to the Wyrm alone again would look needy at best. Instead, you were stuck alone, rutting against your fingers or your pillows, chasing after a high that only FP could give you. 

Saturdays were for the boys, sure. But Sundays? Sundays were for the girls. Pops on Saturdays was a ritual of catching up and hanging out and making plans for the week. Sunday’s were for shit talking and chicken wing eating and face mask applying. This Sunday was extra special, considering you had bailed on last week’s event due to a mild limp and the overall body ache. When Betty and Ronnie showed up at your house, already in PJs with Twilight DVDs, buffalo wings, and the finest Champagne Veronica could steal from her parents’ liquor cabinet without being noticed, you knew this was just what you needed to get your mind off FP. 

Or so you thought. Soon the wings had been devoured, the Champagne bottle was emptied, and Edward was left sparkling in the sun. All that was left to talk about was the elephant in the room. “So (Y/N/N)... care to spill some sinful details to your doting BFFs?” Veronica inquired with a shit-eating grin. 

“I have no idea what you could ever be talking about, my dearest Lodge,” you replied, sad that your I-don’t-need-no-man bubble was being popped. 

“(Y/N), come on, girl. Even I want to know what happened.” Betty pleaded with you. 

“Betty just wants to know if big dicks and praise kinks run in the family. For her sake, spill!” Veronica teased, earning a bright red blush from Betty. 

And so you did. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, or maybe you just needed someone else to know it was real too. You told the girls everything- no detail spared- gossiping like a bunch of, well, teenage girls. 

“Fuck.” Betty was the first to break the silence after your monologue was over. 

“But he hasn’t called you?” Ronnie asked, indignant. 

“Nope.” you replied. 

“Men are such fucking trash. They can cum in you for 48 hours straight, but god fucking forbid they pick up a phone!” She continued her rant. “You should call him. Show him you’re more than just a two-night stand.” 

“By doing what?” you questioned. “Asking him to fuck again? Plus. It was just a fling. It was a bet. Remember? And I won. So it’s over now. Done. Finito. Terminado. Fertig. Ip-shay has Ailed-say.” 

“Oh yeah you sound real happy about that...” Betty giggled, pulling her knees up to her chest with a smile. You shot her a glare. “I’m just saying! Those Jones men are addictive. I think you should shoot your shot.” 

“How would I even do that? I can’t go to the bar AGAIN. People are gonna think I have a problem,” you deadpanned. 

“Well...it just so happens, that I am dating your paramour’s son. So it would be justifiable that I would have said paramour’s phone number, in case of emergencies.” Betty said, chin resting on knees. 

“It’s an emergency,” Veronica declared, holding out her hand for Betty’s phone. 

She obliged and soon your phone screen was looking up at you, with FP’s number in the contact line and a blinking line waiting for you to type out the perfect message. 

“Okay. What do now?” you asked, looking to your friends bug-eyed. “I don’t talk to people.” 

“How about ‘Hey it’s (Y/N). with a little smiley face,” suggested Betty. 

“OUH!! Or you could send him a nude!” proposed Ronnie.

Your brow furrowed and you turned to the brunette “...no....” you said, almost concerned for your friend‘s mental stability. “How about something...flirty. Something so he knows it’s me. Like an inside joke or something. OH. Wait i think i got it.” You tapped on the screen excitedly, like a child writing a letter to Santa. You showed the girls the finished message before you sent it. 

“Hey, Jones. You up for another round of pool? Promise I won’t make you dance this time.” 

With their approval, you pressed the little blue send button and practically threw your phone to the ground like it was a hot potato. 

You waited. 

And waited.

And waited. It felt like you were staring at the screen for hours before three little gray dots made their debut. You screamed. You couldn’t bare to look. Veronica did it for you. Men never made you act this nervous or childish. (Women did, but they had boobs and nice hair, so it was a completely different set of rules. Girls are pretty, yo.)

You heard it. The faint sound of a message hitting your line. Veronica picked up the phone and read the text quickly. “Bitchhhhh...” she said, handing the phone over to Betty. “Oh my god...” the blonde whispered into the palm of your hand, before handing the phone back to its owner. 

You read the screen. 

“Wyrm’s closed on Sundays, baby girl. But my door is always open for you. Don’t you practically live here anyways?” 

Somehow, all the air you had was sucked out of your lungs, while an anvil lifted itself off your shoulders.  

Taglist: @ragweed98 @reblogserpent @cassidyiscool @cyberbadman @ohhmyexo @anondunar @startwiththeridingcrop @colie87 @derangedcupcake @scintilla-morningstar @princess-east @xxghostnappaxx

#fp jones #fp jones smut #riverdale #riverdale smut #riverdale imagine #rattwrites #riverdale fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #betty and veronica #veronica lodge #betty cooper

[hoffmannwrites]

Masterlist

( ! indicates smut, * indicates angst, $ indicates fluff)

! $ You Better, You Bet (Series) - FP Jones x Reader (On Hiatus)

! * Don’t Speak (One Shot) - Bucky Barnes x Reader 

$ Coming Clean (One Shot)- Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader

$ On My List (Series) - Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson (Complete) 1  - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 + 1 

Most Recent Update

Message me, send an ask, or leave a note if you’d like to be tagged and what kind of fics you want to be tagged in (all my stuff, just a specific series, just a specific character or show, etc.) 

Also, follow me on Ao3 @ hoffmannwrites and Twitter @ hauntedvaginas. 

#rattwrites #masterlist #Smut #Bucky Barnes #fp jones #Chris Evans #fanfiction #imagine #riverdale #avengers #fluff #angst #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[hoffmannwrites]

Coming Clean

Author’s Note: 1) I usually don’t like writing for real people, but Chris has become my emotional support celebrity. 2) I have nothing but baby on the brain. 3) I’m terrified of becoming my mother one day and I don’t have a therapist to talk about that with right now.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Description: Chris has to comfort you when you have a mini-breakdown about becoming a mom while you’re taking a bath.

Warning: Pregnancy, Crying, Moodswings, Not really liking your parents and also the terrifying reality that one day you will become them, FLUFF!!!!!!

Song Inspiration: Cat’s In the Cradle- Harry Chapin

You didn’t mean to start crying.

Does anyone ever really mean to start crying, anyhow? But right now it’s come out of no where, like a thunderstorm in the middle of July. Your mood swings have always been something that’s difficult to control, but the hormones and general ups-and-downs of pregnancy presented a new kind of struggle. Due to this, you were no stranger to randomly crying, but you still hated doing it, especially so in front of Chris. He always got so flabbergasted when you were upset, caught somewhere between wanting to help and not wanting to overstep. He’s learned over the years that the best he can do is hold you and you’ll start talking once the hysterics stop.

The first part of that routine, however, was currently unavailable. You were in the bathtub with the top of your belly poking out from under the bubbles. You tried to blink back the tears threatening to fall into the soapy water, but it was no use. Chris has seen the way your eyes got glassy and the furrow in your brow, felt it even before that, in the way you suddenly stiffened and the grip you had on his hand shifted into something more forced.

Chris didn’t bother asking what was wrong or how he could help, he knew you better than that. Instead he lifted himself from his spot sitting on the edge of the tub and lowered himself onto the bathroom floor on his knees so he could be level with you. He grabbed your other hand and clasped them both together into his own, pressing his forehead against yours, and started kissing your now shaking hands. He usually wrapped himself all around you making a human cocoon until the tears passed, but it was doubtful that the bathtub in your Boston home could fit both a 6-month pregnant woman AND her 6-foot-tall husband.

You both sat there in almost silence, as you cried and cried and he just kept you close and kissed you. Eventually the tears tapered off and you were able to speak. Usually, you started with a flood of apologies and then got into the specifics of whatever stupid thing had set you off. But this time, your voice stayed quiet and serious. “What if she doesn’t like me?” you worried, silent tears still flowing from the corners of your swollen, red eyes. Chris didn’t say anything, just turned his head slightly to the side as he didn’t understand what you meant. “The baby,” you explained. “What if she doesn’t like me?” He started to speak with a slight smile on his face, but you cut him off before he could get anything out. Your post breakdown word vomit had started. “I mean I know she has to like me for a little while because she won’t know better. And then she’ll hate me a little because she’s a teen, but she’ll still love me because I’m her mom. But what if she doesn’t like me? What if she thinks I’m a bad person or could have done better? Sometimes I feel like I only love my parents because I have to, and not because I actually like them. I don’t want her to hate me.”

Chris was silent for a moment, thinking over what you said. Eventually his mouth parted, “Honey, she’s going to love you. And not because she has to. But because you’re a good person. Because you’re smart and talented and kind and caring and you stand up for what’s right and you are amazing. She’s going to love you because she chooses to love you, just like me and everyone else who knows you.”

Your tears had completely subsided by this point and you had the initiative to actually soak in his words. He was right. You weren’t your parents. You knew what your parents’ issues were and how they affected you (thank you, years of therapy). You also knew how to avoid making those same mistakes and how to deal with it if you made different ones. And most importantly, anywhere you were deficient in the parenting department, Chris had you covered. Where you were impulsive, he was thoughtful. Where you were disengaged, he was enthralled. Where you were overbearing, he was relaxed. Unlike your parents, you were on the same page-always- and more importantly you were together.

By this point, you had absentmindedly moved your hands to rub your stomach while you mulled this over. You didn’t realize that this left Chris with full autonomy. He already had his shirt and pants off before you realized he was undressing himself. “And what do you think you’re doing?” you giggled at him, as he tugged his briefs down his thick thighs unceremoniously. He just smiled a big goofy grin and pushed you up towards the faucet of the tub, climbing in behind you. Water splashed everywhere onto the bathroom floor when he shuffled his legs to wrap around you, sitting like you were stuffed into the worlds smallest Log Flume ride. “I just wanted to hold you,” he shrugged, placing his arms around your torso, hands landing on your bump, chin resting on your shoulder. You let out a huff of a smile and closed your eyes resting your head back onto his shoulder. “We’re gonna be awesome,” he whispered, maybe more to himself than you. You couldn’t help but to hum in agreement.

#pregnant #pregnancy #baby fever #Chris evans #chris evans fluff #Chris evans imagine #Chris evans x reader #Chris evans fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #imagine #pregnancy fluff #rattwrites

[hoffmannwrites]

Don’t Speak

Author’s Note: We ANGSTY in these parts, laydies. Your heart is gonna hurt.

Pairing: MCU, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Nat x Bucky if you squint

Description: When Bucky fucks up. His way of apoligizing is alternative at best. Some would say you’re too forgiving.

Warning: Language, SMUT!!!, cheating, angst, drinking, drunk sex.

Song Inspiration: Don’t Speak- No Doubt

It’s been three months since the first and last time you fucked Bucky Barnes. He promised you it would be more than that, promised you a 1,000 other things. But you hadn’t touched him since that sticky, drunken night. It’s been three weeks since you found him balls deep in Nat at Tony’s last party. It wasn’t a secret, any of it. Secrets were impossible at best to keep when your lives were so intertwined with each other, dangerous at worst. Everyone knew you and Bucky hooked up; everyone knew that you expected more from an impossibly broken boy. Likewise, everyone knew that he and Nat finally fucked out their awful sexual tension. At least they’d stopped eye-fucking each other at dinner, you thought.

It still hurt. Deep down in the very caves of your soul it hurt knowing you weren’t enough for him. And for some reason your best friend was. And that she saw absolutely no problem in capitalizing on that possibility. But you and Nat only shared one heated argument over the soldier before it was all swept under the rug. Things moved too fast for people like you to hold grudges or dwell on things as fleeting as dick. Maybe a betrayal was what you needed to get over him anyway. But it still hurt and it didn’t get better. You still pictured him between her legs every time you were in a room together, still heard him moan her name every time you closed your eyes. It didn’t get better. But what can you do except ignore it when you know someone doesn’t want you?

That’s exactly what you did- kept things business as usual. You ignored it when his hands slipped around your hips to pass behind you in the kitchen. Ignored it when he smirked at you and flared his nostrils after a joke he knew only you would laugh at. ignored it when he brought home girl after girl and fucked them all senseless, even if the girl was your best friend. You ignored and ignored and ignored until it wasn’t a possibility anymore.

You were in his apartment, sat in the living room watching awful TV. He sat at the end of the big couch, with you sprawled out laying down it with your feet in his lap. Nat sat perched in a loveseat to herself. Sam and Steve laying on top of each other on the smaller couch, wrapped up in blankets. You were all a little more than half drunk and starting to fall asleep because of it. Nat was the first to go. She slipped out of her chair silently and gave you only a small salute when you turned your head in her direction. Sam and Steve were next, both agreeing that if they didn’t go back to their own rooms now, they’d fall asleep cuddling and never hear the end of it from Tony. That left you and Bucky alone, something you had been avoiding valiantly for the past few weeks. You removed your feet from his lap and started to get up, “I’m gonna go, too” you said with a yawn. Bucky leaned forward the second you began to move, but stiffened at your words. “It’s pretty late and you’re drunk...are you sure you can make it back okay?” he stuttered out without making eye contact. “Buck, I live 4 floors down. What are you talking about?” you laughed at the soldier. A blush crept to his cheeks and he stared at the floor before opening his mouth, “I just...” he started softly before trailing off. “Just what?” you replied sitting back down next to him.

He was on you quicker than you could have imagined, his hand firm on your cheek and his mouth wet and open against yours. It took you a second to register what was happening and ease into him, opening your mouth and bringing your hands into his hair. You moved up to sit in his lap so you could press your hands against his chest and your sweatpants clad crotches against each other. You swore you could stay like that forever, grinding on his lap sharing lewd kisses in the dim glow of his forgotten TV.

But your beautiful boy had other plans. His hands found their way under your sweatpants and onto your ass, pulling and kneading at the black lace covered flesh. He finally removed his mouth from yours, panting heavy into your neck. “I want to taste you,” he whispered before licking a fat stripe up your neck towards your ear. You could only whimper in response, letting him place you back on the couch, legs spread wide with his hands already working to remove your pants. He pulled the heavy fabric down your legs, leaving you to wince at the cold. He simply chuckled and placed an open mouthed kiss onto your lace covered clit. You couldn’t stand the teasing, not after months of ignoring him. “Please Bucky, I need you,” you whined at him, pushing his hair out of his face. “Someone’s feeling impatient. Relax, baby girl.” he softly whispered, mouth just centimeters away from where you needed him the most. He slipped his rough hands (both flesh and metal) under your panties and pulled them down your legs slowly, following with a trail of kisses. It was such a soft gesture from such a hard man. He made his way back up to your needy cunt and wasted no time kissing every inch of skin he could find between your legs. Finally, he began to lick his way into your core, taking a break to suck it nibble whenever he saw fit. Your hands weaved into his hair, pulling him as close to you as possible. You moaned and whined and let out broken screeches as he slowly fucked you on his tongue, eventually adding a finger, then two, then three. He sucked on your clit as he fucked you on his fingers slow and deep. It was so different than the needy, hard fuck you expected from him. He took his time working you over, asking “does that feel good princess?” the whole time. Soon it became too much and you squeaked out a warning, “Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” he continued to fuck you on his fingers making sure to hit the perfect spot with each thrust of his wrist while lapping at your clit. “Cum on my tongue, baby,” Bucky whispered between breaths and licks, which was just hot enough to send you over the edge. Your legs clamped down into his head and your fingers pushed him buy the hair as far into your cunt as possible, riding his face as your walls tightened around his hand.

Soon you let go and he crawled his way up your body, taking your chin in his metal hand, “I want you to taste yourself,” he said, shoving his flesh fingers into your mouth and watching you lick them clean, before pressing his mouth to yours. Unfortunatly, he backed up all too quick, but before you could let out a whine of protest, he started to remove his shirt, sweats, and boxers, a sight that you’d never protest. His hands found their way to your tee shirt, pulling it off needily. He laid his weight back on top of you, continuing to kiss you feverishly. Unable to wait anymore, the weeks of pent up frustration pouring out, the solider pressed his cock into you. He swore under his breath as he watched you stretch around him, eyes fixed on the point you met. You thought, what with all the angsty glares and pressing up against you in public, he would be ready to split you open once he finally fucked you again. But he wasn’t. He took his time, slowly pushing in and out of you, entranced by the way you gripped his cock.  

“Buck...” you whispered, bringing your hand to his face, pulling his chin up to look at you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he whined as he slowly rutted into you, staring into your eyes. “No, you’re not” you whispered back, smiling slightly before he lowered his head to the crook of your neck and bit down lightly.

“So fucking sorry. Gonna make love to you right this time. Show you I mean it,” Bucky continued, whispering into your neck. You chose not to respond, afraid you might cry. Now was not the time for apologizing.

“Please, Lover. Faster,” you begged, using a nickname you haven’t said in months.

You used to almost exclusively call Bucky “Lover”. It just felt right, long before you two started even thinking about hooking up. But once you finally had sex, and he started treating you like nothing, you had stopped.

Bucky let out a broken sigh when he heard the nick name. He knew it meant that you forgave him, at least a little. And he could work with that. He lifted himself back up to stare into your eyes for a moment before kissing you with every ounce of passion and love he could muster. With the kiss came a new rhythm, plunging into you deeper than you thought possible. He paused for a second, only to pick you up and situate you in his lap, all while still connected. His hands found their way to your ass and he lifted you ever so slightly to thrust into you from underneath. You let out a high pitched sound at the new angle and dug your nails into his chest.

“Didn’t know you could make that noise,” he giggled, metal hand digging harder into your ass while his flesh hand circled around to your clit, intent on making you repeat the noise.

“Lover...I’m gonna cum...” you shreiked out, eyed pressed shut in suspense, fingers tugging at long jet black hair.

“Cum for me, my love,” he murmured. and that way all it took for you to release all over his cock. And his hand. And his lower abdomen. And his thighs. For the first time with a partner, you squirted- a feat only accomplished by yourself previously. All of his senses were overwhelmed by your intense orgasm, and he immediately followed you and came, shooting thick ropes of cum into your already sensitive pussy. He laid back onto the bed in defeat and you followed him, resting your head over his pounding heart.

It took a minute for you to gather yourself and learn how to breathe properly again. It took Bucky a minute to remind himself that he was, in fact, alive and this wasn’t, in fact, heaven. You lifted yourself off of his cock with a hiss, but only to flip yourself over to lay next to him. He was still staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

“Buck?” you finally questioned, feeling your voice betray you slightly.

“Fuck. Let me get you a towel, baby.” Before you could protest, he suddenly snapped into action and returned only moments later with a wet rag to clean you and him up with.

Once you finished, he threw the rag into his hamper and got back into bed with you,  pulling the sheets up over your chests.

“(Y/N)... I meant it, you know. I never want to hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry. I just don’t know how to not fuck things up for myself; it’s like this compulsive need to just prove to everyone that I really am shitty and push them away and..” Bucky started to rant. But you cut him off before he could get too far. “Lover, we can talk about it later. Right now I just want to fall asleep holding you.”

“I can do that. I can do that forever.” he replied, letting you intertwine your legs and rest your head over his heartbeat again, while he ran his fingers through your hair. Yeah. He could definitely do this forever.

#Bucky barnes #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel #natasha romanoff #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff #angst #smut #rattwrites

[hoffmannwrites]

Some Updates

Hello Laydies, Mens, and Non-Binary Frens! 

So, I’ve been pretty MIA ( shocking I know), but I’m dropping some new stuff soon. The next two chapters of You Better You Bet are already written, just need to edit and post. I’m also working on a One-Shot for another beloved serpent boy, which should be out soon. 

I also have a few requests sitting in my inbox that I would really like to do, so once I finish up the One Shot, I will work on those. I’m so sorry I’m the way that I am, but alas. If anything, maybe you requested something so long ago that you forgot and now it’s like a nice little surprise. 

If you would like to be tagged in anything, you can leave it in the replies, but sometimes I miss them, so sending me a message is a little more foolproof. Just specify if you want to be tagged in everything, just a certain character, just a certain show, or just a certain story. 

ALSO ALSO- I haven’t watched any of Riverdale after season 3. My works are very much my own little AU so if they revealed a detail about a character of something new or anything and my story doesn’t follow suit, please ignore it. Lowkey, the storylines are trash now (fucking...Hal is ‘dead’? The gang leader is a Sherrif? Literally anything Archie is doing????) and I just couldn’t even imagine writing some of that shit (also bc I take joy in the mundane). I use the characters and basis as a jumping-off point and go from there. I will be watching the newest season (and probably live-blogging my thoughts if you’re into that), I’m just waiting for it to be free on-demand or Netflix. 

Anything else, let me know. I’m around and currently not doing much of nothing. 

#fanfiction #writer #riverdale #update #rattwrites #me