and the way she says congratulations!!!!

Finest girl I ever met in my whole life
Wanted to take her home, make her my wife
Knew she was a freak when she started talking

She said, “Fuck me like we fucked Bin Laden” (ow waah)
That girl was a freak
She said she wanted me to fuck her harder than the military

Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden

She wanted to fuck me harder than the US government
Fucked Bin Laden

Aah, she was a freaky kind of girl
Kept up with current events from all around the world
More specifically one event
The time Osama Bin Laden got shot in the head
She said “Do me like that”
But I couldn’t track the metaphor
That said I can see you horny like a stegasaur
That said again your request is so irregular
She put on a beard, I started looking at the exit door
Then a turban
Then a tunic
She said “Invade my cave with your special unit”
I said “He wasn’t in a cave”, but there was no stopping
She demanded that I fuck her like we

Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden

She wanted to fuck me harder than the US government
Fucked Bin Laden

This girl requested intercourse to bring her to climax
With the clinical efficiency of the assassination of Bin Laden
You’re harboring a fugitive (That ass)
And my justice will be punitive (I’m a smash)
Night-vision, they can see us through my go-pro
She tried to negotiate, I said that’s a no-no
Now I’m creeping in her bed room like go-go
She tells me to go low then looks down and says I gotta
“Terrorize that pussy”
“Gotta terrorize that pussy”

So I did it, improvised some crazy shit
Seal Team 69 sexecuting the hit
She said “You’ve finished me off, now throw my body in the ocean”
I yelled “Geronimo” then took some pictures for posting
The President called, he said “Congratulations Conner”
I said “Mr. President to what do I owe this honor?”
He said “Come give me the deets in the White House Garden,
I gots to know how you fucked her like we”

Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden
Fucked Bin Laden

I still can’t say that I see the appeal, but she wanted me to fuck her like we fucked Bin Laden
Ohh this girl insisted that the way we did it was merciless and exact
Just like the now the world-famous attack that fucked
Osama Bin Laden

Mrs Willison’s Homemade Jam

by reddit user FamilialDichotomy

As a child, I was a picky eater like I assume most children are. As my parents tell it, my eating habits transcended normal childhood proclamations of “I don’t like broccoli!” and evolved into a refusal to eat absolutely anything of substance. Things other children might eat and enjoy like chicken nuggets, spaghetti, or even a hot dog were shunned by toddler me. It got to the point, they say, where they and my paediatrician became concerned for my health.

Keep reading

“We once did a Ouija board thing when we were kids, it was just me, George… and John, I think… So we weren’t really into all that, but somebody just said, ‘Let’s do it.’

“So we’re touching the glass, you know, saying 'OK, nobody push it, OK?’ So then, suddenly… whoa, it’s moving! Now, my mum had died a couple of years before and it says, 'Congratulations… son…’ And we’re going, 'NO!’ 'Congratulations… son… number one… In NME!’ And so we were all, 'Oh, f**k off! There’s no way she would know what NME was’. And there’s George, you know (laughing). He’d been pushing it all the time! Bad boy!”

[Paul, NME, October 2010]

Pic: Mike McCartney.

Characteristics of Narcissistic Mothers

** I decided to just post this directly on the blog because I believe every person who has an abusive mother should read this.

1. Everything she does is deniable.

There is always a facile excuse or an explanation. Cruelties are couched in loving terms. Aggressive and hostile acts are paraded as thoughtfulness. Selfish manipulations are presented as gifts. Criticism and slander is slyly disguised as concern. She only wants what is best for you. She only wants to help you.

She rarely says right out that she thinks you’re inadequate. Instead, any time that you tell her you’ve done something good, she counters with something your sibling did that was better or she simply ignores you or she hears you out without saying anything, then in a short time does something cruel to you so you understand not to get above yourself. She will carefully separate cause (your joy in your accomplishment) from effect (refusing to let you borrow the car to go to the awards ceremony) by enough time that someone who didn’t live through her abuse would never believe the connection.

Many of her putdowns are simply by comparison. She’ll talk about how wonderful someone else is or what a wonderful job they did on something you’ve also done or how highly she thinks of them. The contrast is left up to you. She has let you know that you’re no good without saying a word. She’ll spoil your pleasure in something by simply congratulating you for it in an angry, envious voice that conveys how unhappy she is, again, completely deniably. It is impossible to confront someone over their tone of voice, their demeanor or the way they look at you, but once your narcissistic mother has you trained, she can promise terrible punishment without a word. As a result, you’re always afraid, always in the wrong, and can never exactly put your finger on why.

Because her abusiveness is part of a lifelong campaign of control and because she is careful to rationalize her abuse, it is extremely difficult to explain to other people what is so bad about her. She’s also careful about when and how she engages in her abuses. She’s very secretive, a characteristic of almost all abusers (“Don’t wash our dirty laundry in public!”) and will punish you for telling anyone else what she’s done. The times and locations of her worst abuses are carefully chosen so that no one who might intervene will hear or see her bad behavior, and she will seem like a completely different person in public. She’ll slam you to other people, but will always embed her devaluing nuggets of snide gossip in protestations of concern, love and understanding (“I feel so sorry for poor Cynthia. She always seems to have such a hard time, but I just don’t know what I can do for her!”) As a consequence the children of narcissists universally report that no one believes them (“I have to tell you that she always talks about YOU in the most caring way!). Unfortunately therapists, given the deniable actions of the narcissist and eager to defend a fellow parent, will often jump to the narcissist’s defense as well, reinforcing your sense of isolation and helplessness ("I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that!”)

2. She violates your boundaries.

You feel like an extension of her. Your property is given away without your consent, sometimes in front of you. Your food is eaten off your plate or given to others off your plate. Your property may be repossessed and no reason given other than that it was never yours. Your time is committed without consulting you, and opinions purported to be yours are expressed for you. (She LOVES going to the fair! He would never want anything like that. She wouldn’t like kumquats.) You are discussed in your presence as though you are not there. She keeps tabs on your bodily functions and humiliates you by divulging the information she gleans, especially when it can be used to demonstrate her devotion and highlight her martyrdom to your needs (“Mike had that problem with frequent urination too, only his was much worse. I was so worried about him!”) You have never known what it is like to have privacy in the bathroom or in your bedroom, and she goes through your things regularly. She asks nosy questions, snoops into your email/letters/diary/conversations. She will want to dig into your feelings, particularly painful ones and is always looking for negative information on you which can be used against you. She does things against your expressed wishes frequently. All of this is done without seeming embarrassment or thought.

Any attempt at autonomy on your part is strongly resisted. Normal rites of passage (learning to shave, wearing makeup, dating) are grudgingly allowed only if you insist, and you’re punished for your insistence (“Since you’re old enough to date, I think you’re old enough to pay for your own clothes!”) If you demand age-appropriate clothing, grooming, control over your own life, or rights, you are difficult and she ridicules your “independence.”

3. She favoritizes.

Narcissistic mothers commonly choose one (sometimes more) child to be the golden child and one (sometimes more) to be the scapegoat. The narcissist identifies with the golden child and provides privileges to him or her as long as the golden child does just as she wants. The golden child has to be cared for assiduously by everyone in the family. The scapegoat has no needs and instead gets to do the caring. The golden child can do nothing wrong. The scapegoat is always at fault. This creates divisions between the children, one of whom has a large investment in the mother being wise and wonderful, and the other(s) who hate her. That division will be fostered by the narcissist with lies and with blatantly unfair and favoritizing behavior. The golden child will defend the mother and indirectly perpetuate the abuse by finding reasons to blame the scapegoat for the mother’s actions. The golden child may also directly take on the narcissistic mother’s tasks by physically abusing the scapegoat so the narcissistic mother doesn’t have to do that herself.

4. She undermines.

Your accomplishments are acknowledged only to the extent that she can take credit for them. Any success or accomplishment for which she cannot take credit is ignored or diminished. Any time you are to be center stage and there is no opportunity for her to be the center of attention, she will try to prevent the occasion altogether, or she doesn’t come, or she leaves early, or she acts like it’s no big deal, or she steals the spotlight or she slips in little wounding comments about how much better someone else did or how what you did wasn’t as much as you could have done or as you think it is. She undermines you by picking fights with you or being especially unpleasant just before you have to make a major effort. She acts put out if she has to do anything to support your opportunities or will outright refuse to do even small things in support of you. She will be nasty to you about things that are peripherally connected with your successes so that you find your joy in what you’ve done is tarnished, without her ever saying anything directly about it. No matter what your success, she has to take you down a peg about it.

5. She demeans, criticizes and denigrates.

She lets you know in all sorts of little ways that she thinks less of you than she does of your siblings or of other people in general. If you complain about mistreatment by someone else, she will take that person’s side even if she doesn’t know them at all. She doesn’t care about those people or the justice of your complaints. She just wants to let you know that you’re never right.

She will deliver generalized barbs that are almost impossible to rebut (always in a loving, caring tone): “You were always difficult” “You can be very difficult to love” “You never seemed to be able to finish anything” “You were very hard to live with” “You’re always causing trouble” “No one could put up with the things you do.” She will deliver slams in a sidelong way - for example she’ll complain about how “no one” loves her, does anything for her, or cares about her, or she’ll complain that “everyone” is so selfish, when you’re the only person in the room. As always, this combines criticism with deniability.

She will slip little comments into conversation that she really enjoyed something she did with someone else - something she did with you too, but didn’t like as much. She’ll let you know that her relationship with some other person you both know is wonderful in a way your relationship with her isn’t - the carefully unspoken message being that you don’t matter much to her.

She minimizes, discounts or ignores your opinions and experiences. Your insights are met with condescension, denials and accusations (“I think you read too much!”) and she will brush off your information even on subjects on which you are an acknowledged expert. Whatever you say is met with smirks and amused sounding or exaggerated exclamations (“Uh hunh!” “You don’t say!” “Really!”). She’ll then make it clear that she didn’t listen to a word you said.

6. She makes you look crazy.

If you try to confront her about something she’s done, she’ll tell you that you have “a very vivid imagination” (this is a phrase commonly used by abusers of all sorts to invalidate your experience of their abuse) that you don’t know what you’re talking about, or that she has no idea what you’re talking about. She will claim not to remember even very memorable events, flatly denying they ever happened, nor will she ever acknowledge any possibility that she might have forgotten. This is an extremely aggressive and exceptionally infuriating tactic called “gaslighting,” common to abusers of all kinds. Your perceptions of reality are continually undermined so that you end up without any confidence in your intuition, your memory or your powers of reasoning. This makes you a much better victim for the abuser.

Narcissists gaslight routinely. The narcissist will either insinuate or will tell you outright that you’re unstable, otherwise you wouldn’t believe such ridiculous things or be so uncooperative. You’re oversensitive. You’re imagining things. You’re hysterical. You’re completely unreasonable. You’re over-reacting, like you always do. She’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down and aren’t so irrational. She may even characterize you as being neurotic or psychotic.

Once she’s constructed these fantasies of your emotional pathologies, she’ll tell others about them, as always, presenting her smears as expressions of concern and declaring her own helpless victimhood. She didn’t do anything. She has no idea why you’re so irrationally angry with her. You’ve hurt her terribly. She thinks you may need psychotherapy. She loves you very much and would do anything to make you happy, but she just doesn’t know what to do. You keep pushing her away when all she wants to do is help you.

She has simultaneously absolved herself of any responsibility for your obvious antipathy towards her, implied that it’s something fundamentally wrong with you that makes you angry with her, and undermined your credibility with her listeners. She plays the role of the doting mother so perfectly that no one will believe you.

7. She’s envious.

Any time you get something nice she’s angry and envious and her envy will be apparent when she admires whatever it is. She’ll try to get it from you, spoil it for you, or get the same or better for herself. She’s always working on ways to get what other people have. The envy of narcissistic mothers often includes competing sexually with their daughters or daughters-in-law. They’ll attempt to forbid their daughters to wear makeup, to groom themselves in an age-appropriate way or to date. They will criticize the appearance of their daughters and daughters-in-law. This envy extends to relationships. Narcissistic mothers infamously attempt to damage their children’s marriages and interfere in the upbringing of their grandchildren.

8. She’s a liar in too many ways to count.

Any time she talks about something that has emotional significance for her, it’s a fair bet that she’s lying. Lying is one way that she creates conflict in the relationships and lives of those around her - she’ll lie to them about what other people have said, what they’ve done, or how they feel. She’ll lie about her relationship with them, about your behavior or about your situation in order to inflate herself and to undermine your credibility.

The narcissist is very careful about how she lies. To outsiders she’ll lie thoughtfully and deliberately, always in a way that can be covered up if she’s confronted with her lie. She spins what you said rather than makes something up wholesale. She puts dishonest interpretations on things you actually did. If she’s recently done something particularly egregious she may engage in preventative lying: she lies in advance to discount what you might say before you even say it. Then when you talk about what she did you’ll be cut off with “I already know all about it…your mother told me… (self-justifications and lies).” Because she is so careful about her deniability, it may be very hard to catch her in her lies and the more gullible of her friends may never realize how dishonest she is.

To you, she’ll lie blatantly. She will claim to be unable to remember bad things she has done, even if she did one of them recently and even if it was something very memorable. Of course, if you try to jog her memory by recounting the circumstances “You have a very vivid imagination” or “That was so long ago. Why do you have to dredge up your old grudges?” Your conversations with her are full of casual brush-offs and diversionary lies and she doesn’t respect you enough to bother making it sound good. For example she’ll start with a self-serving lie: “If I don’t take you as a dependent on my taxes I’ll lose three thousand dollars!” You refute her lie with an obvious truth: “No, three thousand dollars is the amount of the dependent exemption. You’ll only lose about eight hundred dollars.” Her response: “Isn’t that what I said?” You are now in a game with only one rule: You can’t win.

On the rare occasions she is forced to acknowledge some bad behavior, she will couch the admission deniably. She “guesses” that “maybe” she “might have” done something wrong. The wrongdoing is always heavily spun and trimmed to make it sound better. The words “I guess,” “maybe,” and “might have” are in and of themselves lies because she knows exactly what she did - no guessing, no might haves, no maybes.

9. She has to be the center of attention all the time.

This need is a defining trait of narcissists and particularly of narcissistic mothers for whom their children exist to be sources of attention and adoration. Narcissistic mothers love to be waited on and often pepper their children with little requests. “While you’re up…” or its equivalent is one of their favorite phrases. You couldn’t just be assigned a chore at the beginning of the week or of the day, instead, you had to do it on demand, preferably at a time that was inconvenient for you, or you had to “help” her do it, fetching and carrying for her while she made up to herself for the menial work she had to do as your mother by glorying in your attentions.

A narcissistic mother may create odd occasions at which she can be the center of attention, such as memorials for someone close to her who died long ago, or major celebrations of small personal milestones. She may love to entertain so she can be the life of her own party. She will try to steal the spotlight or will try to spoil any occasion where someone else is the center of attention, particularly the child she has cast as the scapegoat. She often invites herself along where she isn’t welcome. If she visits you or you visit her, you are required to spend all your time with her. Entertaining herself is unthinkable. She has always pouted, manipulated or raged if you tried to do anything without her, didn’t want to entertain her, refused to wait on her, stymied her plans for a drama or otherwise deprived her of attention.

Older narcissistic mothers often use the natural limitations of aging to manipulate dramas, often by neglecting their health or by doing things they know will make them ill. This gives them the opportunity to cash in on the investment they made when they trained you to wait on them as a child. Then they call you (or better still, get the neighbor or the nursing home administrator to call you) demanding your immediate attendance. You are to rush to her side, pat her hand, weep over her pain and listen sympathetically to her unending complaints about how hard and awful it is. (“Never get old!”) It’s almost never the case that you can actually do anything useful, and the causes of her disability may have been completely avoidable, but you’ve been put in an extremely difficult position. If you don’t provide the audience and attention she’s manipulating to get, you look extremely bad to everyone else and may even have legal culpability. (Narcissistic behaviors commonly accompany Alzheimer’s disease, so this behavior may also occur in perfectly normal mothers as they age.)

10. She manipulates your emotions in order to feed on your pain.

This exceptionally sick and bizarre behavior is so common among narcissistic mothers that their children often call them “emotional vampires.” Some of this emotional feeding comes in the form of pure sadism. She does and says things just to be wounding or she engages in tormenting teasing or she needles you about things you’re sensitive about, all the while a smile plays over her lips. She may have taken you to scary movies or told you horrifying stories, then mocked you for being a baby when you cried; she will slip a wounding comment into conversation and smile delightedly into your hurt face. You can hear the laughter in her voice as she pressures you or says distressing things to you. Later she’ll gloat over how much she upset you, gaily telling other people that you’re so much fun to tease, and recruiting others to share in her amusement. . She enjoys her cruelties and makes no effort to disguise that. She wants you to know that your pain entertains her. She may bring up subjects that are painful for you and probe you about them, all the while watching you carefully. This is emotional vampirism in its purest form. She’s feeding emotionally off your pain.

A peculiar form of this emotional vampirism combines attention-seeking behavior with a demand that the audience suffer. Since narcissistic mothers often play the martyr this may take the form of wrenching, self-pitying dramas which she carefully produces, and in which she is the star performer. She sobs and wails that no one loves her and everyone is so selfish, and she doesn’t want to live, she wants to die! She wants to die! She will not seem to care how much the manipulation of their emotions and the self-pity repels other people. One weird behavior that is very common to narcissists: her dramas may also center around the tragedies of other people, often relating how much she suffered by association and trying to distress her listeners, as she cries over the horrible murder of someone she wouldn’t recognize if they had passed her on the street.

11. She’s selfish and willful.

She always makes sure she has the best of everything. She insists on having her own way all the time and she will ruthlessly, manipulatively pursue it, even if what she wants isn’t worth all the effort she’s putting into it and even if that effort goes far beyond normal behavior. She will make a huge effort to get something you denied her, even if it was entirely your right to do so and even if her demand was selfish and unreasonable. If you tell her she cannot bring her friends to your party she will show up with them anyway, and she will have told them that they were invited so that you either have to give in, or be the bad guy to these poor dupes on your doorstep. If you tell her she can’t come over to your house tonight she’ll call your spouse and try get him or her to agree that she can, and to not say anything to you about it because it’s a “surprise.” She has to show you that you can’t tell her “no.”

One near-universal characteristic of narcissists: because they are so selfish and self-centered, they are very bad gift givers. They’ll give you hand-me-downs or market things for themselves as gifts for you (“I thought I’d give you my old bicycle and buy myself a new one!” “I know how much you love Italian food, so I’m going to take you to my favorite restaurant for your birthday!”) New gifts are often obviously cheap and are usually things that don’t suit you or that you can’t use or are a quid pro quo: if you buy her the gift she wants, she will buy you an item of your choice. She’ll make it clear that it pains her to give you anything. She may buy you a gift and get the identical item for herself, or take you shopping for a gift and get herself something nice at the same time to make herself feel better.

12. She’s self-absorbed.

Her feelings, needs and wants are very important; yours are insignificant to the point that her least whim takes precedence over your most basic needs. Her problems deserve your immediate and full attention; yours are brushed aside. Her wishes always take precedence; if she does something for you, she reminds you constantly of her munificence in doing so and will often try to extract some sort of payment. She will complain constantly, even though your situation may be much worse than hers. If you point that out, she will effortlessly, thoughtlessly brush it aside as of no importance (It’s easy for you… / It’s different for you…).

13. She is insanely defensive and is extremely sensitive to any criticism.

If you criticize her or defy her she will explode with fury, threaten, storm, rage, destroy and may become violent, beating, confining, putting her child outdoors in bad weather or otherwise engaging in classic physical abuse.

14. She terrorizes.

For all abusers, fear is a powerful means of control of the victim, and your narcissistic mother used it ruthlessly to train you. Narcissists teach you to beware their wrath even when they aren’t present. The only alternative is constant placation. If you give her everything she wants all the time, you might be spared. If you don’t, the punishments will come. Even adult children of narcissists still feel that carefully inculcated fear. Your narcissistic mother can turn it on with a silence or a look that tells the child in you she’s thinking about how she’s going to get even.

Not all narcissists abuse physically, but most do, often in subtle, deniable ways. It allows them to vent their rage at your failure to be the solution to their internal havoc and simultaneously to teach you to fear them. You may not have been beaten, but you were almost certainly left to endure physical pain when a normal mother would have made an effort to relieve your misery. This deniable form of battery allows her to store up her rage and dole out the punishment at a later time when she’s worked out an airtight rationale for her abuse, so she never risks exposure. You were left hungry because “you eat too much.” (Someone asked her if she was pregnant. She isn’t). You always went to school with stomach flu because “you don’t have a fever. You’re just trying to get out of school.” (She resents having to take care of you. You have a lot of nerve getting sick and adding to her burdens.) She refuses to look at your bloody heels and instead the shoes that wore those blisters on your heels are put back on your feet and you’re sent to the store in them because “You wanted those shoes. Now you can wear them.” (You said the ones she wanted to get you were ugly. She liked them because they were just like what she wore 30 years ago). The dentist was told not to give you Novocain when he drilled your tooth because “he has to learn to take better care of his teeth.” (She has to pay for a filling and she’s furious at having to spend money on you.)

Narcissistic mothers also abuse by loosing others on you or by failing to protect you when a normal mother would have. Sometimes the narcissist’s golden child will be encouraged to abuse the scapegoat. Narcissists also abuse by exposing you to violence. If one of your siblings got beaten, she made sure you saw. She effortlessly put the fear of Mom into you, without raising a hand.

15. She’s infantile and petty.

Narcissistic mothers are often simply childish. If you refuse to let her manipulate you into doing something, she will cry that you don’t love her because if you loved her you would do as she wanted. If you hurt her feelings she will aggressively whine to you that you’ll be sorry when she’s dead that you didn’t treat her better. These babyish complaints and responses may sound laughable, but the narcissist is dead serious about them. When you were a child, if you ask her to stop some bad behavior, she would justify it by pointing out something that you did that she feels is comparable, as though the childish behavior of a child is justification for the childish behavior of an adult. “Getting even” is a large part of her dealings with you. Anytime you fail to give her the deference, attention or service she feels she deserves, or you thwart her wishes, she has to show you.

16. She’s aggressive and shameless.

She doesn’t ask. She demands. She makes outrageous requests and she’ll take anything she wants if she thinks she can get away with it. Her demands of her children are posed in a very aggressive way, as are her criticisms. She won’t take no for an answer, pushing and arm-twisting and manipulating to get you to give in.

17. She “parentifies.”

She shed her responsibilities to you as soon as she was able, leaving you to take care of yourself as best you could. She denied you medical care, adequate clothing, necessary transportation or basic comforts that she would never have considered giving up for herself. She never gave you a birthday party or let you have sleepovers. Your friends were never welcome in her house. She didn’t like to drive you anywhere, so you turned down invitations because you had no way to get there. She wouldn’t buy your school pictures even if she could easily have afforded it. You had a niggardly clothing allowance or she bought you the cheapest clothing she could without embarrassing herself. As soon as you got a job, every request for school supplies, clothing or toiletries was met with “Now that you’re making money, why don’t you pay for that yourself?” You studied up on colleges on your own and choose a cheap one without visiting it. You signed yourself up for the SATs, earned the money to pay for them and talked someone into driving you to the test site. You worked three jobs to pay for that cheap college and when you finally got mononucleosis she chirped at you that she was “so happy you could take care of yourself.”

She also gave you tasks that were rightfully hers and should not have been placed on a child. You may have been a primary caregiver for young siblings or an incapacitated parent. You may have had responsibility for excessive household tasks. Above all, you were always her emotional caregiver which is one reason any defection from that role caused such enormous eruptions of rage. You were never allowed to be needy or have bad feelings or problems. Those experiences were only for her, and you were responsible for making it right for her. From the time you were very young she would randomly lash out at you any time she was stressed or angry with your father or felt that life was unfair to her, because it made her feel better to hurt you. You were often punished out of the blue, for manufactured offenses. As you got older she directly placed responsibility for her welfare and her emotions on you, weeping on your shoulder and unloading on you any time something went awry for her.

18. She’s exploitative.

She will manipulate to get work, money, or objects she envies out of other people for nothing. This includes her children, of course. If she set up a bank account for you, she was trustee on the account with the right to withdraw money. As you put money into it, she took it out. She may have stolen your identity. She took you as a dependent on her income taxes so you couldn’t file independently without exposing her to criminal penalties. If she made an agreement with you, it was violated the minute it no longer served her needs. If you brought it up demanding she adhere to the agreement, she brushed you off and later punished you so you would know not to defy her again.

Sometimes the narcissist will exploit a child to absorb punishment that would have been hers from an abusive partner. The husband comes home in a drunken rage, and the mother immediately complains about the child’s bad behavior so the rage is vented on to the child. Sometimes the narcissistic mother simply uses the child to keep a sick marriage intact because the alternative is being divorced or having to go to work. The child is sexually molested but the mother never notices, or worse, calls the child a liar when she tells the mother about the molestation.

19. She projects.

This sounds a little like psycho-babble, but it is something that narcissists all do. Projection means that she will put her own bad behavior, character and traits on you so she can deny them in herself and punish you. This can be very difficult to see if you have traits that she can project on to. An eating-disordered woman who obsesses over her daughter’s weight is projecting. The daughter may not realize it because she has probably internalized an absurdly thin vision of women’s weight and so accepts her mother’s projection. When the narcissist tells the daughter that she eats too much, needs to exercise more, or has to wear extra-large size clothes, the daughter believes it, even if it isn’t true. However, she will sometimes project even though it makes no sense at all. This happens when she feels shamed and needs to put it on her scapegoat child and the projection therefore comes across as being an attack out of the blue. For example: She makes an outrageous request, and you casually refuse to let her have her way. She’s enraged by your refusal and snarls at you that you’ll talk about it when you’ve calmed down and are no longer hysterical.

You aren’t hysterical at all; she is, but your refusal has made her feel the shame that should have stopped her from making shameless demands in the first place. That’s intolerable. She can transfer that shame to you and rationalize away your response: you only refused her because you’re so unreasonable. Having done that she can reassert her shamelessness and indulge her childish willfulness by turning an unequivocal refusal into a subject for further discussion. You’ll talk about it again “later” - probably when she’s worn you down with histrionics, pouting and the silent treatment so you’re more inclined to do what she wants.

20. She is never wrong about anything.

No matter what she’s done, she won’t ever genuinely apologize for anything. Instead, any time she feels she is being made to apologize she will sulk and pout, issue an insulting apology or negate the apology she has just made with justifications, qualifications or self pity: “I’m sorry you felt that I humiliated you” “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad” “If I did that it was wrong” “I’m sorry, but I there’s nothing I can do about it” “I’m sorry I made you feel clumsy, stupid and disgusting” “I’m sorry but it was just a joke. You’re so over-sensitive” “I’m sorry that my own child feels she has to upset me and make me feel bad.” The last insulting apology is also an example of projection.

21. She seems to have no awareness that other people even have feelings.

She’ll occasionally slip and say something jaw-droppingly callous because of this lack of empathy. It isn’t that she doesn’t care at all about other people’s feelings, though she doesn’t. It would simply never occur to her to think about their feelings. An absence of empathy is the defining trait of a narcissist and underlies most of the other traits I have described. Unlike psychopaths, narcissists do understand right, wrong, and consequences, so they are not ordinarily criminal. She beat you, but not to the point where you went to the hospital. She left you standing out in the cold until you were miserable, but not until you had hypothermia. She put you in the basement in the dark with no clothes on, but she only left you there for two hours.

22. She blames.

She’ll blame you for everything that isn’t right in her life or for what other people do or for whatever has happened. Always, she’ll blame you for her abuse. You made her do it. If only you weren’t so difficult. You upset her so much that she can’t think straight. Things were hard for her and your backtalk pushed her over the brink. This blaming is often so subtle that all you know is that you thought you were wronged and now you feel guilty. Your brother beats you and her response is to bemoan how uncivilized children are. Your boyfriend dumped you, but she can understand - after all, she herself has seen how difficult you are to love. She’ll do something egregiously exploitative to you, and when confronted will screech at you that she can’t believe you were so selfish as to upset her over such a trivial thing. She’ll also blame you for your reaction to her selfish, cruel and exploitative behavior. She can’t believe you are so petty, so small, and so childish as to object to her giving your favorite dress to her friend. She thought you would be happy to let her do something nice for someone else.

Narcissists are masters of multitasking as this example shows. Simultaneously your narcissistic mother is
Lying. She knows what she did was wrong and she knows your reaction is reasonable.
Manipulating. She’s making you look like the bad guy for objecting to her cruelties.
Being selfish. She doesn’t mind making you feel horrible as long as she gets her own way.
Blaming. She did something wrong, but it’s all your fault.
Projecting. Her petty, small and childish behavior has become yours.
Putting on a self-pitying drama. She’s a martyr who believed the best of you, and you’ve let her down.
Parentifying. You’re responsible for her feelings, she has no responsibility for yours.

23. She destroys your relationships.

Narcissistic mothers are like tornadoes: wherever they touch down families are torn apart and wounds are inflicted. Unless the father has control over the narcissist and holds the family together, adult siblings in families with narcissistic mothers characteristically have painful relationships. Typically all communication between siblings is superficial and driven by duty, or they may never talk to each other at all. In part, these women foster dissension between their children because they enjoy the control it gives them. If those children don’t communicate except through the mother, she can decide what everyone hears. Narcissists also love the excitement and drama they create by interfering in their children’s lives. Watching people’s lives explode is better than soap operas, especially when you don’t have any empathy for their misery.

The narcissist nurtures anger, contempt and envy - the most corrosive emotions - to drive her children apart. While her children are still living at home, any child who stands up to the narcissist guarantees punishment for the rest. In her zest for revenge, the narcissist purposefully turns the siblings’ anger on the dissenter by including everyone in her retaliation. (“I can see that nobody here loves me! Well I’ll just take these Christmas presents back to the store. None of you would want anything I got you anyway!”) The other children, long trained by the narcissist to give in, are furious with the troublemaking child, instead of with the narcissist who actually deserves their anger.

The narcissist also uses favoritism and gossip to poison her childrens’ relationships. The scapegoat sees the mother as a creature of caprice and cruelty. As is typical of the privileged, the other children don’t see her unfairness and they excuse her abuses. Indeed, they are often recruited by the narcissist to adopt her contemptuous and entitled attitude towards the scapegoat and with her tacit or explicit permission, will inflict further abuse. The scapegoat predictably responds with fury and equal contempt. After her children move on with adult lives, the narcissist makes sure to keep each apprised of the doings of the others, passing on the most discreditable and juicy gossip (as always, disguised as “concern”) about the other children, again, in a way that engenders contempt rather than compassion.

Having been raised by a narcissist, her children are predisposed to be envious, and she takes full advantage of the opportunity that presents. While she may never praise you to your face, she will likely crow about your victories to the very sibling who is not doing well. She’ll tell you about the generosity she displayed towards that child, leaving you wondering why you got left out and irrationally angry at the favored child rather than at the narcissist who told you about it.

The end result is a family in which almost all communication is triangular. The narcissist, the spider in the middle of the family web, sensitively monitors all the children for information she can use to retain her unchallenged control over the family. She then passes that on to the others, creating the resentments that prevent them from communicating directly and freely with each other. The result is that the only communication between the children is through the narcissist, exactly the way she wants it.

24. As a last resort she goes pathetic.

When she’s confronted with unavoidable consequences for her own bad behavior, including your anger, she will melt into a soggy puddle of weepy helplessness. It’s all her fault. She can’t do anything right. She feels so bad. What she doesn’t do: own the responsibility for her bad conduct and make it right. Instead, as always, it’s all about her, and her helpless self-pitying weepiness dumps the responsibility for her consequences AND for her unhappiness about it on you. As so often with narcissists, it is also a manipulative behavior. If you fail to excuse her bad behavior and make her feel better, YOU are the bad person for being cold, heartless and unfeeling when your poor mother feels so awful.

Summary: Actress, [Y/N] [Y/L/N], and Harry Styles meet for the first time at the Oscars. The interviewer and cameras catch the undeniable spark.

~ Requests are OPEN ~

“Have You Met [Y/N]?”

It’s the night of the Oscars. Actors and actresses fill the red carpet, pausing for pictures and stopping by for interviews.

Harry Styles, amongst others, is one of the most anticipated guests of the night. His spectacular performance for his role as “Alex” in his first solo film, “Dunkirk”, earned him a nomination for “best actor in a supporting role.” The film itself is nominated for several categories.

“How are you feeling tonight, Harry?” an interviewer from E!News, Zuri Hall, asks.

“Great,” he responds, rubbing his hands together and bringing it to his lips. “’m very happy to be here.”

“You look dashing!” she exclaims.

“Thank you,” he responds, smiling politely.

“I love the suit. Who’s it by?” Zuri asks, eyeing his all black ensemble with a hint of glimmer.

“Alessandro Michele— Gucci,” he answers.

The interviewer smiles in admiration of the handsome gentleman standing before her in his designer suit. “You have had quite the year,” she tells him, “or couple of years, I should say. Your album topped the charts and now Dunkirk.”

Harry chuckles humbly, refusing to admit his continuous rise to success. He simply says, “It’s always an honor to work alongside such talented individuals and to be entrusted with such a responsibility— every day has been a good one. I can’t thank ev’ryone enough.”

“What will you do if you win ‘actor in a supporting role’?” she asks.

Harry thinks for a short moment. “I think might cry,” he says jokingly, earning a laugh from the interviewer. “It would be quite the honor,” he goes on to say.

“Have you gotten a chance to catch up with anyone here yet?”

“Umm,” Harry hums, fingers slightly pinching his lips and his eyes roam around, “No, I haven’t run into anyone yet. I think they’re busy.”

The interviewers giggles and nods her head in agreement. Her eyes quickly scan the area and lands on [Y/N] walking by in a beautiful gown. [Y/N] is a young A-List actress nominated for her leading role in a romantic film. “[Y/N]!” she calls out as [Y/N] passes by her and Harry. [Y/N] catches sight of Zuri who gestures her over. [Y/N] lifts the bottom of her gown and walks carefully up the stairs. “I’m so sorry! I feel like I’m interrupting!” [Y/N] laughs and she’s greeted with a hug from Zuri.

“Hello,” [Y/N] says to Harry, extending her hand, “Pleasure to meet finally meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he grins, exposing his deep dimples and smile lines. He takes [Y/N]’s hand and leans in to press his cheek against hers.

“Have you two not met before?” the interview asks in astonishment.

“No, we haven’t formally met,” Harry chuckles.

Zuri gasps. “Well I’ll be darned! [Y/N], Harry. Harry, [Y/N],” she introduces them, motioning from one to the other. “Harry hasn’t come across any of his co-stars yet,” Zuri tells [Y/N], “I thought he could use a friend.”

[Y/N] laughs, “Lucky me, I’m a fan.” She turns to Harry and says, “Congratulations on your nomination. ‘Dunkirk’ was a great film.”

“[Y/N] is nominated for “actress in a leading role’,” Zuri says to the camera.

“Thank you very much,” Harry bows his head, “Congratulations to you, too. You look beau’iful, by the way.” Harry smiles, looking adoringly at [Y/N]. 

“Yes! Give us a twirl!” Zuri says excitedly. Harry holds [Y/N]’s hand over her head as she twirls her grown for the camera.

A giggle comes out of [Y/N] as she smiles at the ground, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” she says to Harry, “And what about you? You look very handsome, if I may say so myself. Doesn’t he?”

“Oh, stop,” Harry laughs.

Zuri notices [Y/N] and Harry both smiling, looking fondly at one another. “Alright, I won’t hold the two of you up any longer,” she says. “You’ve got a busy night. Thank you so much for stopping by, Harry and [Y/N]. Good luck to both of you tonight.”

[Y/N] and Harry thank Zuri. The camera focuses on [Y/N] and Harry as they make their way off the platform. Zuri watches as Harry helps [Y/N] down the steps. “Here, let me help you,” Harry says. He holds out his hand for her to take as her other hand lifts the front of her gown off the floor.

“Did you come here with anyone tonight?” Zuri overhears Harry ask once off the platform. The camera remains on the two, capturing the candid moment. [Y/N] grins and shakes her head no. “I did not,” she tells him, “I’m a solo flight, tonight. How about you?”

“No, just me,” he answers. “You look beau’iful.”

[Y/N] giggles bashfully and fiddles with her dress, “You said that already.”

Harry buries his face in his hands as he feels his face flush red. “I’m sorry,” he chuckles, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Don’t apologize,” [Y/N] tells him, removing his hands from his face. “I love your music; I’ve got tickets to your show next month.”

Harry gasps, “No way! Where? Come back stage…” The two walk away from the camera’s view with Harry’s hand placed on [Y/N]’s back, leading her.

The camera refocuses on Zuri. “Did anyone else catch that?” she chortles at the camera, “Well, if that ever happens, you saw it here first, on E!News. I’m Zuri Hall, from E!News and your celebrity matchmaker.”

“The After Party!”

I would not call “13 Reasons Why” incredible, or beautiful, or amazing. But I would call it real, and I do not regret watching it at all. I don’t think I’ll ever understand exactly why Hannah made the tapes, I’m not even sure that I agree with her doing so.

And I know a lot of people are upset with how triggering it is, or that they portrayed depression the wrong way. Because yes I understand that depression is a chemical imbalance. But when someone commits suicide, having depression is not always the reason.

Depression I know is the main cause to suicide, and you can’t control it. And maybe you’ve stopped reading this already but if not, just bear with me here for a second.

Hannah Baker went through things that unfortunately a lot of girls in high school have gone through. But if I read one more fucking thing where someone says that “they got through it so she should’ve” I’m going to riot.

I don’t think Hannah had depression. And anyone can correct me on this if I get it wrong I’m not trying to act like I know everything but from what I’ve read, depression is being constantly sad, tired, and empty without having a reason or not knowing what that reason is. A chemical imbalance.

Hannah knew exactly why she was empty. She knew her reasons. She was not depressed. She was scared, and violated, and broken down. But she knew exactly why she felt that way.

I wish she would’ve gotten help, I wish she would’ve told anybody about everything that was happening as it happened and not when it was all over.

But this show, I do believe It does have a message. I understand it was her choice, but every choice in life is led up to by previous events, sometimes those events are people.

Say that it’s an an awful show, you have that right. But don’t say that they portrayed what she went through the “wrong way” because a lot of people who watched this show really related to what she went through and were really affected not because of her actions but the things the other characters did to her.

So just understand, if you blame this show for doing it “the wrong way” you have now minimized the problems that those who relate to her character have gone through in real life,and they are not fictional.

Do not say bad things about Hannah Baker or how her character was represented on the show. Because there’s a real Hannah Baker out there, who probably has another name, and could’ve read your post about how “unnecessary and dumb” her storyline was.

The shows message was that what you say, and what you let be heard matters. Your words matter that you said negatively about the show and about Hannah and everything she went through.

So congratulations, you’re no better than anyone on the tapes. Except you’re real.

6: “Marry me” (part 2 from the 5/6 request, also andreil!)

It takes 4 months and 2 weeks to organize Matt’s proposal to Dan. 

Neil knows because he’s been pretending to understand most of what Matt says to him for 4 months and 2 weeks.

It’s not that he’s not happy for them, it’s just that being told to celebrate love feels like being told to celebrate the way the world turns, or the gravity that continues to pin us like the bar on a rollercoaster seat. Neil celebrates love by staying alive to see it. He celebrates it by keeping it.

He looks at prospective rings and says they’re fine over and over again. He dutifully tells Dan nothing even when she asks outright. He answers the phone when Matt calls him in a panic at midnight and says “what if she says no” so many times that Neil hands the phone to Nicky.

It does make him think though, about Andrew. Without meaning to.

He doesn’t think of it as marriage in his head (to Neil, marriage has always been something that swallows you like quick sand). Tying himself to Andrew though — having something legally binding like Neil Josten on his documents, like their names on the lease, like his contract with his team — that means something to Neil.

Being with Andrew is the thrill of being in the game, but having it on paper would be like points blinking onto a scoreboard. He knows he’s scoring now, but he wants the crowd to know too. He wants this win to stick.

He doesn’t mention it because it doesn’t matter, ultimately. Neil doesn’t need other people to tell him that they love each other.

Andrew scoops Sir off Neil’s lap and smuggles him to his side of the couch. He pours one bowl of sugar crisp and one bowl of granola in the morning. He catches Neil’s sleeve before he goes for a run and uses every ounce of 5 AM energy he has to hold Neil’s eyes. Neil knows how he feels.

But he really does support Matt and Dan, separate from the way he’s scared of hospital rooms he won’t be allowed into or the box on a form that labels them ‘roommates’ like that’s anywhere close to enough.

The engagement lines up with a weekend that all the original foxes are scheduled to meet up on, scraped together by Matt’s meticulous hands and Nicky’s constant phone calls.

Andrew isn’t interested in going, but Neil asks, so. They’re the first ones there.

Keep reading

Space Between Us | JAEHYUN

summary: being just classmates is not enough for him, but you only get to understand that after his lips had reached yours. 

Genre: frat boy!au | smut  | a wave of fluffiness at the end

⨯ Pairing: Jaehyun / Reader

Word count: 9 575

a/n: lowkey inspired—and enlightened—by study sessions from @honeytaeyong though mine is not as good as hers (god bless you and your writing). Special thanks to my pumpkin @suhsexual for  endure endless requests for help. There may be some grammatical mistakes left so I apologise in advance. Oh, yes, there may be a part 2 ;)

warnings: mature content, language (not actually dirty talking)

You’d been first, it was a relief. The number one exposed in that piece of sheet made your heart flutter little by little, and then you smiled. How sincere and truthful was it, the small grin drawn on your face, transforming your previous anxious expression in something completely lighted and amused. After broken hearts and desperate tears, being ranked as first place was one of the few things that could possibly turn out to be great in your eyes. You blinked. It was there, the one.

The elder woman in front of you—an old professor in the university; someone with an enviable knowledge—rested her hand on your shoulder. She had an odd aura around her; something completely comforting, which was not expectable from someone extremely rigorous. The professor took a deep breath and twinkled.

“You did great, again.” She said. Her voice tone was apathetic, but she managed to show some kind of happiness after a smirk. “If you keep doing like this, you may get in the rank of all courses.” Then she clapped her hands. “It’s something to think about.” And touched her own head with an index finger.

That hadn’t been your main focus, however. The ranks were just something to fulfil the emptiness you felt inside your being, as something really important was missing. At first you concluded it could be all about the end of you three-year relationship; you really had loved him, and that was something you didn’t doubt about. It was crystal clear you’d felt the most intense of all feelings, because you’d wished him well, you’d wished him to be close to you, and you’d wished—and deeply wished—for him to like you back in the same level. Although in the end of all, he didn’t. And that’s when you’d felt on the surface of a limitless ocean, slowly drifting away from the only land that held you—and your emotions—still. He had left you in the farthest blind spot possible, without a plausible reason. Were you supposed to be fine? In the very beginning you had even thought it could work out: you could deal with the situation. Oh, but you had been wrong.

And then you had cried for hours. An intense pain burning inside you for days—afterward days became weeks, and weeks became months. In the end of the third month, after the breakup, you’d realised he wasn’t what filled your soul. The guy whom you dated, and eventually developed feelings for, was just a part of a puzzle you hadn’t had the chance to complete yet. Something bigger was missing; finally you’d gotten to the point when your vision had become clear again and the monochromatic colours of life had turned out to be, actually, the colours of the rainbow. You were free of angst. You were mature enough to understand that the only person you needed was you—but you also knew that it did not mean you forgot your past experiences, it meant you could love yourself entirely. From that moment, what could possibly make you feel satisfied was your own success, so you’d looked for it. And you’d achieved your goals.

You looked down to the paper again. The #1 on the top made you feel ease. You folded the note and gathered the rest of your things, packed them up inside you backpack and calmly walked out of the enormous auditorium. The semester ended in the best way possible, and you were happy with what you obtained. The professor politely asked you to close the door behind you, but before you could do so, someone held it. The blond haired boy gave you a small smile and waited for you to exit the ambient so he could shut the entryway. You nodded, as an acknowledgement, and turned on your heels so you could finally go home, yet a hand touched your free shoulder obligating you to shift back and face the person.

“Congratulations.” The boy said. “You got first place again.”

“Thank you,” you’d begun, searching in your memory for the name of the guy in front of you. The information you had was his physical appearance and his voice, which didn’t sound so familiar. So it took you more effort, causing you to look deep inside his eyes and drive you gaze to his smile. You suddenly knew who he was and the sort of fame he had. You smirked at the thought that he was talking to you. “Hum, Jaehyun.”

“This time we were close, though.” He shrugged. “You are just one percent in front of me.”

“Well,” you took a deep breath “it’s nice of you to say that. For the next semester I’ll be sure to be five percent up.”

“I wish you the best of luck as I intend to be first too. You know, I’ve seen you as a great competitor, but you should be ready for a break.” He blinked and you felt a bitter taste filling your saliva, just as his actions and words were poison.

You were ready to answer; the words scratching your throat, wishing to get out of your mouth. The perfect sentence formed up in the tip of your tongue and you felt prepared to throw the letters at his confident posture, but someone called your name. Instead of being alleviated, you didn’t want the conversation to die in that type of limbo; to be forgotten and Jaehyun just think of you like some kind of unprepared nerd. You were prepared, and you wanted to confront him, but why?

He sighed. “I am sure you—”

“I have to go.” You said; your voice weak and barely audible. You cleared your throat and repeated; he grinned, only. “I believe we will see each other often, then.” The words came out soft and friendly. You even found it awkward, but didn’t bother waiting for his response. Turning to where your name was being called, you followed your way.

Still it was quite out of context someone like him comes, promptly, and talks to you in a – almost – casual manner. It was funny, too, how you felt the atmosphere serene and pleasant with Jaehyun’s presence, and that’s adding his accusative tone. All of that, and you didn’t know him; what you knew, actually, was his repulsive reputation of being rude and extremely self-confident. He didn’t seem, though, like that. His voice was velvety, his brown-caramel eyes were refreshing, and if it wasn’t already enough to be involving, his smile was full and blinding. He looked gorgeous, that was a fact. But what caught you out off guard was his gentle and cordial way to talk and direct his words even if he was trying to intimidate you. Is he, you thought, really an asshole like they say?

“…and he was talking to you?” You were cut off of your thoughts when your friend had slapped a hand on your back.

“Jaehyun?”  You’d presumed she was talking about the scene before, even though you didn’t actually pay attention to her words. The girl nodded and you gave her a small grin. “He wanted to congratulate me.”

“Congratulate?” She seemed deeply confused. “He is not the kind of guy who simply congratulates people, you know.”

“That’s why I got first again.” You had raised your index finger meaning a number one and your girlfriend perfectly understood what you meant. She yelled the loudest ‘yeah’ you have ever heard in your life and jumped really high, commemorating your achievement. She was happier than you were thirty minutes ago.

Suddenly she’d stopped and: “You should remember your promise.”

“I do.” You laughed. Of course, how could you forget about the stupidest decision you have ever made? She examined you from head to toes and sighed.

“See, we can stay home too.” She shrugged. “If you don’t feel comfortable—”

“If it is because of him” you cut her off “don’t worry. And it’s your chance with Yuta.” You’d touched her cheeks in an affectionate way.

“I’ll have other chances, though.” She softly hit your hands, moving them away from her face. Her protection and preoccupation was clear and touching, yet you didn’t think it was necessary. With smart words and a well-toned voice, you convinced the poor girl you were fine with the situation; after all, you promised and promises are meant to be kept.

The truth, although, was that you needed to see your ex-boyfriend and be completely confident about your feelings; be certain you were over it and the affection for him died long ago. What you fear, nevertheless, was the little fire still burning inside your chest—if it was either due to the imminent encounter, or if it was something new. The ultimate reality should hit you, deep inside. And it had to happen that day, that night.

The music was explicit and the lyrics, dirty and invasive. Few of the melodies could actually make you move your body (slightly) and enjoy the moment. Shots and shots of vodka had become some sort of time-killer when your girlfriend left you sitting alone to hook up with the guy named Nakamoto Yuta. She said they would be inside a room, but didn’t say which one it was. So you decided to wait; sooner or later she would be back – and you hoped it was sooner.

An ambient that didn’t actually match with your idea of having a good time was a house party. People drunk and wasted, while some of those who still were conscious had to take care of the boys and girls throwing up everywhere; there were always couples kissing and this annoying smell of rough and unplanned sex. Like it was casual, but you knew people fooled around just because they thought it was natural to have relations with anyone, anywhere.

You’d rather be at home, sleeping, than be where you were and seeing what you saw.

To make it worst, you’d been squeezed between pairs of young-adults that constantly changed into other pairs. It was a warm-up before the couples decide if they would or wouldn’t feed their libido. You sighed when the sofa became empty. In the past thirty minutes your body had been hit, punched and kicked unintentionally, and all you did was nod in acceptance. Now your form was the only thing occupying the fluffy furniture; you’d rested your neck on the couch’s pillow and closed your eyes in a vain attempt to filter some nice sounds in the surroundings.

Someone sat beside you and: “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

You knew the voice; oh, and how you wished you didn’t. He was there and right by your side; your heart raced a little, but not enough to convince you that you could possibly be emotive. Slowly you opened your eyelids, not bothering if took you long to pick up the correct words to say. Indeed, it took you an enormous time to gather sufficient courage to speak.

“I gambled.” You shrugged. “And lost. I am just paying the bill.”

“I see.” He said and you were sure he smiled too. “I am glad you came, it’s been a while.”

“Youngho,” you finally stared at him. He was softly different from when you two ended up your relationship; his hair was shorter and he became thinner. Maybe he grew muscles too, you’d pondered. “I didn’t come because of you.”

“I am not saying you did.” He ignored your gaze, shifting positions and looking away. “Anyway, both of us should move on, right?” Youngho found someone—a black-haired girl, you saw—and smiled. “I still consider you very important, we dated for three—”

“I need to go after Yuta and a friend of mine, if you don’t bother.” You stood up, stopping Youngho to say any other word. He took a deep breath and nodded, although his eyes were begging you to stay.

It didn’t matter, though, what your ex-boyfriend said. When he sat down and his voice echoed in your ears it was a mixture of emotions, but none of them were related to love. Something close to anger and heartburn, you would say. Youngho’s posture was light and concrete, while you were still broken into small pieces and trying to pick up from the ground parts of your soul that you were sure you lost. He was completely bright and you were totally stormy.

Going up, your steps slow and heavy, you gained time to think about why you still had this burning sensation in your stomach. Not because you weren’t over your recent ended love, but because you hated how injured you were – and he wasn’t. You felt all of that was unfair, because you’d suffered for days and days, so in the end your sentiments collapsed and you’d felt nothing; for some time you became immune of pleasure and sadness. You felt nothing. And it wasn’t good either.

You leaned your back in the first wall in front of you. It was a really long hallway and you were only some steps away from the stairs, but it felt good. Good to have no one but you standing; even if you recognized that all the rooms on the floor were populated, at least the corridor was desert.

For some reason you were holding a bottle of beer, and you didn’t realise that until you felt your left hand cold and hurting. You smiled at your own misperception; you’d been so overwhelmed with love life that you forgot how much you’d been drinking and even when you had gotten that bottle. With nothing to lose, you took a long sip from the liquid; your throat burning with the astringent taste of the alcohol. You let a short ‘ah’ come out of your mouth after you’d finished the drink and put the jar on the ground.

“What if I had bet something with someone?” A voice startled you, causing your body to tremble entirely. It was Jung Jaehyun.

“Where did you come from?” You inquired; your eyes widened. He was holding a glass with a transparent liquid and you presumed it was soju because of the strong smell. Jaehyun shook the glass, moving the drink a little bit, as it was a combination of all kinds of liquors; with his free hand he sent you a ‘wait’ sign and you rolled your eyes. Like everybody else he should be just playing around.

His expression, although, was peacefully. Jaehyun had his hair straight and his clothes on place; it looked like he just arrived to the party and that cup of alcohol was his first. You asked yourself, while you read him, how he could possibly have such a controlled aura. Jaehyun didn’t seem lost, but also didn’t seem immersed in the environment. He was in the same position as you: leaned on a wall; his pupils dilated due to the booze he just ingested and his breath slow and paced.

Suddenly a girl exited the bathroom close to where Jaehyun was, and you acknowledged what possibly happened. Her eyes showed concern when she saw you standing in front of the blond haired boy and you thought that she was afraid you would tell someone about what perhaps occurred in the small lavatory. You grinned at the thought of being mean enough to start walking around and telling everyone that Jung Jaehyun just had had sex in a toilet, but you put yourself on the girl’s place and decided that from all of those people fucking around, why would punish only that poor girl?

With fast steps she left the floor and went all the way down to reach the real party. You smirked, ironically.

“Unbelievable.” Your words came out as a whisper.

But you had been wrong. Right after the girl vanished, a guy came out from the same bathroom as her, with the same concerned expression she had and the same speed on his steps. That boy had fun, not Jung Jaehyun.

Jaehyun cleared his throat calling your attention back to him. “What if I bet something with someone?” He repeated his first words.

“What do I have to do with that?” You shrugged; cleaning the scene about the girl, the boy and the bathroom from your mind.

“What if I say it has to do with you?” He came two steps closer.

You snorted. “Why would you?”

“See, I was sure you would get second place.” He stepped back, leaning on the wall again.

“So it’s all about the rank?” You inquired, not believing at his words. “That’s why it involves me?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “The thing is: if you got first” Jaehyun laughed before continuing: “I’d have to kiss you.”

You sarcastically grinned. “Otherwise?”

He seemed surprised with your question, so it took him some seconds to ratiocinate. “I’ll have to shave every single hair of my body.”

“Eyebrows too?”

“Eyebrows too.” He assured.

You laughed, loudly. It’d been a while since you sincerely laughed like that and it made Jaehyun smile for a moment. “Good luck on that. I’d recommend hot wax.”

Turning on your heels you took your way down again, but you stopped on the top of the stair as soon as you witnessed a scene you’d rather not see. Youngho had his hands over a girl’s body, drawing her curves with the tip of his fingers while his lips touched the skin of her face and then her mouth. You felt disgusted; the will to throw up rising inside you. You shifted, looking back to Jaehyun who had eyes glued on your form.

“Look.” He said. “I don’t really want to hurt my balls.”

“Don’t you–” you began asking, but he cut you off.

“It’s not the main topic if it’s a forest down there or not.” Jaehyun stepped closer once again and you let a ‘gross’ out of your mouth. “I am not that bad and it is just a kiss.”

“What do you get if you kiss me?” You asked, some sort of interest growing on your bowels.

He smirked. “Two hundred bucks.”

You nodded. “We split. And then I am in.”

Jaehyun had been caught out off guard; the boy really didn’t believe you would accept his proposal. “So it’s a deal.”

“And I think I have the right to know who the person who made this bet with you was.” You pointed out.

“Ah” he said. “A friend of mine; Chittaphon.”

“The Art and Dance major?” It was funny to think that the small thin guy, known all over the University for his pure personality, had done that kind of wager. Jaehyun said a low ‘yes’ and you just shrugged. “All right, so we do this here or?”

“Well, you know” he began, coming closer and closer. “It has to be, hum, public.”

“You mean you have to do this in front of everyone so your friend can see and you won’t be shaved from head to toes.” You spilled out so fast that Jaehyun took a moment to understand every word. In the end he positively shook his head. You touched the boy’s shoulder and muttered a ‘let’s do it then’.

Jaehyun pointed to the stair, as a mention for you to lead him. You were not sure about his intentions – it could be Youngho trying to outwit you or your friend, trying to stay longer with her toy-boy Yuta –, although it looked like the blond haired boy was being extremely honest. He could just had tried attacking you and wining the bet without wasting time talking, but Jaehyun opt to be truthful. Your heart raced a bit and you smiled at the thought of you two becoming friends; it was equal those cliché romances, where the girl and the boy hate each other yet end up liking one another—of course, you did not expect to get to that kind of point.

With slow steps you went down, feeling a shadow behind you and a hand touching your shoulder. His skin was warm, but not hot. It had a pleasant temperature, causing your body to react positively to his small gesture of kindness—if you could consider a ‘touching my shoulder’ a gesture of kindness.

Despite your laziness to walk, you’d been able to easily feel the adrenaline being launched on your blood, as your body impatiently waited for an action. Increasing heartbeats turned out to heavy breaths and shaking hands. You stopped as soon as you both arrived to the first floor; pondering about it, you had no reason to be nervous. Your eyes instinctively reached Jaehyun’s and the fire inside your chest got stronger, grew bigger. You had no reason to be nervous unless you let that blond boy mess up with your psyche.

He noticed your hesitancy. “If it’s too much for you, I can negotiate the part of shaving eyebrows.” Jaehyun shrugged.

“No, that’s not it.” You smiled. “I was just thinking.” Your voice came out strong and it surprised you. Sounding brave wasn’t what you expected.

Jaehyun laughed. “You are interesting.”

What words can do, you contemplated. His voice was so soft and addicting, you felt like diving into something deep, dark, with no way back to the surface. Clearly Jaehyun was playing, so you cogitated if you should or not do the same. Was it even something you should worry about? You shook your head; that kind of thought should be far away from your mind.

The blond haired boy said something about getting a drink and you just nodded, not really absorbing his words. You’d been too immersed in your own world that he disappeared in the crowd and you didn’t realise until you felt something missing by your side. You’d felt the need for his presence; it made you sick and you felt a strong vertigo hitting you at once. It was disgusting that you had never spoken to Jaehyun before and he made you feel this way; it was disgusting you wanted him, yet it was just about a stupid bet. Were you that easy?

You walked some feet and rested your body on a wall. From where you were, you could easily see a lot of people having, what you supposed, ‘the time of their lives’. It sounded futile, ridiculous and humiliating. Persons unconsciously doing whatever others told them to do so, wasted bodies wandering from one side of the room to the other, drinks poured on the ground and that annoying smell of marijuana filling your lungs and making you feel even sicker. As a plus, you’d met Youngho’s eyes again; this time he didn’t seem very aware of the ambient and just sent you an insignificant grin. His eyes were glued on your form, but all you felt was anger. And anger. And an immense hate.

“So he’s your ex.” The velvety voice close to your ear was enough to tell that Jaehyun was back. He gave an ironic emphasis on the word ex, like it was toxic.

You smiled, weakly. “My taste for guys is not the best one, you know.”

He literally dragged his body onto the wall and killed the distance between your physiques; his shoulder touching yours. “If you stay with me we can probably change that assumption.”

You laughed, loudly. He didn’t say a word about it, however the true was: he loved that sound; the sound of genuine happiness. It didn’t mean, though, he loved specifically your laugh. Jaehyun unravelled from the concrete divider and positioned himself in front of you; a hand holding the cup of vodka and the other still planted on the wall not so far from your face.

He sighed. “Stop looking at him.”

You shrugged. “I am not.”

“Stop thinking about him.” Jaehyun asked; his voice tone disturbed.

“I am not.” You repeated yourself. He leaned closer, and closer. So close that you felt his sent.

“I want you to look at me.” He said. “Look at me.” Jaehyun demanded and your body responded without your will. He was hypnotic; you were two polos of a magnet—completely different personalities, different conceptions, different in every single way, yet you completed each other because plus and minus are parts of the same electromagnetic field. Your minds may fight against one another, but the necessities of your bodies were more intense.

You stared at him; Jaehyun’s caramel eyes were magnificent, completely mesmerizing. You’d felt anaesthesia spreading all over your veins and you knew it was because the only thing you could possibly feel in that exact moment was the smell from his skin; mint and chocolate, a mixture you usually hated, still on him suited well—it wasn’t cloying, it was addicting.

He stepped back, put the glass on the ground and stood up without taking his eyes off you. Jaehyun’s gaze was passionate, even though you two were nothing but colleagues—and not even that, if you ponder. The space between you and him began to vanish; he approached step by step until there was no gap amid you two. You grinned; he blinked. You’d passed your tongue over your lips, wetting them; he smirked. You’d raised your arms and rested them around his neck while your hands pended one on top of the other; he run his hands over your waist, one of them softly clutching your abdomen and the other involving you completely on his embrace. By this time, his lips were less than centimetres away.

Jaehyun blinked twice before speaking: “I’m kissing you right now. Do you see Chittaphon?”

You got disappointed, but did not show it to him. Your eyes had run around the place searching for some guy with black hair and, finally, you found him. Chittaphon was watching the scene fascinated, waiting for his friend’s next step. “He is here.” You said; your voice smooth.

The blond haired boy smirked, again. “Thanks God. I wouldn’t endure much longer.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Jaehyun had his lips pressed contra yours; the mint scent feeling your lungs and the taste of chocolate feeling your mouth. It suited him; sweet smell, sweet flavour. The way he kissed you was not desperate, yet you could feel the fervour growing and the only thing holding the boy back was you. He wanted you to allow a continuation; he wanted you to tell it was okay to go further. You bit his lower lip causing Jaehyun to groan. Provocation wasn’t your best skill, but you knew Jaehyun wasn’t your ideal type either, so risking should be the first thing to do in that case. You rubbed your lips across his own, as a sign you were ready for him to go deeper than just a soft kiss.

He smirked, acknowledging what you meant. With your mouth still connected, Jaehyun grabbed your wrists and placed your hands on his torso; he held your face in the midst of his palms, gracefully caressing your jawline. With your permission, he let his tongue reach out for yours.

It wasn’t forced. You’d feel the heat intensify among you two while the boy kissed your lips in a completely ardent manner; he wanted it, you knew. Jaehyun managed to make your lips match completely; your hands running over his chest while he squeezed your body’s boundaries and activated some sensitive points you didn’t even know existed. He pressed his frame closer, and closer.

And then someone interrupted the kiss. “That’s enough.” You opened your eyes and recognized the person.

Jaehyun gave you an apologetic look and turned to face his friend. “I was just—”

Chittaphon cut him off. “Yeah, I know. But everybody is looking, so you either get a room or stop.”

“Rooms are just for a second time.” You shrugged and Jaehyun smiled.

“You won.” Chittaphon said, taking out of his back pocket the money he owned and gave to the blond boy. “And you are fire, girl.” He laughed.

You chuckled. “Should I thank you?”

“It was a compliment.” Chittaphon assured.

Jaehyun hit him in the back and turned to you. “Can we go upstairs, just for a second?”

“I am not sleep—”

“I am not sleeping with you either.” He said. “I just need to say something.”

You looked at him, trying to read Jaehyun and be sure he wasn’t just joking. He had a serious expression on his face and as Chittaphon had already walked all the way back to the dance floor, you thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea leave that crowded environment. Because you just exposed yourself, it was indeed a good idea.

You nodded and Jaehyun smiled. Before following him, you looked around to find the only and one soul you were interested in see suffering: Youngho. The boy was gazing you, angrily. And instead of getting upset about it, you were pleased.

Your feet hurt because you were not very familiar with heels, and walking up and down wasn’t helping either. You had kept your steps in the same speed as Jaehyun was moving, but at some point you just had to anchor yourself in some bathroom door and throw the pair of shoes away. You literally had opened the basket with rubbish and send it right inside; after all you didn’t want them back to your feet anyway. Only then you’d grasped how tired you were, so you sat down on top of the toilet bowl and sighed. Who cares if Jaehyun had to talk to you? You were exhausted.

He showed up on the entryway of the toilet. “You should just use flip-flops.”

“I wish I could.” You shrugged. “But the society’s beauty padrones just won’t let me.”

He closed the door and locked it. “Here.” Jaehyun handed your part of the money. “A deal is a deal.”

You held the cash. “I thought you were bluffing.”

“I never bluff.” He assured you. Jaehyun sat on the sink and ran his eyes over the small space. “Feeling claustrophobic?”

You denied with your head. “I like staying here, away from the crowd.”

“Do you bother if I stay with you?” He politely asked and you laughed; again the amazing sound of authentic euphoria.

“We just kissed in front of the entire University.” You pointed out. “I don’t really bother with your presence.”

“Good.” It was the last thing he said before the silence hovered.

At first you had felt claustrophobic, but that was before the blond haired boy entered and killed you few seconds of solitude. It was, actually, a cubicle. You were sitting apart from Jaehyun, but you still felt your bodies so close due to the restricted space. You gave it another look and concluded you’d be much more comfortable inside the bathtub.

Laying down you tried to make yourself comfy even though the material of the object was stiff and cold. You stared at the ceiling and permitted your imagination to run wild, wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t dated Seo Youngho, if you had said no to Jaehyun and if you hadn’t ignored your sixth sent about what course you should major in. So many decisions to make and none of them seemed real; so many decisions made and none of them seemed correct. You sighed, feeling the angst corroding your organs. Why would you think about such things? In your mind you should just sleep over there and go back home in the morning. Your thoughts had been cut off when Jaehyun came closer.

“I am tired too.” He said and sat down by the bathtub’s border.

“I bet.” You smiled sarcastically.

He turned his body to you. “I assure you don’t want to bet things with me.”

You imitated his facial expression. “I assure you don’t want to bet things with me.”

Jaehyun laughed. Now was your turn to feel the vibration of his laugh, feel how melodic it sounded. He placed a hand over your exposed cheek and gently massaged it. Again, the sensation was warm and pleasurable. You began to think if every girl he hooked up was the same thing, the same attention, the same furore.

He appeared to notice doubt pairing in the ar. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to talk to you.” The boy said.

“And why is that?” You, somehow, managed to say.

“I found you amusing.” He confessed. Jaehyun was looking to your lips, making it clear he desired them.

“This is what you wanted to say?” The question came out strict. Jaehyun nodded and you took his hand off you. “I am a friendly person. We could have been friends earlier.”

He sat up. “I know, right?” You felt some nervousness on his voice. “But I wanted to give your part of the money without Chittaphon’s presence; he could argue with me, you know?

“Well, I assume he could.  Anyway” you stood up. “I should leave.”

Jaehyun suddenly hesitated; his eyes glued on your form and: “Honestly, I didn’t care about the money or the bet at all. I just wanted to stay with you a bit, because since I first saw you I knew I was already into you.” He said fast, the blond boy followed you out of the bathtub, cautiously examining your movements and anticipating your actions.

No answer came from your mouth, however. You stretched your body, moving your head to the right and to the left and arching your backs as much as you could in an attempt to relieve the stress from your muscles. It’s clear that a pair of eyes kept staring your form, analysing all you were doing and waiting for a concrete reply, though you still had remained in silence.

Withal, something burnt inside your chest and an excruciating ache ran through your bones—similar to an abstinence crisis. It’d been obvious to you what you needed, but you were too much stubborn to admit it; in any circumstance you would become one of those people who just have fun inside a bathroom while sustaining your lust. And you’d felt the stiffness in the air as you and he wonder the same thing and contemplated the same option. There was nothing really plausible to justify the tension between you and Jung Jaehyun; two strangers completely attracted to each other, with no reason behind that if not your physical necessities. You needed him and he needed you, but none of you could actually find an explanation or a motive.

You’d turned your body, so you could face Jaehyun. His gaze was so deep and intense, you felt your persona melting under his eyes and the new supplement of adrenalin already filling your veins and possessing your organs. He needn’t an answer, you concluded, because his hands reached your shoulders and pushed your figure against the bathroom’s door, squeezing your physique contra his. For a moment you forgot how to breathe, the lack of oxygen making you feel dizzy. The boy smirked; he was starting to feel satisfied with the reactions you provided on him. He wanted you, and you wanted him; with no hesitation he approached and picked your lips once and twice before diving into the real kiss.

Your mouths moved in the same velocity, perfectly matching the intensity of the moment. You’d allowed him to go further; the boy knew your body better than you did, his hands correctly touching parts of you that seemed hidden until that moment. His lips ventured into your skin, leaving your mouth —consequently causing you to softly moan some nonsense—and landing on your jawline; affectionately he sucked the area between you collarbones and your neck, clearly marking you down with large hickeys. You had been unaware of it, but Jaehyun wanted everyone else to know that you had someone to pleasure you and you no longer needed the ex-boyfriend of yours (and he’d never nominate your ex because it’s nearly toxic).

Your fingertips clumsily tangled within his hair strands, utterly messing his hairdo. All the same, he had his hands contouring your boundaries, just like you were a piece of art and he was the artist. The path of his kisses would go from your cheeks to your neck, and then from your collarbones to the exposed skin of your breasts; he passionately rubbed his lips on your body, making you shiver and quiver a bit from head to toes. The boy embraced you and lifted your body, gently placing you down on top of the sink causing your legs to wrap around his torso digging him closer, and closer.  Jaehyun had pulled up your shirt exposing just a little bit of your figure; he clutched your back and slightly ran his nails on it, scratching your skin and certainly giving temporary blemishes as a present.

Suddenly he had frozen up and glared at you. His eyes locked with yours as he asked for permission; you giggled, not even believing he’d be so polite about it.

He smiled. “Shit, you’re so pretty.”

Words weren’t able to come out of your, although. Jaehyun kissed you once again but this time much more fervently, holding you tightly and then—when your bodies were already close enough, with no space between you—pressing parts of your inner thighs causing your entire figure to quiver in desire. He caressed your legs, exploring all parts of them and soon reached the fabric of your underwear. Jaehyun played with it, pulling it and dragging the undergarment down and up while his lips were still attached to yours. You wanted to protest, tell him to give you what you wanted, but the provocation was too electrifying to be stopped.

You had to make things even so one of your hands left his neck, dropped to his jeans and searched for his member. Your small palm moved up and down, massaging his cock above his pants and you felt his breath become heavier. You’d done nothing and he was already hard under your touch.

Both of you maintained the movements for a while until Jaehyun slightly pushed part of your panties, holding it glued on your groin and then slid his index finger inside you. Interim his finger motioned in and out of your sex his thumb would rub your clitoris interchanging the speed of his actions. You’d moaned, he grinned. Another finger was added and his motions would constantly variate, sometimes reaching your sweet spot, sometimes just stimulating a possible orgasm.

Fuck.” Was the only word that came out from you; the endless groans stuck on your throat craving for a release.

“You have to say it.” The blond boy whispered on your ear and kissed your neck.

A snort of pleasure left your lips and you gathered as much air as you could and: “I have to or you need to hear?”

Your words amidst heavy breaths sounded like melody to his ears. “I need to” he distanced himself from you and calmly watched your frustrated expression “because I want you. But do you want me?”

There were uncountable manners to respond to his question, but you found a very literal way to do it. You took your lingerie off of you, threw it on the ground and opened your legs. “Isn’t it obvious?” You crocked you head.

He denied. “I don’t think so.”  

You sighed. “Well, sweetheart, I want you.”

Forthwith, he unzipped his jeans letting them fall to his feet and stripped the black underpants down. Jaehyun latched onto you and eagerly connected your lips one more time; you, notwithstanding, held his cock between your palms and moved them forward and backward, masturbating him. The pre-cum dripped out from his tip and seeped on your fingers; Jaehyun whined—the fact that you were only inciting him, making his member throb, was not enough. He roughly took your hands off of it and placed them on his shoulders. He wanted a break because that small pleasure wasn’t what he really needed. To say the least: he wanted to extinguish the last drop of stamina on his body. With this on his mind, he had directly slid two fingers inside your core, moving them fast and rhythmically, causing you to moan and cry out his name in a desperate attempt to free your satisfaction.

With one hand still free, Jaehyun glided under your shirt. His touch was soft, but you could certainly say he was hungry for something else – and soon he gripped one of your breasts, variating the pressure of his hold. You’d cursed and it sounded so marvellous to him; dirty words leaving you lips turned him on more than he’d ever imagined. He accelerated his moves, making you twitch under his triggering. However, with a sudden movement, he stepped back, breathless, and stared at you. Again, you felt utterly irked with his unexpected action.

“I need” he attempted to say, trying to control his unusual gasp “I…”

You cut him off. “Jesus Christ, just fuck me.”

He smirks, glad you said first. “Don’t ask twice.”

Jaehyun slotted himself in between your legs, causing you to spread them wide open for him. He’d lined his body perfectly with your own and slowly – still doing his best to provoke you – pushed in until his hips were completely flushed with yours.

“Holy shit,” you said, completely glee.

He shoved in and out, feeling your walls compressing his cock while the pleasure amidst you two only grew bigger. Jaehyun placed his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, putting your body on the edge of the sink—and like this, being completely able to harshly thrust into you. His pelvis moved up and down, filling your womanhood and then stimulating your G-spot, allowing you to sense the greatest of all delights.

Fuck, this is so good” you whispered.

Your chest blew in enjoyment, like you had hundreds of fireworks exploding and colouring the precious darkness of your aura. You felt just like a blossom that flourish in spring, or the first snowflake that falls from the sky in a winter night. It’s indeed the best sensation and words could never describe it perfectly.

The boy patiently had waited for you to recover from the first orgasm, moving very softly so he wouldn’t overstimulate you yet. When you’re ready again, he squeezed your ass and increased the rhythm of his momentum. You let you mouth touch the skin of his neck and sucked some spots, leaving the same hickeys he left on you moments before; you bit his earlobe and pulled his hair softly, making a small grin leave his mouth. Jaehyun responded your little incitement by touching your clit whilst his member was still inside you, boosting the speed of his flow.

“I am so close, shit.” He cried out, clutching even deeper on your skin. “You are so fucking good.”

He regretted, though, of not feeling your taste on his mouth and not allowing he to sense how wonderful it’d be the scene of his cock inside your mouth, while you sucked it.  Being able to have you, no matter if just for a moment, was already astonishing to him. He didn’t lie, he really felt attracted to you, but sexual pleasure is something out of the boundaries and he’d always need more and more of it – and of you. The boy found you stunning—not only beautiful, but stunning at all; everything about you was so fascinating, and that’s why he felt the urge to be with you.

And even though you didn’t feel that at first, from now on you definitely would.

You’d moved your body up and down a little, so the blond boy could dig himself deeper inside you. Also, you knew he was close to the ultimate apogee and with the best of your skills you stimulated him to the boundaries—by kissing his neck, whispering on his year and moving your pelvis frenetically.

As one, you came undone together.

Jaehyun let his head fall down on your shoulder, resting it while he tried to recover some air. You’d embraced him, allowing yourself to breath in his scent so you could keep it in your memory for a while. He separated himself from you, wore his underpants and jeans back and handed your undergarment that was on the ground; you put the lingerie on and waited till the boy placed you down again, finally standing up. You stretched again, now your bones produced a low sound of cracking.

You glanced to the sink you were previously sitting on. “How did I fit here?”

“It looks tiny, but actually isn’t.” Jaehyun shrugged and unlocked the bathroom’s door. “By the way, we could’ve done this in my room; it’s in the end of the corridor anyway.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I live here,” he pointed out. “I am part of this fraternity.”

“Oh,” you whispered; the small drop of remorse growing inside your chest. Your gaze dropped down to your feet and Jaehyun noticed an odd aura around you.

“Are you already regretting?” He asked with a refreshing voice tone. You looked back at him.

“It’s not actually like that,” you breathed deep “I am not very familiar with… hooking up like this.”

He laughed; the melodious sound reaching your eardrums and inundating your hearing. “Don’t be like this,” Jaehyun hugged you; his arms surrounded your form completely “I wasn’t that bad and neither were you. Also, I’ve had my eyes on your for some time now; you’re a beautiful girl and I may even fall for you.”

“Don’t be gross.” You shrugged him off. “Jaehyun, why are you acting so sweet? I mean” you pointed a finger to his face “you are known for being extremely selfish, aren’t you?”

“I am not selfish, I am ambitious.” He said and you chuckled. “And I am not acting sweet, darling; I am just treating you how you should be treated.”

Then you stared at each other. It was a long, intense glare like it’d be the last time you’d see his face and he’d see yours. His words floated in the air for a second before you absorbed them inside your intellect; though it was hard to ingest such a sugary sentence. You shivered, afraid of a possible sudden confession—and oh, how you wished he’d kept his thoughts inside his head, because after a moment of complete desire, all you could feel was the imminent fear of falling in love again.

“Can you spend the night?” He asked, innocently.

You managed to hide your surprise by giving him a dulcet smile. “I am tired, I should go home.”

“I don’t mean we should repeat what just happened,” he came closer and kissed your forehead “I wanted to just sleep with you.”

“This is so odd, you know” you pouted “We just fucked and you want to sleep with me?”

“Let’s say spend the night.” He points and then: “And you said ‘rooms are just for a second time’.”

Before you could answer, Jaehyun took you in his arms in bridal style and ran throughout the hallway with you holding onto him for dear life. He managed to open one door and entered the room; the blond boy closed the entryway with one foot, put you on top of the mattress and suspended his body on top of you by placing his hands by your side. His lips picked yours ninth times before he kissed you soft and passionately. You closed your eyes, already aware it’d not be just cuddle and sleep, and allowed yourself to ignore the sixth sense inside your soul—telling you to stop— burning like a huge flame and enjoy the moment once again. Jaehyun aroused sentiments in you that no one ever did, not even Youngho, and you didn’t feel like letting that sensation go away—not in that exact moment.

For the night, you had the time of your life twice.  

You found very incorrect to call it sneaking out.

In your terms, you wrote a small note for Jaehyun containing your phone number and went back to your dorm at four o’clock in the morning. That was not sneaking out, that was leaving him sleep peacefully while you were fulfilled with complaint and guilt.

At least it sounded less terrible inside your mind.

Your best friend slapped the table making everyone inside the cafeteria to look at both of you. “You slept with him.”

You smiled shyly. “Yes, but that does not mean—”

“You cannot just leave him,” she yelled and raised her arms, trying to show how bothered she was with the situation “because he didn’t leave you.”

“He didn’t leave me,” you pouted “because we were at his room, at his fraternity.”

And you had your conscience pretty clean; after all you promptly gave Jaehyun your number—even though you deep wished he would neither call nor text you. The girl in front of you just rolled her eyes; she’d been trying to convince you to go back and tell him any sort of excuse to why you left without a plausible explanation, but it’s so much in vain. You’d not go back; you’d not give a justification for you actions.

Actually, you’d had enough of apologies for a while.  

It’s not the fact that he did you wrong or even had taken you for granted that made you consciously stand up and leave part of his bed empty; to say the least, you were truly afraid.

People spill out empty words and grow meaningless feelings, not always being fully aware of the poison it all can create. You’d been there; you’d felt it entirely—when Youngho broke up with you, when you were left alone crying your sorrows into the void. When Jaehyun gave you the tiny hand of comfort, you felt good; when he offered you the complete graciousness, you took two steps back. How could you possibly trust someone you did not even know properly? The fact that you spent the night with him was nothing, not to you. It’d not been enough to persuade you to open yourself from the bottom of your heart.

Because when you first did it, all you had was pain.

“…answer it? It’s buzzing. And it annoys me.” Your best friend’s voice came out to your perception.

“I am sorry, I was just daydreaming.” You said; your voice low. The mobile phone buzzed again, telling you a message had arrived and you’d not seen it. You held it in your palm and unlocked the screen, soon you opened the message’s app and then, by the words you were reading, surprise reached out to you.

[UNKNOWN] 2:16 PM: You could’ve waited for me, we could’ve had breakfast together.

Your eyes widened and your heart ponded faster. Although the number wasn’t on your contacts list, you knew who it was. Jaehyun did text you and now you had to answer. What a great moment, you thought, considering your friend’s gaze examining you and trying to read your expression. She smiled and said

“It’s is him, isn’t it?”

You ignored her and rapidly typed some letters and sent him a reply, not bothering if he would text back or not­—because you’d be ignoring him for the rest of your life.

[YOU] 2:18 PM: I am sorry, I just felt like leaving earlier. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Sorry.

Your friend wheezed and sarcastically smiled at you. She stood up, still maintaining her eyes locked with your figure, and gathered her notebook and phone on top of the table. You did not realise she was leaving until she whistled and then waved a hand. You sighed; finally you were left alone with your thoughts and complex sentiments.

But before you could pack and go away too, your phone vibrated. An answer had come.

[UNKNOWN] 2:22 PM: Yeah, it’s fine. But I did not joke with you yesterday, I like you and I’d love to go out with you sometime. Like, just me and you and maybe a movie?

You swallowed your saliva like it was acid; it burning your throat so hard that you thought you were dying. You stared at your mobile, reading and re-reading the words written there for long five minutes, and then you locked the screen again and left the coffee shop.

Yes, it was so rude of you to just pretend Jaehyun didn’t exist but also yes, you were too much frightened by the flame inside your heart, ponding it and ponding it faster. You knew it was not correct, and you really wanted to just go running to him and confess what was happening to you and to your thoughts, yet it was also so embarrassing to feel what you felt, to want what you wanted.

Few were the things you’d familiarity when it came to Jung Jaehyun. The main point was that he’s a classmate, and that both of you had a magnetic attraction—you needed each other like a living being needs oxygen to live—however, you’d no idea if his words were really sincere. Or maybe you desired them to be just a joke between new-born friends.

If you even could nominate your relationship as friendship.

Suddenly your body clashed with someone else’s and all of the papers that once were resting on your hands now were flying throughout the wind. You puffed and looked to the person in front of you.

“Hey, pay attention—” you words dissipated as soon as you saw the pair of eyes in front of you.

He puffed back, imitating you. “Those weren’t important, were they?”

You cleared you throat. “It’s actually none of your business.”

Jaehyun laughed. “Will you just ignore me?”

“I am not. I just answered you.”

He sighed. “I am talking about the message I just sent you.”

You blink once and then twice, not sure of how you could put everything that had come to your mind into words. But the peculiar appearance; his presence out of the blue… That was much more intriguing to you.

You put a hand on your waist and pointed a finger to his face. “How did you know I was here?”

“I told you,” he smiled and the pair of dimples showed up “I’ve interest on you and a friend of mine told me you and your bestie love this cafeteria.” He shrugged.

“Yuta should keep his mouth shut.” You pouted, already scheming on your mind on how would you reprehend Nakamoto Yuta for telling people what you liked or disliked.

“He was just helping a needy man.” He blinked one eye. “And you did not answer me.”

You pondered and pondered, but there was nothing much to be said if not the truth. You filled your lungs with a great amount of air before you said “I am not ready for feelings. I’ve been deep hurt and I need time.”

Jaehyun gave you a weak smile. “I see.”

“I know you don’t like me that much.”

“You know nothing, sweetie.” He said.

And then silent hovered for a moment, caused by your rough words. You expected him to just turn his back and leave, but he did not. Jaehyun kept staring at you, his mouth still drawn in a tiny grin while your spirit was collapsing inside your persona. You wanted him to say something, anything, even hurtful phrases if necessary. The silence was killing you, piece by piece.

Jaehyun shrugged and looked away. “I’ll give you a week.”


“I’ll give you a week,” he repeated himself “so you’ll have enough time to organize your feelings and giving me space to show how much of a boyfriend material I can be.”

You giggled. “Don’t be”

“Gross, I know” he completed your sentence “I won’t even look at you for the next week—and trust me this will be very, very hard.”

You were ready to respond, but Jaehyun’s words kept coming out from his mouth.

“It’s hard for me to be apart from you,” he pointed to your feet and then pointed to his own. “This space between us is killing me.”

“So what?” You inquired when he finally gave you the opportunity to speak. “What happens after this week?”

“I’ll text you.” He said.

As before, he was nothing like you thought. You’d been constantly closed for the world for a long time, only being able to pleasure yourself with success—not even your friends would manage to make you smile so hard compared to when you were the first at a subject. The #1 on a sheet was enough for you.

Until you’d met Jaehyun.

You watched him leave with no other words added. He didn’t gave you any other sign, and you were still slightly unsure of his true wishes, but despite all of that something bigger and stronger flew through your veins. Jaehyun vanished in the crowd and soon you had your eyes on nothing but the wind. You smiled, your phone buzzed.

[UNKNOWN] 2:47 PM: (This is the last one today, I swear) Don’t forget, I’ll text you within a week, so be prepared for the greatest boyfriend material: me.

You laughed loudly, the genuine happiness reaching out for you.

And then you saved his number, just in case he text you again (and he will).

dragon age starters

feel most free to change pronouns ,  etc .

❝ it doesn’t matter that they won’t remember me. what matters is i helped. ❞
❝ bad things should happen to bad people. ❞
❝ i’m here to set things right. also ? to look dashing. that part’s less difficult. ❞
❝ planning has never been my strong suit . now, killing…killing & love-making. those i am better at. ❞
❝ oh ! we could get matching outfits ! ❞
❝ i’m not saying i should be your first pick for a dance partner at the ball , but in the deep roads , i’m your man / woman. ❞
❝ draw your weapon & say that again ! ❞
❝ we’re here to kill them all, yes ? for sport ? ❞
❝ you tend to get up to interesting things. you meet interesting people & then you kill them. ❞
❝ i never worry, darling. a leash can be pulled from either end. ❞
❝ it’s like you need permission to be alive. ❞
❝ has anyone told you what marvelous eyes you possess, my dear ? ❞
❝ have you ever licked a lamp post in winter ? ❞
❝ i’ll try not to hit anyone. ❞
❝ there you are. everyone’s been looking for you. ❞
❝ the last man standing gets final say on who is right or wrong. ❞
❝ i like my hair the way it is, thank you. ❞
❝ do you think about how to kill everyone you meet ? ❞
❝ are you… sassing me, ____? ❞
❝ yes, but she/you seems more… “ooh, pretty colors !” than “muahaha ! i am princess stabbity ! stab, kill, kill ! ❞
❝ congratulations ! you have found a wastebin . ❞
❝ what are you going to do with that sword ? ❞
❝ not listening ! la la-la la la ! ❞
❝ i saw you looking at the girl/boy in town earlier . ❞
❝ anyone wishing to accuse me of weakness is welcome to try. ❞
❝ …did you cut your own hair ? ❞
❝ ”one by one they follow, drowning in the sea”. the rest of the poem is sad.. ❞
❝ you aren’t all stone, ____. there is a person inside of you. ❞
❝ we crush the heads of rude women when we feel like it. just so you know. ❞
❝ protect what matters with everything you have, or you’ll have nothing, and deserve it. ❞
❝ i want you to know that what we had was real. ❞
❝ in the end you are always alone with your actions. ❞
❝ somebody’s been drinking. ❞
❝ let’s show them our hearts, and then show them theirs.. ❞
❝ do you feel that ? my magic-sensing nose is tingling. ❞
❝ well, shit. ❞
❝ you worry me, you know that ? ❞
❝ i’m cold. & it’s indoors. this is so wrong. ❞
❝ i saw what you were doing back there. ❞
❝ we will never speak of this again. ❞
❝ you’re a big softie ! ❞ 
❝ i’ve got just the thing to cure that pout. ❞
❝ eight, nine, now you die. ❞
❝ daughters never grow up. they remain six years old with pigtails & skinned knees forever. ❞
❝ i don’t need my pants, anyway. ❞
❝ smiles. we must be careful how we present ourselves. ❞
❝ be careful what you wish for. power is treacherous. i have seen many people–great leaders–consumed by it. ❞
❝ don’t touch me ! stay away ! ❞
❝ i think of him/you/her as much as he/you/she thinks at all. ❞
❝ i knew nothing of friendship before we met. ❞
❝ you can approve or not approve as you wish, but this is one thing you cannot influence and mold to your liking. ❞
❝ there you go, breaking my heart. ❞ 
❝ does anyone else feel the verge to vomit? ❞
❝ i…love you. just… wanted to tell you that. ❞
❝ let those who would destroy us step into the light. ❞
❝ it’s dangerous when too many men in the same armor think they’re right. ❞
❝ if you love a character, you give them pain, ruin their lives, make them suffer. maybe even throw in a heroic death. ❞
❝ i do quite like watching you leave. ❞
❝ send him a fruit basket. everyone loves those. ❞
❝ did i stutter ? ❞
❝ are you kidding ? i’m surprised you didn’t kill anyone just coming over here. ❞
❝ the world may want my time, but you have my heart ❞
❝ have you ever heard the saying ‘let sleeping abominations lie’?  now would be the time to consider it. ❞
❝ that sounded much better in my head . ❞
❝ i have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. & good hair.  ❞
❝ the air hurts. i have to stop. ❞
❝ challenge someone to arm-wrestle me. ❞
❝ so, you’re not like a lot of other girls/boys. ❞
❝ not long ago this was impossible to imagine. you, the man i love, victory close at hand. ❞
❝ how do you do that ? make everything better with a smile ? ❞
❝ it gets no easier. your struggles have only just begun. ❞
❝ there comes a time when you must stop running, when you turn & face the tiger.  ❞
❝ it’s family, you protect. doesn’t matter who it is, blood or not. ❞
❝ perhaps we should carve our names into the giant tree ? ❞
❝ hey ! that’s mine ! ❞
❝ our mistakes make us who we are. ❞
❝ fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could. ❞
❝ don’t let anyone tell you when to move on. take their hand & say, “my choice". ❞
❝ words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find. ❞
❝ shitballs. fuck. shit. crap. ❞
❝ living a lie … it festers inside you, like poison. ❞


Spencer Reid x Reader 

The team can hear Garcia’s scream from their desks. They used to jump up and run to her office, but now … not so much. Reid sighs and shakes his head, while Prentiss and Morgan laugh and shake their heads. JJ emerges from her office on the second level of the Bullpen and looks down at the three members of the team below her. “What happened now?”

Prentiss smirks and goes back to writing, laughing to herself. “You never know with Garcia.”

The woman in question bursts through the glass doors right then, a flurry of blonde hair and bright colors as she says, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” over and over.

“Who announced they’re getting married now?” Prentiss asks. “Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield?”

“As much as I would love that, no,” Garcia responds as she rushes over to them. “What I want to know is what this is!” She stops in front of Reid’s desks and thrusts her phone (her second spare one, that is) in his face. “Enlighten me, Dr. Reid?”

Reid blinks at the sudden intrusion of his personal space before taking Garcia’s hand and moving it back so that he can see what’s on the screen. He swallows when he sees it’s an Instagram post from your account displaying the picture that he currently has set as his home screen on his phone. Reid and you are cuddled together with him placing a kiss on your cheek, and you laughing.

He raises his eyebrows and spins back around in his chair, burying himself back in his work. “Right. That.”

He can practically feel Garcia’s body heat rising. “That’s all you have to say?” she squeals.

“What is it, Baby Girl?” Morgan asks, leaning over in his cubicle/desk. Prentiss does the same.

Garcia walks quickly over to him. “Only our favorite doctor cuddled up with the nicest, most beautiful woman on the planet!” She thrusts the phone in Morgan’s face. Prentiss leans over and looks also.

After examining the photo for a few seconds, Morgan raises his eyebrows playfully and faces Reid. “What is this, prettyboy?”

JJ sighs from where she still stands on the second level. “Did (y/n) post the picture?”

“Yup,” Reid responds, still not looking up from the file he’s reading.

Prentiss looks up at JJ. “You knew about this?” she asks.

The blonde raises her eyebrows. “He’s the Godfather of my child. Of course I knew.” She smiles and walks back into her office, leaving Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss gaping at her. But they quickly turn their attention back to the doctor.

Morgan whistles appreciatively. “Almost a million likes. Who is this girl, Garcia?”

“She’s totally famous on Instagram and practically everywhere else!” Garcia exits out of the picture of you and Reid and scrolls through your feed so they can see the rest of your pictures. “She’s not really a model, but she also is? I guess? She’s mostly a role model, for, like, everyone, and she raises money for charities and all of that amazing stuff.”

“So this is your girl, kid?” Morgan asks.

Reid finally looks up from his file and looks at Morgan. “My girlfriend, yes. (y/n) and I met about eight months ago when she was on a trip here to D.C. Things just kind of escalated from there, and…here we are. We didn’t really want to tell anyone and let it get out until we were ready.”

“And when, pray tell, were you going to tell us, then?” Prentiss asks.

Reid smiles. “She’s coming to team dinner at Rossi’s on Saturday.”

Garcia makes an almost inhuman squeaking noise at the news, while Morgan and Prentiss just smile. “There we go, kid!” Morgan yells.

“Hey.” The four team members look up at Hotch, who had just walked out of his office. “When you’re all done, BAU room. We have a case.” After they all nod, Hotch continues on his way to their meeting space.

They all stand up and start to gather their things for the meeting. Garcia walks by Reid and places a big kiss on his cheek. He can’t help but blush at the physical contact. “Congratulations.” she says sincerely.

He smiles. “Thanks, Garcia.”

Prentiss and Morgan walk up to him next, and the latter claps Reid on the shoulder with a grin. “Way to go, prettyboy. Your charms finally worked.”

Reid chuckles. “I didn’t even have to use magic this time.”

Morgan grins and wraps his arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him into him as they walk up to the meeting.

Originally posted by dxmureminds

Summary: Harry spoke to actress and new friend, [Y/N] [Y/L/N], recently just before the awards ceremony. Now it’s the after party! Harry’s distracted, searching for [Y/N], and his “Dunkirk” friends take notice. Little does he know [Y/N]’s looking for him, too…

 The Oscars: “Have You Met [Y/N]?”

 “The After Party!”

It’s the Oscars after party where all the invited guests are gathered together, seated with new and old friends at round tables with food and bottles of champagne before them; and winners and honorable people give their second speeches. It’s a time for actors and actresses to enjoy a dinner party with their co-stars and colleagues, catch up with friends, and simply have a good time.

Harry stands in a circle with his Dunkirk costars, his feet close together and his arms folded across his chest. His eyes roam the room in search of [Y/N] who he had last seen on-stage accepting her award for best actress. He remembers to nod, chuckle, and mumble an “mmhm” every so often to continue seeming engaged in the conversation while his mind is fixed on finding the girl he had met a several hours prior.

And there she is.

He finds her a few feet behind Fionn, shaking hands and embracing the people who come across her and congratulate her on her award. He smiles in awe as he watches from afar as she interacts with others full of grace and humility.

“You alright there, Harry?” Fionn Whitehead asks, his eyebrows scrunching together.

Harry snaps back into the conversation, realizing all eyes are on him. He clears his throat and fixes his stance, “Erm, yeh,” he tries to sell, “Why?”

“‘Cuz you’re lookin’ at me like yeh wanna kiss me,” Fionn chuckles, the rest of the group’s laughter following.

Harry feels his cheeks burn and bows his head, his eyes now now at his feet. He shakes his head. “Yeh wish, man,” Harry laughs off.

“Who are you looking at?” Christopher Nolan, a man who has become like a mentor to Harry, asks, observing the individuals behind Fionn.

“Nobody,” Harry tries to tell him.

“Were yah lookin’ at [Y/N] [Y/L/N]?” Jack Lowden asks, looking in the direction Harry was. Harry remains quiet, fighting a bashful smile, and the younger boys cheer.

“Yeh like her!” Fionn confirms for him. They all face towards [Y/N] and watch her as she coincidentally makes her away closer to them.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says simply, waving it off.

“What are yah doin’ standin’ here and talkin’ to us? Go over there!” Jack insists, giving Harry a light shove forward on the back.

Harry feels himself hesitate. His body moves forward but his feet remain planted on the ground. He’s conflicted within himself. He doesn’t want to seem overeager but he doesn’t want to miss his chance either. There’s a part of him that’s brave enough and confident to strike up a conversation with [Y/N] while another part is surprisingly sheepish and full of nerves, already set to retreat without even having made a move.

It’s something about [Y/N]— her grace, her charm, her beauty. The way she carries herself. He sees kindness in her, sincerity— a rarity in the industry. She seems different and he wants to get to know her. Looking at her and being in her presence gives him butterflies he’s only ever felt during the big moments in his life.

“Here she comes!” Fionn whispers quickly, “Say somethin’!”

“Mr. Nolan,” [Y/N] says, approaching the group. She extends a hand, “Congratulations on your film, ‘Dunkirk’.”

Nolan returns a handshake. “Call me Chris,” he tells her, smiling, “And thank you. Congratulations, as well.”

[Y/N] then turns her attention to Harry, flashing a smile that send the butterflies inside him free. “Hi, Harry,” she says.

“Hey,” he responds, trying to sound casual, calm, and collected. He gives Fionn a look who quickly receives the message.

“We’re gonna—“ Fionn pauses to think of a solid excuse. “Go to the loo,” he comes up with, “Come on, fellas. I need yah to help me, I’m drunk.”

The young gentlemen follow Fionn to the direction of the toilets while Chris excuses himself to continue socializing, leaving Harry and [Y/N] to themselves. A waiter comes by with a tray full of champagne glasses. “Champagne?” he offers. Harry takes two glasses, thanks the waiter, and hands [Y/N] a glass. “To you,” he grins, raising the glass.

She does the same. “To you,” [Y/N] smirks, before taking a sip. “This is my fifth glass, you know. I’m starting to feel a little woozy,” she giggles as she continues to drink from her glass.

“I’ve had quite a few myself,” Harry chuckles. “Care to take a walk outside?”

“I’d love to,” [Y/N] agrees.

Harry and [Y/N] walk through the garden of the venue, breathing in fresh air and feeling the summer breeze against their skin. The conversation begins with simple questions. Starter questions. They make small talk, discussing work, and simple likes and dislikes. As the night progresses, they slowly open up by relating stories and personal experiences. They talk about where they come from, where they were born and raised, their family, how they got into the business. They come to find they relate well with one another and have many commonalities. Before they know it, the awkward tension is long gone and the night is full of laughter. They soon feel as if they’ve known each other for years rather than just a few hours. The conversation’s very natural with no awkward silence.

Harry notices how [Y/N] can carry a conversation. He likes how she opens up to him and makes him feel like he’s known her. He’s fond of her positivity and light. She can transition from laughter to solemn conversations and deep issues to lighthearted talks. She’s a refreshment to him. And he absolutely adores how she genuinely laughs at all his jokes, finding them surprisingly witty and funny.

On the other hand, [Y/N] is surprised by Harry. He isn’t like the picture she painted in her mind or the image the media created. He was better. He has truthfulness to him and passion. She admires the way he speaks about the things he loves and cares about. He can converse about something so deeply you’ll fall in love with it yourself. He has an infectious smile and is a lot funnier in person. And the best part is: he’s not at all short of being a gentleman.

Harry smiles down at [Y/N] as they sit inches away from each other on a wooden bench behind the tall bush hedges, parts of her face illuminated by the moonlight. She locks her eyes with his, peering into the green orbs in efforts to read what is on his mind in the silence. It’s no secret. He’s captivated by her. The way he looks at her says everything— his expression softens, his eyes in awe, his lips curve, his body relaxes. He takes notice of her every detail. His attraction towards her grows stronger the longer he’s around her. His desire for her builds. She fills him with a sense of wonderment and curiosity. He finds a need to know the heart behind the beauty.

Harry leans forward and presses his lips against hers, leaving all hesitation and rationality behind. There’s no more thinking.

He pulls away after a few seconds, slightly embarrassed by his impulsivity. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I—“

“Do you want to get out of here?” [Y/N] asks, perfectly interrupting his nervous ramble.

A smile slowly forms on Harry’s lips. “Yeah,” he nods. He slips his fingers through [Y/N]’s hand and feels her grip his hold. He leads the way to the parking lot filled with black suburban and calls for a driver.

My Fake boyfriend Part 8

Summary: After receiving a very rude letter of your ex on the mail saying that he is going to get married. You see yourself not knowing what to do, you can just let it go or accept the help of your hot neighbor and pretend he is your boyfriend.

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2910

Warnings: Just fuffly and maybe some aganst

Thank you @drinkfantasy you are the best

Originally posted by seabasschino

Before the war Bucky always liked kids and always imagined having a few of his own. But now? Kids were usually afraid of him and the ones that weren’t afraid, their parents wouldn’t let they get close. Bucky knew how much you liked kids and seeing you with your nephew at dinner last night warmed his heart.  

During the dinner you kept doing silly faces to Julian and telling him little secrets. This opened something in his mind that he never thought that he would have again, the possibility of a family.

You were so happy yesterday and he wanted to make you happy even that he was terrified. After your mother left the room, you pull him into a tight hug “We are gonna have so much fun.” You whisper in his ear, he can feel how excited you are and somehow this makes his fears disappear.

Keep reading

you owe me a dinner

requested: please can you do imagine where y/n is on tour with shawn and he proposed to her and then before the Q&A it’s cute and fluffy and shawn goes to Q&A and fans ask about y/n so she goes to shawn and fans see ring and ask about it and shawn is talking about it and y/n says something like “you told it first. you owe me a dinner cute ass” bc they made a deal about who spills the tea about proposal 😊 also sorry for my English bc I’m from Poland 😊


also teen mendes helped me out again 😂😂😂 what would i do without her


“y/n!” shawn burst through the doors of the tour bus. you were laying across the small couch, not really having much to do while shawn was at sound check before his q&a. “come with me m'lady.”

he stretched his hand out to help you off the couch as you giggled at his cheesiness.

“where are you taking me?” you asked, following him out of the now empty tour bus. he led you away from the venue he was due to perform at in 2 hours, and into a small park area.

“let’s take a walk or something, i feel bad i have to perform on your birthday.” he apologized, again. you knew deciding to join him on tour would mean he would be performing on your birthday, and you were okay with it.

“shawn, its fine honestly. as long as i get to see you, i’m fine with it.”

he shook is head, “well i’m not fine with it. it’s your birthday y/n, it only comes around once a year! we’re gonna take a walk.”

you just nodded, interlocking your hands and letting shawn pull you along. thankfully it was a nice day here in new york, the sun was shining as you walked along the deserted pathway.

you loved that even with his busy schedule, shawn always tried to take some time in the day to spend with you. no matter what he was doing.

“i love you,” you sighed, thinking out loud.

he chuckled, “that was random but i love you too,” he kissed your temple.

you admired the scenery around you, the trees were decorated with little fairy lights for when it got dark and there were many gardens full of flowers as you walked along the path. you decided that this place must be busier at night.

in the distance, there was a lady walking her dog coming your way. even from afar, you could tell the dog wasn’t on a leash. shawn noticed too, hoping the dog wouldn’t run to him or else his allergies would act up.

“shawn! that dog is adorable!” you exclaimed, “i so hope it comes here.”

as if on cue, the dog runs towards you barking happily.

“hi!” you crouched down, meeting the small dog. it jumped on you multiple times, excited to see someone new. “aren’t you a cutie?”

the owner of the dog soon caught up to her runway dog, “i’m so sorry, she likes to escape sometimes. there’s usually nobody here at this time so i bring her without the leash.”

you were too busy playing with the puppy to answer, but shawn was quick to answer the elderly woman.

“oh no worries, as you can tell my girlfriend loves dogs. we don’t mind.” he said, smiling down at you and the dog.

“oh it’s very clear, she’s adorable. so what brings you to this path at this time of day? it’s normally empty.” the lady tried making small talk with shawn while you were pre occupied. he told the lady why he brought you here, speaking in a low voice so you wouldn’t hear him.

“okay girl, its time to go.” the woman called to the dog. “this cute couple needs some alone time.” she picked the dog up from your hands as it whimpered, not wanting to leave. you didn’t want it to leave either.

“bye! thanks for letting me play with your adorable dog.” you said as the lady continued in the opposite direction of the two of you.

as you walked along the path, shawn shoved his free hand in his pack pocked. sighing in relief seconds after.

“everything okay?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“oh what? yeah,” he said. “i was just checking to make sure i had my phone.”

you nodded, knowing fully well his phone was on the bus still, but you said nothing of it. it was probably nothing.

shawn released his grip on your hand, suddenly stopping a few feet behind you. you hadn’t noticed at first, you were to engrossed in the scenery around you.

“y/n,” he called, you barely heard him his voice was so soft. you turned around, greeted with shawn on one knew in front of you. you covered your mouth with your right hand, tears already welling up in your eyes. he grabbed your free hand quickly before beginning to talk.

“i was gonna do this tonight on stage but i couldn’t wait another minute. y/n when i first saw you at geoff’s birthday party i was left speechless because you were beyond gorgeous. i asked you out that night and lucky for me you said yes and i will never forget that. you gave me a chance and showed me beautiful things i never would’ve seen without you, when i fell in love with you it felt like magic and i want to make you feel the same now will you give me another chance but to let me show you unimaginable things this time and marry me?”

you simply nodded, not being able to form proper words or sentences right now. you held your left hand out for him to slip the beautiful ring on, as he did. both your smiles were probably the widest they have ever been.

“i love you,” you finally managed to get out, smashing your lips onto his. once you pulled away, he pulled you into him, kissing the top of your head multiple times. you stayed in his embrace for what seemed like hours until your phone started ringing.

sighing, you pulled away from shawn to check the caller ID. it was andrew, most likely looking for shawn. you put it on speaker before it connected.


“y/n where is shawn?” andrew asked, “he needs to be at the q and a in 30 minutes!”

shawn’s eyes widened, completely forgetting about the q&a.

“sorry andrew, we’ll be there. we just took a walk for a bit.”

andrew sighed, saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. you stuffed your phone into your back pocket and reconnected your hand with shawn’s.

as you walked, you admired the ring that now had a permanent place on your left hand. it was stunning, it was exactly what you wanted.

“do you like it?” shawn asked, noticing you admiring it. “if you don’t we can change it.”

“no,” you smiled, shaking your head. “it’s perfect. i love it, it’s exactly how i pictured it to be. i’m glad you didn’t wait until later to do this.”

“me too,” he smiled. “but are we gonna announce it right away?”

“well everyone on the team is going to see it, but maybe we could have a little fun with announcing it.” you smirked.

“oh yeah? like what?”

“well,” you grinned, a plan was already forming. “whoever spills about the engagement first before announcing it, owes the other person a dinner.”

“oh you’re on!” shawn exclaimed.

you arrived at the venue quicker than expected, the two of you entering through the back and finding your way to shawn’s dressing room.

“sorry i’m late!” shawn said as the two of you burst through the doors. “we got a little distracted.”

you blushed, smiling at the ground.

“i’ll say,” geoff interrupted. “y/n is that new?” he motioned to the ring shawn had placed on your finger only minutes ago.

shawn nodded, “i couldn’t wait until later, she was playing with this dog and i just had to do it.

“congrats man!”

the crew in the dressing room congratulated the two of you multiple times. you told them you weren’t announcing it right away when they tried to take videos of you for instagram and snapchat.

“i hate to break this up,” andrew interrupted. “but shawn you have to go to the q&a.”

he nodded, quickly kissing you before exiting the room with the rest of his team leaving you alone in the dressing room.

not even 10 minutes later, geoff appeared at the door, letting you know shawn wanted you to come out there. apparently the fans had asked about you.

you followed him to the small room where the q&a was being held, the room erupted in screams once you walked in.

you shyly waved, unfortunately you already forgot about the ring and you waved with your left hand.

“hey, a few of them wanted to say happy birthday.” shawn said, wrapping his arm around you as you stood next to the table where he sat.

“thank you.” you blushed, not enjoying having this much attention plus almost 100 cameras on you.

shawn picked a girl near the front to ask a question.

“this one is actually for y/n,” she said. “is that an engagement ring on your finger?”

you looked at shawn, hoping he would answer. mostly because you didn’t like to talk in front of so many people, but you also wanted a free dinner.

“it actually is,” he beamed as the crowed erupted in cheers yet again. you listened as he told them the details of what happened, so much for keeping it a secret.

“also shawn,” you butted in once he finished the story. “you told first.”

his eyes widened, “oh shit, so much for that.”

“tough luck,” you patted his chest. “you owe me a dinner babe.”

anonymous asked:

Hey Cap! Idk if you're still writing rn but could you maybe do one where Alex meets Eliza for lunch and forgets to take off her engagement ring and Eliza notices and realizes and stuff and is protective and wary because it's only been a year but then Maggie comes to pick Alex up at the end of lunch (totally unaware of the sitch) and Eliza just looks at how in love they are (esp Maggie with Alex) and she gives her blessing and it's cute

She hasn’t told her mother yet.

It hurts her – to not. 

Eliza gets a lot of things wrong, but she also gets a lot of things right: and while Alex is so good at lying that she can fool a polygraph, the whole secrets thing really doesn’t agree with her.

It had, in the beginning; when she first joined the DEO, when she finally had something of her own. Something all hers, something… something that made her special. In her own right.

But it wore on her, grated on her.

Because secrets really don’t agree with her.

But she hasn’t told Eliza yet – about the ring, about the plans – because she knows what her mother will say, and she just wants to enjoy. 

Enjoy being engaged to the woman she loves without the stress of Eliza’s judgment of it’s too soon and are you sure, Alexandra? and you’re just coming out, sweetie, don’t you think you need to expand your horizons a little bit before settling down?

But she also knows that Eliza loves Maggie.

And that’s the second problem with telling her.

Because she wants Eliza’s approval and she wants Eliza’s support – it’s all she’s ever wanted – and Maggie? Maggie has it. 

Maybe Eliza won’t be too big of a fan of the engagement right away, but she’s quite fond of the woman who fights for both of her daughters, who plays pool with her science nerd son, who fights crime with her almost son-in-law son (and she really needs to speak to Kara about Mr. Olsen, because really, how could Alex let her let him go?).

And that’s also what Alex is afraid of.

Because they won’t be telling Maggie’s family.

Because Maggie’s family won’t be there, won’t support her, won’t love her.

And if Maggie can’t have her family, a part of Alex doesn’t want her to have to see Alex having hers. Doesn’t want her to go through that pain.

So she hasn’t told her.

But she’s running late – working on new tech with Lena and Winn, on the communicator with Cisco Ramon, always makes her lose track of time – so she forgets.

Forgets to take her engagement ring off.

And Eliza might not be a secret agent, but Alex gets it from somewhere.

She notices. Of course she notices.

“It seems like you have something to tell me, sweetie,” she tells her right after she hugs her, right as they’re sitting down, right after she’s taken stock of the way Alex seems friendly with everyone who works at Noonan’s – right after she’s taken stock of the way Alex seems, now, to interact with people outside her work.

She wonders when that happened, and she thinks it probably has something to do with the ring on her left hand.

“Um, yeah, I told you, Mom – didn’t you get my text? – we were working on an atmospheric – “

“No, no, dear, I know you lost track of time in the lab.” She chuckles softly to herself. “Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. No, Alex, I meant… something else.”

She doesn’t glance down at Alex’s ring; she doesn’t move her eyes from her eldest’s face at all.

She doesn’t have to. Because suddenly, Alex reaches for her left hand, for her fourth finger. She reaches, and she groans.

“Mom, I – it just happened, it’s recent, I didn’t want to um… I didn’t want to tell you on the phone – “

“You mean you didn’t want to tell me.”

“Mom – “

“Is it because you know how soon this is, Alexandra? Maggie’s a sweet girl, honey, a really lovely girl, and I’m not saying you should break up – god knows, she seems good for you, Alex – but marriage? Don’t you think – “

“Don’t you think you should congratulate me, Mom?” Alex deadpans, her voice as cold as the gun in her waistband, and Eliza’s stomach sinks, because her daughter has always been… headstrong.

But the edges of her voice have the damage of a soldier, now, the ice of a warrior, and it breaks her heart.

Especially because she knows – she knows – how much Maggie has been thawing that ice for Alex. With Alex.

“I… yes, dear, I… congratulations, Alexan – Alex – I want to hear all about it. I just… it’s my job to worry about you, Alex, surely you can – “

“Yeah. I get it.”

“Alexandra – “

“I know a year is short, Mom. I know. I know everything you’re going to say. But you know what, our lives are short, too. I almost died, Mom, I was…” 

Tears swirl in her eyes suddenly, unwelcome, and she has to remind herself that there is no water filling her lungs. “The whole world almost died. And Maggie… Maggie fought her way through the streets, alone, out of ammo for a quarter of her trip, saving school kids on the way to me. To me, Mom. The world was ending and she fought and saved people on her way to me. I held on for her, for Kara, I held on, I…”

Her voice breaks and her jaw sets, and Eliza finds her hand covering her eldest’s; she finds that she can feel the scar tissues in her daughter’s body, that she can hear the scar tissue around her heart.

“You held on for you, sweetie,” Eliza whispers with a soft smile. “It was your love for them that kept you holding you. You. Your love. Your heart. Your mind has always been brilliant, Alex, but your heart has always been your superpower.”

Alex refuses to break – the entire reason she chose Noonan’s was that a public place would be less likely to precipitate an outburst – but she can’t stop the tears cascading down her face.

“All that, but you still think it’s too soon to get married,” she murmurs, and Eliza sighs.

“I just wonder why a woman, kind as she is, who initially rejected you because you were just coming out would be agreeing to marry you less than a year later, sweetie. Everything you’ve been through can also be an argument for not making big life decisions, you know, dear – “

“Mom, I’m marrying her. That’s the end of it. She’s not manipulating me or taking advantage of what I’ve been through or – “

“Why don’t we just enjoy our time together, Alexandra?” she interrupts, and Alex holds her breath, counts like she’s been working on with Sara Lance, sets her jaw, nods, and tries to keep her hands from trembling.

They stick to calmer topics throughout the rest of lunch – the latest research in bioengineering, Winn and Lena’s latest project, how Lucy’s doing – and they almost make it through without Alex’s phone chiming.

“Sorry,” she stammers, “it’s probably work, I have to – oh!” A smile slips over her face – a smile Eliza has rarely seen, one that seems to reverberate through Alex’s entire body – and she blushes. “Um, Mom, uh… Maggie’s heading over here to get coffee for her colleagues, she uh… she wanted to give me a heads up. Because she knows I’m here with you.”

Eliza stiffens slightly. “Of course, dear, it’d be lovely to see your fiancee.”

Alex nearly rises, nearly yells, but she just stiffens her core like she’s bracing for a punch, and she tries to exhale the way Maggie’s been teaching her.

She nods curtly and they sit in painful silence until Eliza clears her throat and asks Alex about how James is feeling with all his new superhero duties.

Alex launches in readily, eager for the distraction. So eager, so relieved, to lose herself in talking about her training sessions with their brother that she doesn’t hear the chime on the door ring, doesn’t turn to see her fiancee slipping up behind her.

Doesn’t know Maggie’s come into Noonan’s, motorcycle helmet in hand, detective shield gleaming, grey henley under perfect leather jacket, until she feels her hand tracing up Alex’s arm, until she feels her soft lips on her temple, until she feels her breath in her ear and hears the words she needs to hear more than anything right now: “I’m so proud of you, Ally. I love you,” Maggie whispers, soft so Eliza can’t hear, quickly so the praise, the love, can seep through Alex’s veins and uncord her tense body.

And it works: Alex melts immediately into Maggie’s touch, into Maggie’s voice, and Eliza has never seen her so relaxed in public. So affectionate with anyone other than Kara. 

Because Alex’s hand finds Maggie’s immediately, instinctively; their fingers interlink like they were created to fit each other’s, and when her eldest tilts her fiancee’s chin with a gentle finger so they can exchange a soft kiss on the mouth, Eliza knows.

Knows that Alex has discovered romantic intimacy.

That Alex is guarded. That Alex is prioritized. That she’s cared for and that she’s worshiped and that she’s truly, utterly loved.

Because Alex would never kiss anyone like that, so casual yet so intimate, so natural yet so needed. So perfect.

“Maggie, sweetheart,” Eliza stands, and Maggie gulps and smiles as she straightens up, accepting Eliza’s hug with one arm, fighting not to cry at a mother’s warm touch. 

“Lovely to see you, Dr. Danvers,” she tells her, and it doesn’t sound at all like the rehearsed lines Alex’s college boyfriends had given. It sounds confident, if nervous; genuine, if full of underlying turmoil, underlying emotion, underlying scar tissue. 

Confident, because this woman loves her daughter. Wholly and completely.

“I see congratulations are in order,” she tells her as she pulls back from the hug, and Maggie nearly drops her helmet. Alex takes her hand and Maggie clings to it.

“Dr. Danvers, I – “

“Kara mentioned earlier that you’re not the closest with your family, Maggie, and forgive me if this is forward, but I would be honored to take you wedding clothes shopping when the time comes. If you’ll have me.”

Maggie’s lip trembles and Alex’s chest wracks with a sob.

And Noonan’s has never seen, before or since, a more emotional, a more relieved, a more cathartic, a more healing, three-person hug.

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part 3)

Pairing: Dean X Reader.

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, Dean being a jealous bb

S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Word count: 5k O_O

Summary: Dean, trying to get accustomed to Y/N’s family and her life in Boston, finds himself worrying about their very own lives together and what the future holds. Will he manage to find a permanent position in her life, or is it all just a role he must play for these two weeks?

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: I’ve been writing this over a span of two weeks and had initially planned to divide it into two or three parts, but decided against it. I hope you like this.

Tagging: @sassyspn67 , @awkward–jay , @daesunglg​ ,  @hayleynightcore


Dean prays his nervousness doesn’t show in the weak smile he offers the table of gleaming faces. They all stand as the three of them approach, all with welcoming smiles, all eyes trained on Y/N as she walks to them like a prodigal daughter returning home after so long.

S/P/N goes in for an immediate hug once she’s close enough and engulfs her little sister, squeezing the life out of her. He tries not to chuckle at the way Y/N groans—countless stories about their childhood together, about how close they were and unbreakable bonds and up until today Dean has never once met S/P/N, but he can’t help but find the way she treats her sister amusing.

The grin on her face is wide as she pulls away. “Look at you!” She says, eyes raking up and down Y/N’s face. “You’re so different now, oh my God!”

“Please don’t start with me, we only just got here.” The y/h/c-haired girl replies as she straightens out the creases in her skirt. Before she can even get another word out, her mother is at her side, an ambient smile gracing her face.

“Well, S/P/N’s not wrong.” Her voice is a deep baritone, husky and rich as she gives her daughter a kiss on the cheek then turns to the boys. And that’s when the anxiety comes flooding back.

A queasiness in his stomach, a twitch in his jaw—something basic and miniscule like breathing or blinking, something he does unconsciously, suddenly feels mechanical. Forced. But the elder Winchester masks it with an amiable smile, the corner’s of his eyes scrunching up. Y/N’s mother’s eyes then travel to his own and her face lights up. “Dean…”

“Marilyn…” He smiles.

They hug like their old friends, like this isn’t their third (fourth?) time meeting; that’s the kind of person Y/N’s mom is. Everyone is her friend. Everyone is adored company rather than a burden, and Dean can’t help but feel a bit intimidated by this level of kindness because God, could he pick a leaf.

Her face folds like dough when she simpers. “looking dapper as ever. Sam, don’t think I’ve forgotten you.”

S/P/N cuts in, earning the elder Winchester’s attention. “So you’re the esteemed-Dean, huh?” She asks, brown eyes scrutinizing him; despite being her blood, she looks nothing like Y/N. A few join similarities here courtesy of genetics and maybe some shared habits, but Dean knows Y/N enough that he’d be able to distinguish her if she even had a twin.

“Wow.” S/P/N turns to Y/N with a ribbing smile. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Shut up.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but the pink-tint in her face is undeniable—so she’s nervous, too. Good. Someone has to be, he thinks. Maybe Y/N can take his place in this apprehensive state, salvage him from his feelings.

“The stories I’ve heard about you…” S/P/N says fondly. “Welcome. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise. Your sister goes on and on about you.”


Dean’s expression then shows hwo taken abck he is at that very moment: his eyes widen a smidge and his brows quirk. Turning to Y/N, he asks, “Does she now?”

The young hunter’s face is a deep red as she shoots her sister a dangerous look, jaw clenched. “Really?”


Rolling her eyes, she then links her arm with his. “Come on, Dean. There’s still a ton of more people we have to meet.”She says  as she turns and strings him along with her. They scuttle aside, leaving Sam deeply invested in chatter with Marilyn as they venture into the crowd. Amused, the elder Winchester’s smirk doesn’t leave his face as they move.

He leans in, voice hushed. “So, you talk about me a lot, huh?”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Y/N then halts to a stop and whips around to face him, face constricted with irritation. Satisfaction floods Dean at the sight; pretending they’re in a relationship doesn’t mean abandoning his liking for razzing the young-girl. If anything, he reasons, it’s a catalyst.

“Dean,…”She warns, her voice as thin as ice. “I’m warning you…I’m not one to shy away from slapping you right in front of all these people?”

“You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend…”Smirking, he goes to wrap his arms around her waist and pulls Y/N in, tipping his head down to look at her. Her expression then falters for a moment; her face falls and the fire in her eyes fades; but its brief, almost indiscernible, because seconds later her pout resurfaces.

Their bodies are flush together, her nimble waist caged in his hands, and Dean tries so hard to ignore the way the tips of his fingers heat up at the contact.

Instead, he chuckles and loosens his grip. Y/N manages to slip out as she rolls her eyes—even then, her blush is still evident.

“Come on…”She links Dean’s hand in hers, and leads him over to another table crowded with some cousins and aunts. The garden is dotted with various people, all smiling when they see her, all going in for hugs and pecks on the cheeks and all giving such sly smiles when Y/N says that Dean and her are dating. Some congratulate them, some, whom Dean has had the pleasure of meeting before like Y/N’s cousin Garth, hold a teasing glint in their eyes.

They talk to relatives and uncles and eerie aunts who, right in front of Y/N, try to hit on Dean. The garden is buzzing with life from all ends, music floating amongst chatter of guests, people dancing,  and as she talks more and more with old friends and relatives, he can see the young girl gradually unwinding.

Her smile, ever-present and as radiant as star, grows with each second, with each interaction. She’s mirthful. Happy. If that’s the case, Dean wonders, then why was she so reluctant about driving out to Boston? Why had Y/N shown the idea of coming out here such disdain?  The question swims in his mind, but that’s as far as it goes. Dean doesn’t bother asking. That’s not his focus now—his focus now is playing his part and helping her get through these two weeks without any setbacks, and so he allows himself the luxury of sitting back and indulging in the buffet with Y/N. Their earlier hunger returns with a vengeance once they spot the table lined with various foods.

They’re stacking piles of pastries onto their plates, when all of a sudden comes a voice.

“How did you two meet?” Uncle Gary, a burly bull trapped in a man’s body, inquires. He’s got hair as grey as the ash on his cigar, and each time he speaks, the thick mustache atop his lip wiggles like a caterpillar. His wife, Steph, stands by his side, eagerly staring and waiting for a response.

“Uhm..”Dean’s gaze slides to Y/N. She looks back at him, a brief horror flashing on her face. For a few seconds, they panic. Shit.“We met…”

“In the park!”

The elder Winchester, shocked, glances over at his girlfriend. She’s smiling at her uncle, her cool demeanor seamlessly in place. If you look hard enough, you can see the glint of pride in her eyes from just saving their asses.

Uncle Gary’s thick grey brows quirk curiously. “In the park?”

“Yeah…” Y/N affirms. “Well, by the park. I was, uh, walking my dog one morning when all of a sudden this car comes speeding out of nowhere as we’re crossing.” She casts cursory glance at Dean, who tries not to smile, both in appreciation and subtle arrogance.

“Yeah.” He supplements, earning the attention momentarily. It’s kind of funny how synchronal they are—a close call like that, teetering along the line between exposing themselves, but Y/N manages to redeem them, and Dean, like a dancer moving to the tune of her symphony, follows without a beat.

“See, I was on my way to work that morning. I was late, so you can imagine what a rush I was in, right? So there I am, cursing to myself as I speed down the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on my tie, when this fuzzy little poodle—“

“Jack Russell.” She corrects. “ He was a jack Russell.”

Dean raises his finger in benediction.  “Right, Jack Russell. So—all of a sudden, he jumps out onto the road and I’m in shock. “

“Luckily, with quick reflexes like Dean’s, he managed to swerve out of the way. He misses him. ” The young girl plays the role so earnestly, her furrowed brow and weary eyes expression selling her distress. “God, poor Kujo was shaking like a leaf. “

“So, Y/N, pissed as hell, tries waving me down. She’s running after my car until I finally pull over and she comes up to my window, and just starts exploding.” Dean’s eyes widen for emphasis, his hands waving in the air. It’s a known trait of his. Whenever telling story, to try and spice thing up or make them seem much more exciting than they actually are, the elder Winchester will flail around and pull faces, and Y/N won’t admit it, but she find it absolutely adorable.

“She’s going on about calling the cops and road rules and safety, but at that moment all I’m focusing on is how goddamn y/e/c her eyes are.” He explains. He doesn’t notice that, as soon as the words leave him, the young girl’s face flushes red. He goes on, says something more, something that makes Aunt Steph’s face fold and crease like cookie dough as she smiles, and then finishes off with a firm arm around her shoulder.

He gives it a firm squeeze, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Long story short: I didn’t even show up for work in the end.”

“Wow.” Aunt Steph’s grey eyes go wide like planets. “Unconventional grounds indeed.”

“That story was a rollercoaster from start to finish! Loved it!” Uncle Gary, smile engulfing his face, slaps a friendly hand onto Dean’s shoulder who glances at Y/N.

The pair shares a confided glance, their pride shining in the way they smirk at each other. They’ve pulled it off.  

The elder Winchester offers a proud smile, fighting the urge to turn to his partner, to pull his lips back in a teasing smirk, for the smugness in his eyes to say I told you so, I told you the doggie hit-and-run would sell. Instead, however, he focuses on Uncle Gary telling him about his very own Terrier that nearly got hit by cyclist as she and her aunt wander off to the sidelines.

“Well, well, well…” Someone says from behind them.  Dean instinctively turns; his eyes meet with a pair of deep blue ones staring intently at him, at Y/N, a lopsided grin set onto the stranger’s face. His hair, a deep onyx, cascades down his neck to his shoulders. He’s dressed in a suit, very official, very formal, and it makes the elder Winchester’s stomach turn for a moment.

“Look who it is.” The stranger says.

Dean furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”


His head snaps in the Y/N’s direction, and his confusions swells even more when he sees the wide grin lacing the young girl’s face.

Her eyes trained on the stranger, she shakes her head slowly. “Oh my God.”

“Missed me?” The stranger smirks at her, then goes in for a hug.

Dean steps aside and out of the way, trying not to bump into the table and almost topples over a tray of croissants. He watches, bewildered, as the two exchange pleasantries. Y/N’s arms are slung around his neck, as she giggles then pulls away.

“Very much.” She smiles at him. “Wow. It’s been so long.”

“Hasn’t it?”


The elder Winchester, attention grasped, looks to her. She points at the blue-eyed man. “This is Rick—Rick Montoijia! He was my neighbor when I still lived my parents from, like, two houses down. Uhm, rick, this is my boyfriend, Dean.”

“Heya.” Rick stretches his hand out for a shake. Hesitating, Dean eyes it momentarily and then finally accepts the gesture.

“Hi….” His eyes scan the stranger’s face dubiously, his grip firm, trying to assert dominance. And all of a sudden, something has brewed in his chest.

Something hot and vehement in the space below his ribs; an energy, a sense of intimidation. It’s stupid to feel, yes, but Dean can’t help it—his chest floods with a jealousy as he lets go of the other man’s hand.

With an excited smile, Y/N addresses Rick. “What are you doing here? We—I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“S/P/N’s wedding.” He points to Y/N’s sisters standing a few meters away. “Obviously I knew you’d be in town for that. I figured,’ well, when was the last time I saw Y/N L/N?’ and here I am.”

“Here you are.” Dean cuts in.

All eyes shift to him. Y/N peers over Rick’s shoulder, trying to get a better glimpse, and the green-eyed hunter offers a strained smile; one far from genuine, something the young girl is obviously familiar with, because her smile begins to melt away at the sight. Dean doesn’t care. His gaze then shifts to Rick, whose smile is still smeared across his chiseled face.

“Uhm, yeah…”The dark-haired man laughs nervously. “Here I am. So…”His attention averts onto Y/N. “How long are you gonna be in town? We need to catch up.”

“Definitely. I’m here for—“

“We’re here—“

“—for two weeks. Yeah, we’re here for two weeks.” Y/N finishes, voice holding a dangerous edge to it. Dean chooses to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the dark-haired stranger’s face lights up with mirth.

“Wow. That’s great.”

“It really is, Rick. Anyhow, it was great meeting you, but we have to go.”


Dean doesn’t give her a chance to object as his hand goes to Y/N’s waist, and he nudges her forward, quickly trying to get away as fast as possible. Luckily, they succeed; standing behind them, Rick offers a weak, awkward goodbye as they move further away. In his chest, dean’s heart thrums rapidly, incessantly.

His jealousy boils like a hot stew, threatening to spill over, and he suffocates it; he’s being irrational. He’s being stupid. That guy is just one of Y/N’s many friends, he reasons. He’s just another familiar face from Boston, a ghost from her past, nothing too serious…

But the call to worry is stronger than reprimand for Dean.

When she notices his stiffness, Y/N turns to look at the elder Winchester. Concern swims in her y/e/c eyes. “You okay?”

Attention grasped, Dean turns to her, finds her imploring eyes set on him. They’re back inside, sitting with Sam and the bride and groom, and the band is playing some variation of Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight.

Trying to stifle his feelings, the elder Winchester regains composure, offering a tight-smile. “Oh, yeah.”

“Sure? You seem…absent. Like something’s bothering you.”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” He lets out a sigh. He tries to steady the quaking in his core, letting his gaze drift across the room. Y/N scoots closer in and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickles his jaw.

“If you say so…”She says with sigh, her breath fanning against his skin. Her body is warm against his, like a tepid lava flowing down his skin, soothing, therapeutic almost.

“Good job back there with nearly killing my dog, by the way. Put on quite the show.”

The elder Winchester laughs. It’s soft and feint but she can feel it in the rumble of his body beneath her head.

“Yeah, well, what can I say—I’m a sucker for theatre.”

“Are you now?”

“Oh yeah, massive fan. Plus, anything to get my story told.” Dean senses it hanging in the air like a string suspended between them, a silent question. It’s quiet for moment.  He then tips his head to glimpse down at her, a smile playing at his lips.

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

Y/N bites her smile back, a row of her chalky white teeth contrasting the burgundy on her lips, then lets it all bubble out. “Fine! You were right. Your good looks and charm won me over—there, are you happy?”

Dean doesn’t bother to try and mask his smile. “Extremely.”

“What’re you guys talking about?”

His head turns; S/P/N waddles over and pulls out a chair a few seats away, smiling as she sits down. She folds the pleats in her burgundy skirt over.

“Stuff.” Replies Y/N, head still draped against Dean’s shoulder.

“What kinda stuff?”

“Couple stuff. Dean and Y/N stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” She smirks; then Dean pokes her side and she lets out a giggle; it’s a sweet, quiet sound, like the hum of a bird or the wind wisping through the trees, and it makes the pit in the elder Winchester’s stomach from earlier yawn open.

As Y/N speaks with her sister, the elder Winchester feels a flood of melancholy coming on. He can always tell when it’s happening; it’s like watching everything around you happening at a normal pace when all of a sudden things are slowed down, sluggish, delayed. That’s what Dean feels like right now. He loathes it.

The evening is electric and dressed in a celebratory energy. More guests have arrived for the dinner, all pouring in in massive crowds and gaudy sartorial dresses. Dean has to stand when he greets them all, offering an amiable smile, the occasional hug and peck as they all fawn—oh my God, the Dean? Y/N’s Dean?

It gets annoying having to hear everybody so jubilant over meeting him, at a point. They’re excited to be meeting their sister’s boyfriend, their niece’s lover, the man whom she, too, shall bring back here to Boston in a few years to wed. To them, Dean assumes, meeting him is a gateway to another one of this sartorial dinners just a few years ahead.

To him, it’s plain insulting.

Why did he even agree to this? Playing pretend had seemed less tedious in his mind. Doing it now, the elder Winchester is wrought with negative emotions; with jealousies and blind resentments and a bitterness because he shall have anything but this future with Y/N, and God, is he pissed.

“Dean,” She says, pulling him from his reverie. Aunt Steph and good ol’ Gary sit across from them, sipping on some champagne and laughing with Y/N’s parents, and to their left is S/P/N and Japheth. Everyone is laughing and chatting and the air reeks of jubilance, except for the corner where a heavy grey cloud hangs over Dean’s head.

Y/N’s hand is on his as he turns to her, her y/e/c eyes trained intently on his. “What’s wrong?” She pries. He has to say something. Lying would only act as a catalyst for his negative emotions (lying to Y/N, at least). So, instead, Dean heaves a heavy breaths and gathers the feelings in his chest into a single nest.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He says. “I’m just trying to let this all sink in. Your family. It’s pretty overwhelming meeting all the people in your life who mean the world to you.”

“I’m sorry if this isn’t how you planned to spend the next two weeks, Dean.” Y/N’s gaze falters, moving to their hands loosely draped over each other.  

Dean’s eyes follow. He shrugs and, taking her hand in his, slowly links them together absentmindedly. Their fingers fit perfectly, like a key slipping into a lock, like a tight knot, and he tries to ignore it.

“Don’t be, Y/N.” He replies. “Besides—I’m the one who offered this in the first place. I don’t really have the luxury of complaining.”

“Should I give it to you?”

“Keep it.”


When Dean finally looks up, he finds Y/N’s eyes trained on him, her lips pulled back in pleasant smile. In the background, the music slows to a stop as it shifts to the next song. More upbeat, more jazzy and fun. The room’s chatter provides the perfect undertone, but Dean ignores it—all of it, because all he can focus on right now is Y/N.

His Y/N. For tonight, for two weeks.


He’ll take what he can get, even if it’s having the honor of playing her boyfriend for a period of time and then going back to being just her best-friend; to being her Dean and not her Dean.  Going back to a life where she sees their relationship, although intense, as nothing more than a deep friendship.

It’s only been a few hours, but it’s crazy how much can be revealed to you in such a span of time. Dean sees it now—sees Y/N and, even if he didn’t think it possible, even more of her than he already has. He sees Y/N in her element, with her family, with her friends and with a sense of mirth radiating off her…And as great as it is, all it does for him is nudge at the thought that he shall never be part of that.

They mean a lot to each other, he knows that much, but today has made him wonder if he will ever be part of Y/N’s suburban life, whether he’ll breach past their life spent in the bunker and in pages of lore and into that which holds this very idyllic essence.

The thought, daunting and unfortunately saddening, hits the elder Winchester like a ton of bricks. He immediately turns away. He rests his focus on something—anything—that isn’t Y/N smiling at him and causing an uproar in the space behind his heart.

The night simmers on, laced with laughter and chatter and smiles too bright for Dean to bare. He only watches from the sidelines, an observer, a spectator…Y/N is the center of the orbit that is the eclectic crowd. She smiles and the entire room responds with an abundance of simpers; her laugh is a mellifluous symphony overpowering the music, her eyes glint like the stars in the sky and she throws her head back and captivates the attention of everyone in the room. She reels them all in like a magnet, like she’s magic…

And to Dean she is…

She always has been and always will be. She is ethereal and glimmering and inside her is a flame and a tornado and such vehemence that would tear a mere mortal apart, but doesn’t even scratch her skin the slightest.

Y/N is magic and she will always be magic, and Dean knows this. He wishes he didn’t, but he does, and it hurts…Because the hollowness in his chest that comes from watching her so radiant makes him wonder why he said yes to the torture of being just another planet in her orbit in the first place…


The list is exceedingly long, but what stands out predominantly on the account of things they were meant to discuss before they left home (but didn’t), is the sleeping arrangement.

Standing in their hotel bedroom, the elder Winchester stares at the single bed, at the six fat pillows nested at the head and the vast comforter definitely two huge for two. It’s a lover’s suit; of course the hotel would be expecting customer’s to be doing anything but sleeping in these sheets, but Dean’s case is the exception.

Y/N is in the bathroom getting ready for bed. The sound of the shower running echoes throughout the otherwise silent room and the elder Winchester feels a small welt of nervousness claw at his belly. They’ve shared beds before. This shouldn’t be a big deal…


God, he’s acting like a teenage boy with this. It’s not that hard, Dean tells himself. They can even divide it into two regions if they want, Y/N’s, and then the extremely comfy one with the extra pillow for him. They can sort this out. It doesn’t have to be awkward, eh tries to reason, but something tugs at his gut and tells him otherwise, because Dean feels all sorts of anxious.

Maybe it’s the thought of lying to sleep with her after the mortal sin they’ve just committed throughout the day: fraud. Artifice. Maybe, Dean thinks, it’s the fact that they’ll have to pretend to be together even as they lay to sleep that terrifies him maybe it’s the lover’s suit. He and Y/N are anything but. All the times they’ve slept in the same bed in the past, it’s been in dingy, itchy, sketchy motels, not five stars hotels that probably provide complimentary condoms.

He lifts the thick blanket on the bed and crawls under it, trying to get comfortable. The bed is cloud, embracing him, engulfing him into its form like it’s an amoeba and him its prey. God, this is comfy. Dean’s eyes flutter and he tips his head back in subtle ecstasy.

Right at that moment, the door to the bathroom swings open.

Y/N stomps out in pajama shorts and a towel clasped tightly to her chest, eyes wide as she glimpses around the room. Opening his eyes, Dean then ctaches her gaze.

“Sorry.” She apologizes and points to her beg at the foot of the bed. “I just need my shirt from my suitcase. Don’t look!”

“No promises.” But he doesn’t, instead covering his eyes with one hand. He hears the patter of feet and the rustling of clothes as Y/N retrieves the garment, then rushes back into the bathroom. When she returns, a moment later, this time she’s fully clothed.

“The pressure here is ace.” Y/N says, holding her fingers up in an appropriate gesture as she saunters towards the bed. She hauls her bag off and onto the floor, then climbs up, pushing the blanket aside.

“I can’t remember the last time I took a shower and didn’t want to get out.”

Dean lowers his hand and looks at her; hair wet and clinging to her skin, her face is bare, all the makeup from today washed away into the drain. A few pimples dot the surface of her cheeks and, although feint, there’s a single splatter of freckles just below her jaw line that Dean always finds himself admiring.

“That’s good to know. In other news: the sleeping arrangement. How’s this gonna work?”

“You mean top or bottom?”

“Grow up.”

Y/N’s grin never falters as she laughs. “I don’t really mind, Dean. If it bothers you, you could always take the floor.”

“I never said it bothers me…”

“Does it?”

Her eyes are staring intently into his and he’s trying too damn hard to not get caught up in them. He shouldn’t. the moment is far from appropriate. She’s basically telling him to get out of the bed and spend the night on the floor like a hound, and heaven be damned if Dean is going to let himself focus on anything but defending himself.

So he tips his head back slightly, locks his eyes on hers, and says, “Not at all.”

“Then goodnight, Winchester.” Y/N smiles, before turning the night-light off and wiggling further under the blanket.

Dean mirrors her. He slides beneath it, letting it came up to his chest and closes his eyes. He can feel the steady beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. Sleep hovers over him like a phantom but never once dares to preside.

Minutes pass and he’s still awake. The elder Winchester fidgets, turning on his side, eyes meeting the bright glare of the moonlight invading the room. He checks his watch on the bedside table. Two am. Still up. His eyelids feel heavy and a yawn pries his mouth open, but Dean can’t sleep, and it’s an insomnia, the worst kind of insomnia, that he’s too familiar with.

He’s dabbled in it in the past; with the mark of cain and in purgatory. When he was demon, when Sam was soulless and when Cas was presumed dead. Dean knows this plague, greets it like an old friend, doesn’t even bother fighting it, but there’s no denying that it’s annoying. He wants rest—needs it. The last thing he needs right now is a visit from this phantom that keeps him up, staring at the blank ceiling.

A few seconds subside when silence is broken by hushed voice.

“Dean ar—you’re awake?” Y/N rolls over, her droopy eyes meeting his.

The elder Winchester nods silently. His eyes burn.

“How come?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t know why you can’t sleep?”

“That’s what I just said.”

The sheets shift. Y/N props herself up on her elbow, looking at him, her eyes still swimming with sleep. He wonders what woke her, but remains silent as he turns to meet her gaze.

Y/N’s eyes are somber and intently set on him; there’s a weight on her heart for a moment, something that visibly bring out the worry in her gaze. “Nightmares?”

She’s been with him through all of them; all those times mentioned, all those calamites in his life, Y/N has walked through them with Dean. Consequently, she can tell when something’s up. It’s comforting for Dean to know that’s she’s so in sync with him, that they’ve got this visceral connection that alerts her when something’s up, but unfortunately now it’s a bit of a false alarm.

He shakes his head. “No. Just can’t sleep.”

“Oh…” She voices simply and within a moment the solemnity fades. Then comes the sound of the sheets shifting, Y/N sitting up and she turns on the nightlight. The warm light right away glares onto the side of his face. Dean squints, lolling his head to the side.

Y/N’s hair dangles around her face as she looks at him. “Anything I can do to help? Get a glass of water, sing you a lullaby?”

“Rock me to sleep?” He supplements.

She shrugs. “Anything.”

Then, chuckling, elder Winchester turns away and allows his gaze to float back to the ceiling. y/N continues to speak in the background, going on about the day and tomorrow and how everything’s going to go down so that everything turns out as planned. She’s notified Sam already, apparently. Unlike Dean, he won’t have to do much besides be himself and distract Marilyn for the weekend…

But for Dean, Y/N proclaims, it’s going to be a long two weeks: he’s going to have to do a lot more than he’d anticipated; more work, more fraud. For the following days he must wear his disguise as though it is anything but…and the funny thing? Dean knows it’s going to be elementary…

Because they can only get so much closer.

Because they, before today, already spent nights in bed chatting about everything and anything that came to mind; because he already used to walk inches close to her and comb his fingers through her hair and laugh and feel (God, did he feel), and so maybe this is going to be a walk in the park. Maybe it will be easy, Dean thinks—until he’s reminded of earlier at dinner and the gaping hole in his chest.


Part 4

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Beautiful- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: The four times Tom was utterly in awe of your beauty. (Based on ‘Never Seen Anything Quite Like You’ by the Script)

Word Count: 1400

A/N: There are a lot of time jumps, so I apologize for that in advance. Also, I feel uncomfortable writing wedding scenes, especially when the character is a real person, so I am sorry for how terrible the last one is.


“So, Tom, I heard that you have a celebrity crush-” Ellen stopped herself to laugh at the embarrassed Tom. He ran his hand through his hair as his face became red, “Look at you! You’re all red and flustered.” She exclaimed. She placed her elbow on her armrest and leaned into Tom on it. “Would you look to tell the audience?”

“No, no, no. Please no.” Tom begged.

“Okay, well, then Tom from two weeks ago- was it?- can tell them.” She replied, pointing up to the screen and a clip from a different interview with Tom popped up.

“Who is your celebrity crush?” The interviewer asked. Almost immediately, Tom answered.

“Y/N Y/L/N, definitely her. She’s absolutely beautiful and she’s killing it right now with Divergent and Cinderella.” On-screen Tom eagerly replied as present day Tom hid his blushing face behind his hands.

“Aw, Tom, why are you embarrassed? It’s cute.” Ellen teased as the audience laughed and cheered, “Y/N even agrees.”

“What?” Tom asked, looking at her in confusion and slight excitement.

“Y/N was on the show yesterday and she said she thought you were cute.” She explained.

“There’s no way.” He replied in disbelief as a clip started to roll on the screen.

“So congratulations on Pirates. It’s a brilliant movie.” On-screen Ellen told you and you smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Tom Holland also agrees.” Ellen added and you laughed lightly.

“So I’ve heard.” You nodded.

“Have you now?”

“Well, when you’ve got a massive comic book fan as your best friend, you tend to know when the new Spider-Man actor admits he has a crush on you.”

“If Tom was to be watching this right now, what would you say to him?” Ellen asked. Tom’s focus was on the screen, on what you might say to him; his attention was anywhere but behind him, where you currently stood silently shushing the audience.

“Tom, I find you to be very cute and very talented. Good job on Civil War and good luck with Spider-Man.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Present day Ellen turned to Tom as the clip ended and he reached for his mug.

“Yeah, but, uh, it’s still embarrassing.” He replied, drinking some water.

“Oh well, you’re about to be even more embarrassed then.” She chuckled.

“Boo!” You exclaimed from behind him and he spit out his drink, bolting to his feet.

“Oh my God!” Tom shouted, covering his mouth.

“Hi.” You laughed.

“I told you, Tom. That was hilarious.” Ellen couldn’t help her laughter as a slow-mo replay of Tom’s actions was shown on the screen.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” You smiled, holding your hand out to Tom.

“Y-yeah, I’m so sorry. My brain is trying to process all of this. Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person.” Tom said, making you laugh. As he shook your hand, he made eye contact with you and it quite literally felt like time had stopped for both of you.

“You’ll thank me one day.” Ellen said, breaking your trance and making both of you laugh.


(One month later)

You were doing press in London for your latest film and finally got a day off, which meant you could stay in your hotel room the whole day in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt with absolutely no need to get dolled up. Around lunchtime, you rang for room service and a few minutes later there was knock on your door.

“Coming!” You said, standing up from your couch and heading over to the door. You opened it and you were greeted with, instead of a hotel employee bearing your lunch, Tom. You yelped and shut the door quickly.

“Y/N, are you okay? It’s just me.” your boyfriend said.

“I know. What are you doing here? I thought you had to be in Atlanta.” you asked, trying to steady your breathing. The last time anyone had seen you like this was years ago and you were not prepared to let Tom see you in jeans with no makeup on.

“Laura had a scheduling conflict, so she had to back out. I got another few weeks off while they search for a replacement.” He explained, “Why aren’t you letting me in?”

“I-I’m not decent.” You stated.

“Yes, you are. Just let me in.” He knocked again and you sighed.You slowly opened the door and let him inside your room.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have looked better.” You spoke as he closed the door behind him.

“You look beautiful.” Tom said in awe, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Not really.”

“Yes, really.” He stated, planting a quick kiss on your lips, “How has the press tour been?”

“Busy and today’s my day off. How did you know where to find me?” You asked, sitting on the couch and he sat beside you.

“I have your manager’s number.” Tom replied, “I would have called you, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“So Laura is gone? How will you find a replacement?”

“Well…” He trailed off, “I kind of told Marvel I knew a famous actress who’s schedule would be open soon and who would be willing to play my love interest.” Tom smiled at you hopefully, “So what do you say? After you finish up promo here in London, do you want to come back to Atlanta with me and be my Liz?”

“Did you ask my manager about that too?” You asked.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, making you giggle.’

“I’d love to be your Liz.” You smiled, kissing him.


(A couple weeks later)

The day you and Tom would be shooting the scene in which Peter goes to Liz’s house before Homecoming came around and Jon Watts believed the scene would be even more realistic if Tom hadn’t seen you at all that day or in your Homecoming look. Thus, you hadn’t seen Tom since the night before and he had no clue what your Homecoming dress would be like. You nervously stood behind the door, mentally rehearsing your lines, as you waited for Jon to call action.

“And action!” He announced. You opened the door and walked onto the kitchen set.

“Wow, doesn’t she look beautiful, Pete?” Your ‘dad’ asked Tom. Tom turned around to face you and he was speechless.

“Y-yeah, she does.” Tom nodded. Forcing himself to stick with the script, he turned back around to face your ‘father’.

“Good answer, kid.”

“Dad, don’t embarrass me.” You said, smoothing out your pink dress as you walked to stand beside Tom.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” Your ‘dad’ announced.

“Wait, wait, pictures first!” Your ‘mom’ said, pulling out a camera for the two of you.

Jon called cut and Tom turned to you in awe.

“You really do look beautiful.” He said and you blushed.

“Thank you.” You replied, kissing him quickly.

“Y/N! Peter can’t have Liz’s lipgloss on him.” The makeup artist stated, making you laugh as she gave Tom a napkin.


(Two years later)

You were nervous, you’ve never been this nervous. ‘Don’t fall, don’t fall’ you reminded yourself as your clutched the flowers in your hand.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Your best friend and maid of honor asked.

“Let’s do this.” You let out a shaky breath and she smiled at you. You watched as she left the room and you followed her. It was silent, all you could hear was your heart beating and the soft music. You slowly rounded the corner. Your eyes went up the aisle and straight to Tom’s. He smiled brightly at you. Everyone stood and watched as you walked past them.

You came to a halt at the altar, standing in front of Tom. You handed your bouquet off to your maid of honor and your hands fell into Tom’s…

“Mrs. Y/N Holland. I like the sound of that.” Tom whispered in your ear during your first dance.

“I quite like the sound of it too.” You replied with a laugh.

“You look so incredibly beautiful in this dress.”

“You say I look beautiful in anything.”

“Because you are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything quite like you. I love you so much, my wife.”

“And I love you too, my husband.”

~~~ Tag List: @gray-rose13 @devan-d @flammy-whater @cutefluffy89 @ria132love
Traits of Narcissistic Mothers: Deniability

Everything [the narcissistic mother] does is deniable. There is always a facile excuse or an explanation. Cruelties are couched in loving terms. Aggressive and hostile acts are paraded as thoughtfulness. Selfish manipulations are presented as gifts. Criticism and slander is slyly disguised as concern. She only wants what is best for you. She only wants to help you.

She rarely says right out that she thinks you’re inadequate. Instead, any time that you tell her you’ve done something good, she counters with something your sibling did that was better or she simply ignores you or she hears you out without saying anything, then in a short time does something cruel to you so you understand not to get above yourself. She will carefully separate cause (your joy in your accomplishment) from effect (refusing to let you borrow the car to go to the awards ceremony) by enough time that someone who didn’t live through her abuse would never believe the connection.

Many of her putdowns are simply by comparison. She’ll talk about how wonderful someone else is or what a wonderful job they did on something you’ve also done or how highly she thinks of them. The contrast is left up to you. She has let you know that you’re no good without saying a word.

She’ll spoil your pleasure in something by simply congratulating you for it in an angry, envious voice that conveys how unhappy she is, again, completely deniably. It is impossible to confront someone over their tone of voice, their demeanor or they way they look at you, but once your narcissistic mother has you trained, she can promise terrible punishment without a word. As a result, you’re always afraid, always in the wrong, and can never exactly put your finger on why.

Because her abusiveness is part of a lifelong campaign of control and because she is careful to rationalize her abuse, it is extremely difficult to explain to other people what is so bad about her.

She’s also careful about when and how she engages in her abuses. She’s very secretive, a characteristic of almost all abusers (“Don’t wash our dirty laundry in public!”) and will punish you for telling anyone else what she’s done. The times and locations of her worst abuses are carefully chosen so that no one who might intervene
will hear or see her bad behavior, and she will seem like a completely different person in public.

She’ll slam you to other people, but will always embed her devaluing nuggets of snide gossip in protestations of concern, love and understanding (“I feel so sorry for poor Cynthia. She always seems to have such a hard time, but I just don’t know what I can do for her!”) As a consequence the children of narcissists universally report that no one believes them (“I have to tell you that she always talks about YOU in the most caring way!). Unfortunately therapists, given the deniable actions of the narcissist and eager to defend a fellow parent, will often jump to the narcissist’s defense as well, reinforcing your sense of isolation and helplessness ("I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that!”)

My Muse.

Spencer Reid x Reader

In which your paintings have finally been featured in an art gallery. Your team comes to support you and when they do, Spencer is speechless at the fact that all of your work was clearly inspired by him.

anon requested. idk how accurate this is as far as art galleries go so that’s why i didn’t talk about the setup much but i hope you enjoy this! xoxo

Originally posted by dr-spencer-reid-though

You’d been interested in art since you were quite young. Upon seeing all of the beautiful work in museums, when you weren’t working on a case with your team you were painting. 

You’d paint whatever was on your mind and so all of your work was immensely varied. There were paintings with splashes of color that were quite abstract and messy. There were masterpieces consisting entirely of dull colors such as gray, black, and white, paired with harsh lines that were a contrast the the swirls of your art on happier days.

However although a lot of your collection was unable to be clearly interpreted into one specific thing, other pieces were obviously something that you might as well have written exactly what it was underneath it. Your coworker and friend Dr. Spencer Reid, who you had intense feelings for, was often your muse. He had unknowingly inspired you, his curly hair along with his soft brown eyes and sense of style had always ignited something within you that you couldn’t quite explain with words. Your art spoke for you.

Keep reading

Shadowhunter vs. TMI books

Jace, and Clary, and Climon

Book! Jace: States that he cannot look at Simon without wanting to kill someone, try’s to convince Clary to be with him regardless of incest…. they can always leave their loved ones behind and run away to a  place were no one knows, tells her he is trying to hate her when she says no, mocks her relationship with Simon saying it is a lie and distraction… while Simon can hear them!

Show! Jace: Is still protective and affectionate with Clary but only in platonic/sibling way once they are declared brother and sister. Is hurt seeing her with Simon but still congratulates them and is supportive of their relationship. When they learn that they are not siblings he tells Clary that “You have a good thing, I will not Ruin it”.

Book!Jace: Gets furious at not having the girl he wants and does what he can to make both her boyfriend and her suffer.

Show! Jace: Understands that Clary can have feelings for people besides him. Respects her right to make her own choices based on what she feels is right for her.

book! Clary: Is completely obsessed with Jace and totally using Simon, admits to Jace half way through the book that she romantically loves him and see’s Simon as a brother… then continues to “date” Simon, Though you honestly forget that they are dating because she totally forgets about him all the time, because she is so focused on how pretty and gold Jace is. Let a very upset Simon run off into the night so she could go sleep in Jace’s room while he was showering

Show! Clary: Really cares about Simon and is a great friend and girlfriend to him. I stand by the idea that she is keeping close to him anyway she can so that the shadowhunters vs. downworlders social fight does not tear her and her oldest friend apart, but It is obvious how much she really does care about him, Genuinly seems to enjoy being with him. Okay ya’ll I do think Clace understand each other better in the present, and that Climon work better as a platonic relationship, but you have to give them that they are adorable, really.

Book! Clary: tries to get over her shock of having a brother she never asked for by playing with her best friends heart

Show! Clary: Loves as much as possible, and is on the road to figuring out how to name all the types of love she feels.

Love Letters And Scribbles of Hope

Soulmate AU in which soulmates can communicate by writing things on their skin

Newt Scamander x Reader

Warnings: none 

Prelude -Love Letters and Scribbles of Hope- Uncommon-Leta

Originally posted by elenarinya

Throughout the entirety of your life, you’d never met someone quite like your soulmate.

You didn’t know his name, nor could he tell it to you. For some reason, that wasn’t allowed. 

It was things like this that made you often wish you were a No-Maj. They didn’t have to experience the painfully annoying process of finding a soulmate. 

Your soulmate, whom you often referred to as “N.S” (his initials), is perhaps the most sweet people on the Earth. 

He enjoyed to read, did his best to avoid crowds, and studied profusely the creatures of the Wizarding world. Incredibly smart and kind, you wanted nothing more than to meet him immediately. One drawback of the incredibly odd part of the Soulmate Charm was the fact you, nor him, could ask any questions that could be used to find his location. 

It didn’t stop you from figuring it out, though; he was from Britain, something clear by the way he spelt certain words. That was half away around the world, wasn’t it? 

You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know, really, because that made it feel all the more impossible to find him. 

Nonetheless, you talked with each other constantly. There were never any huge fights you had had besides the one where you found out he had a crush on a girl with the initials of “L.L.” 

You ignored him for about a week before apologizing. 

Some of the toughest times for him included L.L and his expulsion from his school. He drifted from you after that, not talking to you as often as before. 

You supposed there wasn’t much to be done in that sense. 

You graduated from Illvermorny in 1920 at the bright age of eighteen. Your elder sisters, Tina and Queenie, had picked you up from the train station with bright grins and loud laughs. 

The entire way home, Queenie went on and on about how happy she was you were going to be living in the new apartment. You hadn’t been back home such a long time and Queenie assured you it was “absolutely comfy as can be.”

You took her word for it. 

N.S congratulated you on your graduation, saying he wished he could send you a present or give you a kiss at the very least. 

You simply blushed at that and replied with “Oh, hush, it’s fine.”

That night, you unpacked in your bedroom. It felt odd, knowing that once this summer ended you wouldn’t be going back. In a way it was exciting and comforting; living in the Big City at eighteen years old. 

“So,” Tina sang as Queenie set a cake down in front of you. “Make a wish, buttercup!” 

You closed your eyes, biting your lip in thought. “Queenie, no peeking,” you reminded her. 

You blew out the candles and your sisters clapped. 

And now, you thought, I wait for my N.S to come.

December 8th, 1926

N.S. I hope you are feeling a bit better. Safe travels.

The message faded away instantly, telling you he saw it on the palm of his hand. It hurt when he didn’t reply. 

“It’s okay, hun,” Queenie said soothingly. “He’s probably just busy, what with goin’ out overseas and all!” You sighed but nodded. “I suppose,” you said, though you weren’t sure. 

Tina sent you a sympathetic gaze. “It’s going to be okay, [Y/n]. At least you have a soulmate.” 

You frowned. “You guys might have soulmates, you know. Maybe they’re a No-Maj or somethin’.”

Tina raised her eyebrows. “You know that law strictly prohibits No-Maj and Wizard relationships.”

“But, Tina, even if they’re a soulmate?” you emphasised. “Look at the President. Her soulmate was a No-Maj.”

“Yes, but they didn’t get married,” she argued. “They also didn’t have any relationship after that because it’s the law.”

You huffed, standing up with your hands on the table. “Alright, you win for today, but only because I’m too tired to argue with you.” 

December 15th, 1926

I’ve arrived safe and sound. 

These were the only words you had heard from N.S since he told you he was going on an adventure of some sort. 

You had no time to reply when a fresh stack of paper-work got plopped on your desk. You glared at the man, Henry, who walked off with a smug smile. 

That man enjoyed ruining everyone’s day, you knew it. 

Without really thinking, you signed off on every page that needed signature, sorting them into piles. 

“Hello, doll,” a voice sang. You peered overtop the stack of pages, only to roll your eyes. 

“What do you want, Stevie?” you sighed, gearing up your typewriter. “How’s your N.S doin’?” he asked with a cunning grin. 

“He’s doin’ just fine,” you replied with a bittersweet smile. Honestly, that could have been a lie for all you know, seeing as N.S wouldn’t talk to you.

 “Aw, honey, just come get dinner with me, just once!” You stood up, collecting the first layer of papers. “Don’t call me ‘Honey’,” you responded, brushing past him. “I will get a date with you, [Y/n]!” he called after you. 

You only groaned as you stepped into the elevator. “Wand registration, please,” you asked the operator with a polite smile. As you waited, you peeked at the palm of your hand. 

No response. 

The operator noticed your disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he assured you when the elevator came to a stop. “My wife never replies to me.”

You laughed and thanked him before stepping out. “Tina!” you sigh, slowly walking about. “I have those applications you asked for, although the one for the foreigner is blank because I couldn’t get a name.” You strolled around the corner only to see her desk empty. You frowned, going over and finding a note left for either you or Queenie. 

Out. It was urgent. See you at home

-Tina G.

You shrugged and set the stack of applications down on her desk. 

You checked out of work a little while later. The weather was frigid and cold. 

You walked home, forcing your hands to stay inside your coat pockets; you couldn’t let yourself become attached to a man you didn’t even know. 

“Queenie,” you called, walking through the doors of your home, “I’m home.”

Queenie ran to you immediately and grasped your hands. “Go do up your hair!” she whisper-yelled. “Why?” you replied in the same tone. 

“We have visitors! And one of them is your soulmate!” she squealed happily. 

Your eyes went wide. “Queenie, stop yankin’ me,” you say with a wobbly voice. “I’m not! I swear on my life, I’m not, honey-pie,” Queenie said, putting her hands on your cheeks. “I read his mind!”

“Queenie,” you said warningly. “Oh, I know, I know,” she said, pulling away. “I know what you’re going to say but I just couldn’t help it. He feels so bad for ignorin’ you, actually.”

You went rigid. Maybe it was him. 

“What’s his name?” you demand first. 

“One Newt Scamander. He has a cute friend, too.”

“I don’t care about the friend, Queenie. What is his soulmate’s initials.”

“[1st initial] G. I’m assuming the G is for Goldstein and the [1st initial] is for [Y/n],” she sang. You glared at your sister before ripping your coat off and hanging it up. “Whoever that man is, I can promise you it won’t be my N.S. Loads of people have his initials and my initials, that isn’t a valid reason to assume something.”

“B-but honey-pie, he’s a Brit!” Queenie said desperately, grasping your wrist as you walked away. “[Y/n], I know. I know. That’s your soulmate just there, sitting at our dining table. You have got to trust me.”

You stare at Queenie questionably, examining her. “Fine. I believe you.”

She went to clap her hands together. 

“But! I look like complete trash. The wind ruined my hair and I wasn’t exactly expecting to meet anyone so I didn’t wear a nice outfit. How long are they going to be here?”

“All night, I suspect.”

“Fine. I’ll…I’ll talk to them later. Don’t say anything about me to him!” you added, pointing a finger at her. “I won’t, I promise I won’t say anything about you again…”


“Shush!” Queenie exclaimed. “Tina is still in their with them and she doesn’t like when we yell.” 

“Oh, please, she isn’t queen of the world,” you grumbled as you trudged up the staircase. “Ah,” you heard Queenie sigh, “what a fine job that oughta be.” 

You paced your bedroom, staring at the quill and bottle of ink that sat on your vanity. 

With a short curse, you sat down and seized the quill in hand. 

reply, please. it’s an emergency you scribble down on your palm. 

Newt turned his hand over and looked around at the others in the table, frantic. “I need a pen!” he exclaimed, cutting off the rather awkward dinner conversation. “Hurry up, I need a pen!”

Tina, startled by his outburst, stands. “Alright, just calm down, I’ll be right back.”

Queenie gives him a knowing wink from over the brim of her teacup. 

Tina strolled back in and set down a fountain pen for him to use. 

They all watch as he begins to scribble on his hand. “Stop watching,” he said sheepishly, sliding down in his seat to hide his message. 

“Er…what’s going on?” Jacob asks quietly. “He’s talkin’ to his sweetheart,” Queenie says with a dreamy smile. 

“Oh, alright,” he says as though he understands. What the hell? 

I’m here

You stare at your hand and sigh. He replied. 

My sister is telling me you’re in my dining room you write.

I’m in a dining room…what does your sister happen to look like? 

Cute blonde you reply.

I see a blonde

You roll your eyes at his answers. Now ISN’T the time 

Alright, fine

What does that mean?

You wait patiently for a reply, chewing on your lower lip. The ink fades and no reply comes. 

Please don’t ignore me

Once again, the ink fades and he doesn’t reply. 

You stand up and angrily run a hand through your hair. 

“What does that mean?!” you shout to no one, wishing you could just hear what he had to say.

“It means that I’ve finally found you,” a gentle voice says. It’s his.

You’ve never felt happier.