blue blue blue some gray and green and oh yes blue

Did I Stutter: chapter 1

Summary: Harry Potter AU. Natsu is the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion. The underwater challenge left him with a slight stutter from being under for so long. And now it’s time for the Yule Ball. He’s the champion, he has to have a date. The only witch he could even consider asking is his best friend, and way out of his league.

Note: this fic revolves around Book 4: Goblet of Fire. I switched trial 1 and trial 2, you’ll see why.

“You’re the Hogwarts’ champion, if you can’t ask a girl to the ball, then I sure as hell can’t.”

Natsu groaned, some champion he was. He barely survived the first task. Who the heck thought it was a good idea to have an underwater challenge?!

“I’m j-just gonna a-ask someone as-as a friend,” Natsu finally got out. Unfortunately, the underwater task nearly left him mute. The Durmstrang champion tried to fight him to get to his ‘something precious’ first, causing his air bubble to burst. The other champion had made sure Natsu was stuck in the water, and if it wasn’t for Headmaster Makarov he would have drowned. But the length of time he was underwater damaged his vocal cords, leaving him with a maybe-permanent stutter.

“Who?” Slytherin chaser Gajeel asked.

“I know who he wants to ask,” his dorm mate Gray half sang as he joined Natsu and Gajeel at the table in the Great Hall for breakfast.

“No-no o-one,” Natsu cursed under his breath, but the other two ignored him.

“Who?” Gajeel asked again. Despite him being in the house of the snake, his best friends were in Gryffindor. They knew one another since diapers, a little house division wasn’t going to break them apart.

“Ravenclaw’s number one perfect prefect, Lucy Heartfilia,” Gray smirked right at the pink haired wizards face.

“I- I- no- no I-” Natsu couldn’t speak fast enough to stop them, or his blush.

“Lucy? Good luck with that, Salamander,” Gajeel snickered.

“Wh-why? She’s my fr-friend…”

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Right Round [a Kyle Spencer smut]

Request: None

a/n: guess who’s  back….back again. Jules is back, back with frat smut REQUESTS STILL CLOSED

WARNING: Smut, angst

Kyle doesn’t like going to strip clubs; this is of course one of his frat brothers ideas. A bright idea that he had to tag along with. The heavy smell of alcohol and sex hits him when they step in, showing their IDs and heading towards the back. Black leather half circle booths frame the T-shaped stage that has multiple silver poles bolted to the sleek floor and ceiling; a few girls on a couple. They’re just wearing lingerie.

Awkwardly, Kyle follows the rest of the group, sliding in at the end of the booth. Biting his lip, he looks down at his jeans while a few girls strut over to his friends. Sexy Can I blasts through the club; he mutters some of the words under his breath. Suddenly, two fingers force his chin up, his brown eyes meet Y/C/E ones.

He gulps, trying not to stare at the light blue lace bra and panties that the girl is wearing. Instead, he looks at her face; her powdered pink cheeks, the smear of blue on her eyelids, matching her outfit. “You look a little lonely, handsome. Mind if I join?” She purrs in the shell of his ear while she sits on his lap, straddling him.

A chill shoots down his spine. Hands toy with the collar of his navy blue frat shirt, soon running down his chest ever so slowly. Kyle shakes his head; blonde curls flying around. The girl smiles, moving her ass in a circular motion against his slender hips. “I…” An ugly moan escapes from his lips; the feeling of contact on his member driving him crazy.

Those perfect shimmering pink lips turn up in a sly smirk. The cushion underneath the blond vibrates along to the beat of the song, making his erection stand in his tight pants. It hits her yet she continues grinding on him. “You like this, eh frat boy?” She muses, peppering open-mouth kisses against his pale neck.

“Can-uh-we get a room?” The words slip out of Kyle’s mouth surprisingly. It’s not like him to say something like that. His eyes practically pop out of his head. This girl on top of him is absolutely stunning…and here he is with a wet spot on his jeans and a throbbing dick.

She giggles, sliding her hands up his double layered shirt. Inwardly, he screams at her touch, the feeling of pressure on his stomach sending a burning fire in his body. “If you want a room…” Her voice echoes through his head like a beautiful song, “It’s gonna cost you, pretty boy.” She smirks; fragile hands inching lower and lower towards his tight fitting pants.

Kyle knows he shouldn’t; after all, he’s the ‘leader’…and this girl…is a stripper. Not that it’s bad but he tends to get too attached. “Okay.” He nods, beginning to become uncomfortable in his own clothes. She smiles, climbing off him and grabbing his strong hand. His legs feel like gell-o when he stands, following her behind the stage, through the mass of men and women. Wolf-whistles from his brothers fade into the distance; a blush taking their place.

She leads him through a gray narrow hallway, past half naked people trying to collect themselves. A strong smell of sex and sweat hits Kyle like a freight train; his converse squeak to a stop outside of a room. The girl slides a card in the silver door handle and when the red light turns green, she pushes him inside, slamming the door. “You don’t have money, do you?” She jests, crossing her arms over her breasts.

His doe eyes widen in realization she’s coming closer. While he backs up, his hands search in his pockets. The backs of his legs smack the mattress, sending him flying backwards. He pulls a wad of cash from his jean pocket. “This is all I have.” He says, handing the cash over. “Please, I need something!” He begs, head dramatically falling on the cream sheets, fanning his curls around.

“Eight dollars isn’t even enough for a blow job, sweetie.” She chuckles, gesturing to the money in her hand. Kyle groans, letting an arm swing so he’s able to palm himself. He’s desperate; he needs release. “But maybe we can discuss payment later…” She whispers, hovering over his lap, moving his hand before sitting.

A deep groan comes from his throat when her hand pops the button on his jeans. His eyelids flutter closed; nose scrunching. “I…oh god, I’m Kyle.” He stutters, reaching out to touch her soft hips. She doesn’t reply, just smirks, tugging at his polo shirt. “Wait, do I get to know your name?” He asks; voice muffled by his shirt, which she’s pulling off.

As she climbs on top of the frat boy, he repositions himself so he’s laying the right way at the head of the bed. Her knees dig in the mattress on both sides of his hips, which are only covered by a pair of orange boxer briefs; his jeans pool around his ankles. “You really don’t get this whole stripper thing, do you?” She chuckles, reaching behind her back. “Maybe next time Kyle.”

The turquoise bra slips down her arms, soon discarded on the floor; Kyle gulps at the sight of her breasts, cock aching for contact. Frantically, he yanks his boxers down, his throbbing cock slapping his stomach. “But…what if…” He groans, seeing the dinky underwear slide off her legs.

She positions herself and sinks down on his dick, placing both hands on his buff yet pudgy chest. A moan comes from her parted pink lips, causing Kyle to cry out in pleasure. “U-usually I don’t…ah, don’t do this…” She breathes out, slowly moving up and down; the blond grips the satin sheets in his fists. “You like being sub, right?” She asks, her Y/C/H hair falling over his eyebrow.

Bucking his hips up into her, Kyle nods, droplets of sweat cascading down his forehead. He didn’t expect for this to happen; a beautiful girl on top of him. “God yes, I’m totally sub… just please move!” He whines, hands wrapping around the black wood bedposts. His cock twitches inside her with each bounce. Groaning, more like a growling, he arches his back. “Can I touch you? Please, please let me touch you, beautiful.” He begs, eying her breasts. Kyle needs contact, he needs to be able to touch.

Much to his dismay, she stops moving completely. Her eyes widen, making the blue eyeshadow really pop out. “W-what did you just call me?” She questions, voice barely above a whisper. It’s as if something inside cracked.

The frat boy quirks an eyebrow. “Beautiful? Why- wait, where are you going?” He frowns, feeling her get off him. He shivers, sitting up and furrowing his eyebrows together.

Shaking her head, she steps in her underwear, pulling them up her legs. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t… I need to go. My shifts is over anyway.” She says in a rush, avoiding his intense eye contact. Clipping her bra, she sprints towards the blue high heels, struggling to guide them on her feet.

Kyle hops out of the bed, grabbing his shirt but not putting it on. Did he say the wrong thing? “Hey, wait!” He yells, taking a step near her. Yet, he forgets his pants and boxers are bunched at his ankles, causing him to faceplant on the red carpet. He groans, “I don’t know your name, beautiful!”

“Stop calling me that!” She screams, tears welling in her eyes. He stands up, following after her; she walks out of the room, disappearing in the crowd of people. Kyle leans on the doorway, pants still down, frowning. He’s coming back in a few days; when his head stops spinning.

Fighting Games

Posted this on AO3 over a week ago, thought I’d share it here.

In which Marinette makes a shocking discovery and Adrien has great legs.

“Why did I let you talk me into dressing like this, Alya?”

“Because I told you Adrien was coming dressed as a Sailor Moon character and I knew you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“We could have at least gotten a shorter wig. I’m terrified I’ll trip over these pigtails. Combine that with the fact that I’m not used to walking in heels…”

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Pairings: Churboose, Tuckington, and mentions of past Chex!

Word Count: 7,918

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Church quickly glanced up from his phone as another guy rushed into the elevator and pushed a couple of buttons. He looked back down at Tucker’s texts as the elevator lurched and started its crawl upwards. He swore that this thing went slower every day.

Notes: This was written as the first place prize for my giveaway! Congrats to agent-wash-and-tuck! I hope that you like it! :)

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architectofolympus  asked:

Percy/Annabeth, little book store around the corner AU

Annabeth has never paid much attention to sun-faded awning of Title Wave Books as she hurries past it to and from work each day.

It’s just another neighborhood landmark on the way to the subway station, another quaint, local shop she tells herself she should visit on one of those rare weekends she has some time and money – a notion she has never followed through with, even though she’s been in the area now for close to three months. Although she loves to read, she prefers going to the Barnes and Noble closer to work, which is probably some kind of mortal sin for book lovers, but Starbucks is right there and there’s WiFi so she can fiddle around with her tablet, and none of the independent stores ever have any of the books on architecture she wants, anyway.

It’s an awful excuse, she knows, but she’s been all about convenience since she moved to the city and Title Wave Books is one of those places that just screams quirky and inconvenient at her. Her neighborhood is chock full of eclectic little shops – there’s the antique store run by the brother and sister pair that’s only open nights and weekends, the garage on the corner where something tends to explode at least once a week, the skateboard shop under her building owned by the girl in 7A and her blond, executive suit wearing boyfriend – so it wouldn’t surprise her if the bookstore followed suit with some weird organizational system or theme.

The bookstore turns out to be highly convenient for Annabeth when she gets caught in an unexpected thunderstorm late Saturday afternoon, though.

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touch of cream

It’s a new coffee shop that’s just opened up right near the art building on campus - Heavenly Toast. Dean had originally rolled his eyes when he saw it - like, jeez, there just weren’t enough terrible coffee shops already - but today he had dropped his coffee from the usual awful place, and Dean did not do well without his morning coffee. And besides, it was right there.    

He rushed in, the little bell announcing his arrival jangling ferociously. A couple of girls at a corner table scowled at him for disturbing their peace of headphones.    

He rushed up to the counter, where a guy with messy black hair was turned around, filling coffee. “Um, a black coffee, please,” he blurted out.    

“Would you like cream or sugar?” asked the guy without turning around.    

“A touch of cream. Just a touch. No sugar.”    

“Black coffee, touch of cream. It’ll be just a minute,” the guy said. “Am I correct in assuming you want it to go?”  
“Yeah,” Dean said. As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”    

Dean nodded and turned around, studying the walls. It took him a second to realize that they were plastered with rock band posters. There was even an entire corner devoted to AC/DC.     That settled it immediately. This place was ten times better than his usual. No matter how bad the coffee was.    

“Black coffee?” came a sudden voice behind him and Dean whipped around.    

Oh hell yes. He was definitely coming back.    

Wide blue eyes offered him a steaming cardboard cup with patterns of wings and stars and a moon. “Right,” Dean said, nodded to the black-haired guy. “How much…?”    

“It’s $3.39,” the guy answered. His brass nameplate read CASTIEL.    

Dean nodded absently and accidentally pulled out a twenty.    

CASTIEL raised an eyebrow but gave him “Sixteen dollars and sixty-one cents in change. Here’s your receipt.”    
Dean frowned at the bills and change. “That’s a lot.”    

“You gave me twenty dollars.”    

Dean blinked. He had? “I did?”  

The guy nodded.  

“Oh,"Dean said. He shrugged. "Okay. Bye, then, thank you.”  

CASTIEL nodded in return. “Good-bye. Have a nice day.”  

Dean took a sip of the coffee before he was out the door.  

Return was inevitable.  


He came back the next day. CASTIEL smiled at him from behind the counter. “Welcome back.”  

“Black coffee. Touch of cream. No sugar,” he said.  

CASTIEL nodded. “Coming right up.”  

Dean noticed that there was soft guitar coming from the ceiling. He strained his ears. Was that -  

“Is this Kansas?” he asked CASTIEL.   The barista nodded. “Yes, in fact, it is. Do you enjoy their music?” he asked, handing Dean the coffee.  

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I like them.”  

“I’m not a huge fan, but the owner - my brother, Gabriel, likes them and so I put up with it.”  

Dean laughed. “I know how annoying brothers can be. I have one of my own. His name’s Sam.”  

“What’s your name?” CASTIEL asked.  

“Dean. I’m an art student here,” he said, reaching out a hand.  

“Castiel. Theological studies. All of my classes are in the afternoon, so I have time to work here,” he added in answer to Dean’s unspoken question.  

Dean took a sip of coffee and grinned.   “Are you pleased with the coffee?” Castiel asked.  

Dean nodded. “It’s very good. A lot better than the other places on campus.”  

Castiel smiled. “Thank you very much.”  

Dean nodded.  

Castiel nodded.  

Dean kept nodding.  

“You should probably pay,” Castiel said.  
Shit. “Right.” He dug out a five.  

“One dollar and sixty-one cents is your change,” Castiel said, handing him the money. “Have a nice day.” He smiled.  

“Right,” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes were blue. “You too.”  

He definitely did NOT look back when he reached the door.  


It became a thing. A routine. Black coffee and a touch of cream. It turned into black coffee with a touch of cream and Vonnegut on the weekends. It turned into black coffee with a touch of cream and explorations of religion and mythology. It turned into black coffee with a touch of cream and blue and green eyes and “Cas.”    

It turned into black coffee with a touch of cream and friendship.  


“Dean?” A gentle touch on his shoulder. “Do you want your coffee?”  

Dean was wearing the same paint-splattered clothes he had been wearing yesterday and he didn’t leave his studio until 7:24 this morning to get his coffee. He’d been trying to finish a painting for his professor’s “student exposé,” starting different works over and over again.  

The exposé was tomorrow.  

He was, in other words, uninspired and screwed.  

He was resting his head in his arms on top of a sketchbook at a table in Heavenly Toast and Castiel was standing above him.  

He lifted his head and arms and watched as Cas placed a ceramic cup of black-coffee-with-a-touch-of-cream in front of him. He memorized the lines of his friend’s hand and his fingers curling around the coffee cup.  

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked, sitting across from him.  

Dean stared at his notebook. “There’s an exposé tomorrow, and my professor commissioned my entire class to make something for it. I’m severely uninspired.”  

Cas deflated. “I want to help, Dean. I have no idea of what you should paint.”  
Dean shrugged. “It’s okay. I might just paint like, a stream or something and be done with it.” He stared at the coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”  

“On the house. Don’t tell anybody.”  

A wave of relief washed over Dean. He had completely forgotten money. “Thanks, Cas.”  

Cas stood. “I have to get back.” He brushed Dean’s hair back from his forehead (which had somehow gotten some purple paint on it) and dropped a kiss on top of his head.  

Dean froze.  

“You’ll think of something,” Cas said gently. He left to the counter.  

Dean stared at the sketchbook and drew a coffee cup with fingers curling around the handle.  


“What did you finally end up handing in?” Cas asked, greeting Dean at the counter and handing him black coffee with a touch of cream.  

Dean grinned and pulled out his phone. “I took a picture. Wanna see?”  

He took a sip of coffee - ceramic cup, to stay - and pulled up the pictures he’d taken of the painting.  

Cas looked at the first one and smiled at the warm tones and the gold. “It’s here.”  

The background had the album covers on the walls of Heavenly Toast. There was golden sun splashing the floor, and gray steam rising off of a cup of black coffee (touch of cream) that a tan arm was setting down.  

“It’s you,” Dean said.  

Cas looked at him, eyes intense.  

Dean amended his statement. “Well, I mean. Obviously, just your arm, but it’s kind of a thank you for the on-the-house coffee that day. My teacher loved it.”  

“I love it,” Cas said quietly. And maybe that meant more to Dean than the professor swearing he could smell the coffee.  


(Dean painted a pair of bright blue eyes for his next project. Cas looked at it, then him, then back again. And kissed him over a cup of black coffee with a touch of cream.)

(Based off fan art by diminuel)

The Vibrant One

Title: The Vibrant One

Relationship: Henry Winchester/Reader

Word Count: 3,817

Warnings: Major character death(s), fluff, angst

Request 1:  I’ve always had a thing for Henry Winchester. Can you write a one shot with him? Fluff, angst, whatever you want!

Request 2:  Could you write a Henry WinchesterxReader one shot? Fluff, maybe!

A/N: It’s kind of long to be considered a oneshot, but I decided to play around with the color soulmate AU with this particular fic. I’m very happy with it and I really hope you like it too! ~Jordan


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Malec’s First Date snippet. Wish we could have it in the show..but I am sure the writers come up with something else :D (And we will all go nuts again after a promo of the date, like before 1x12 aired)

He had told himself that this date would be a bit of excitement, an isolated incident in a life that had become a little too routine, and nothing more.

He tried not to think of the way he’d given Alec an out, and how Alec had looked at him and said with devastating simplicity, I like you. Magnus had always thought of himself as someone who could wrap words around people, trip them up or pull the wool over their eyes when he had to. It was amazing how Alec could just cut through it all. It was more amazing that he didn’t even seem to be trying.

As soon as Alec had left, Magnus had called Catarina, sworn her to secrecy, and then told her all about it.

“Did you agree to go out with him because you think the Lightwoods are jerks and you want to show them you can corrupt their baby boy?” asked Catarina.

Magnus balanced his feet on Chairman Meow. “I do think the Lightwoods are jerks,” he admitted. “And that does sound like something I’d do. Damn it.”

“No, it doesn’t really,” said Catarina. “You’re sarcastic twelve hours a day, but you’re almost never spiteful. You have a good heart under all the glitter.”

Catarina was the one with the good heart. Magnus knew exactly whose son he was, and where he came from.

“Even if it was spite, no one could blame you, not after the Circle, after all that happened.”

Magnus looked out the window. There was a Polish restaurant across the street from his house, its flashing lights advertising twenty-four-hour borscht and coffee (hopefully not mixed together). He thought of the way Alec’s hands had trembled when he’d asked Magnus if he wanted to go out, about how glad and astounded he had seemed when Magnus said yes.

“No,” he said. “It’s probably a bad idea—it’s probably my worst idea this decade—but it had nothing to do with his parents at all. I said yes because of him.”

Catarina was quiet for a few moments. If Ragnor was around he would have laughed, but Ragnor had disappeared to a spa in Switzerland for a series of complicated facials meant to bring out the green in his complexion. Catarina had the instinct of a healer: she knew when to be kind.

“Good luck on your date, then,” she said at last.

“Much appreciated, but I don’t need good luck; I need assistance,” said Magnus. “Just because I’m going on this date does not mean it will go well. I’m very charming, but it does take two to tango.”

“Magnus, remember what happened the last time you tried to tango. Your shoe flew off and nearly killed someone.”

“It was a metaphor. He’s a Shadowhunter, he’s a Lightwood, and he’s into blonds. He’s a dating hazard. I need an escape strategy. If the date is a complete disaster, I’ll text you. I’ll say ‘Blue Squirrel, this is Hot Fox. Mission to be aborted with extreme prejudice.’ Then you call me and you tell me that there is a terrible emergency that requires my expert warlock assistance.”

“This seems unnecessarily complicated. It’s your phone, Magnus; there’s no need for code names.”

“Fine. I’ll just text ‘Abort.’” Magnus reached out and drew his fingers from Chairman Meow’s head to his tail; Chairman Meow stretched and purred his enthusiastic approval of Magnus’s taste in men. “Will you help me?”

Catarina dragged in a long, annoyed breath. “I will help you,” she promised. “But you’ve called in all your dating favors for this century, and you owe me.”

“It’s a bargain,” said Magnus.

“And if it all works out,” said Catarina, cackling, “I want to be best woman at your wedding.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Magnus informed her.

He had made a bargain with Catarina. He had done more than that: he had called and made reservations at a restaurant. He had selected a date outfit of red Ferragamo pants, matching shoes, and a black silk waistcoat that Magnus wore without a shirt because it did amazing things for his arms and shoulders. And it had all been for nothing.

Alec was half an hour late. The probability was that Alec’s nerve had broken—that he had weighed his life, complete with his precious Shadowhunter duty, against a date with a guy he didn’t even like that much—and he was not coming at all.

Magnus shrugged philosophically, and with a casualness he did not quite feel, padded over to his drinks cabinet and made himself an exciting concoction with unicorn tears, energizing potion, cranberry juice, and a twist of lime. He’d look back on this and laugh one day. Probably tomorrow. Well, maybe the day after. Tomorrow he’d be hungover.

He might have jumped when the buzzer sounded through the loft, but there was nobody but Chairman Meow there to see. Magnus was perfectly composed by the time Alec ran up the stairs and hurtled through the door.

Alec could not have been described as perfectly composed. His black hair was going in every direction, like an octopus that had been dropped in soot; his chest was rising and falling hard under his pale-blue T-shirt; and there was a light sheen of perspiration on his face. It took a lot to make Shadowhunters sweat. Magnus wondered exactly how fast he had been running.

“Well, this is unexpected,” said Magnus, raising his eyebrows. Still holding his cat, he had flung himself lightly on the sofa, his legs hooked over one of the carved wooden arms. Chairman Meow was draped over his stomach and meowing in perplexity about the sudden change in his situation.

Magnus might have been trying a bit too hard to appear louche and unconcerned, but judging by Alec’s crestfallen expression, he was really pulling it off.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Alec panted. “Jace wanted to do some weapons training, and I didn’t know how to get away—I mean, I couldn’t tell him—”

“Oh, Jace, that’s it,” said Magnus.

“What?” said Alec.

“I briefly forgot the blond one’s name,” Magnus explained, with a dismissive flick of his fingers.

Alec looked staggered. “Oh. I’m—I’m Alec.”

Magnus’s hand paused mid-dismissive-flick. The gleam of city lights through the window reflected off the blue jewels on his fingers, casting bright blue sparks that caught fire and then tumbled and drowned in the deep blue of Alec’s eyes.

Alec had made an effort, Magnus thought, though it took a trained eye to spot it. The light-blue shirt fit him considerably better than the unholy gray sweatshirt that Alec had been wearing on Tuesday. He smelled vaguely of cologne. Magnus felt unexpectedly touched.

“Yes,” said Magnus slowly, and then he smiled slowly as well. “Your name I remember.”

Alec smiled. Maybe it didn’t matter if Alec did have a little thing for Apparently-Jace. Apparently-Jace was beautiful, but he was the sort of person that knew it, and they were often more trouble than they were worth. If Jace was gold, catching the light and the attention, Alec was silver: so used to everyone else looking at Jace that that was where he looked too, so used to living in Jace’s shadow that he didn’t expect to be seen. Maybe it was enough to be the first person to tell Alec that he was worth being seen ahead of anyone in a room, and of being looked at longest.

And silver, though few people knew it, was a rarer metal than gold.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Magnus, swinging himself easily off the couch and pushing Chairman Meow gently onto the sofa cushions, to the Chairman’s plaintively voiced dismay. “Have a drink.”

He pushed his own drink hospitably into Alec’s hand; he hadn’t even taken a sip, and he could make himself a new one. Alec looked startled. He was obviously far more nervous than Magnus had thought, because he fumbled and then dropped the glass, spilling crimson liquid all over himself and the floor. There was a crash as the glass hit the wood and splintered.

Alec looked like he had been shot and was extremely embarrassed about it.

“Wow,” said Magnus. “Your people are really overselling your elite Nephilim reflexes.”

“Oh, by the Angel. I am so—I am so sorry.”

Magnus shook his head and gestured, leaving a trail of blue sparks in the air, and the puddle of crimson liquid and broken glass vanished.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m a warlock. There’s no mess I can’t clean up. Why do you think I throw so many parties? Let me tell you, I wouldn’t do it if I had to scrub toilets myself. Have you ever seen a vampire throw up? Nasty.”

“I don’t really, uh, know any vampires socially.”

Alec’s eyes were wide and horrified, as if he was picturing debauched vampires throwing up the blood of the innocent. Magnus was prepared to bet he didn’t know any Downworlders socially. The Children of the Angel kept to their own kind.

Magnus wondered what exactly Alec was doing here in Magnus’s apartment. He bet Alec was wondering the same thing.

It might be a long night, but at least they could both be well-dressed. The T-shirt might show Alec was trying, but Magnus could do a lot better.

“I’ll get you a new shirt,” Magnus volunteered, and made his way to his bedroom while Alec was still faintly protesting.

Magnus’s closet took up half his bedroom. He kept meaning to enlarge it. There were a lot of clothes in it that Magnus thought would look excellent on Alec, but as he riffled through them, he realized that Alec might not appreciate Magnus imposing his unique fashion sense on him.

He decided to go for a more sober selection and chose the black T-shirt that he had been wearing Tuesday. That was perhaps a little sentimental of Magnus.

The shirt admittedly had blink if you want me written on it in sequins, but that was about as sober as Magnus got. He tugged the shirt off its hanger and waltzed back into the main room to find that Alec had already taken his own shirt off and was standing around somewhat helplessly, his stained shirt clenched in his fist.

Magnus stopped dead.

The room was illuminated only by a reading lamp; all the other light came from outside the windows. Alec was painted with streetlights and moonlight, shadows curling around his biceps and the slender indentations of his collarbones, his torso all smooth, sleek, bare skin until the dark line of his jeans. There were runes on the flat planes of his stomach and the silvery scars of old Marks snaked around his ribs, with one on the ridge of his hip. His head was bowed, his hair black as ink, his luminously pale skin white as paper. He looked like a piece of art, chiaroscuro, beautifully and wonderfully made.

Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They must have forgotten to leave out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.

Alec looked up at Magnus, and his lips parted as if he was going to speak. He watched Magnus with wide eyes, wondering at being watched.

Magnus exercised heroic self-control, smiled, and offered the shirt.

“I’m—sorry about being a lousy date,” Alec muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Magnus asked. “You’re a fantastic date. You’ve only been here ten minutes, and I already got half of your clothes off.”

Alec looked equal parts embarrassed and pleased. He’d told Magnus he was new to all this, so anything more than mild flirting might scare him off. Magnus had a very calm and normal date planned: no surprises, nothing unexpected.

anonymous asked:

bellarke as soulmates?!? thanks!!!

[This got away from me again. I don’t know anything about optometry but for the sake of fiction, just bare with me. I hope you enjoy it! All mistakes are mine.]

“Are you okay?” 

No, she wasn’t okay. She couldn’t find her parents and when she ran up from the beach, she had fallen and scrapped her knee against the pavement. She cried from the pain. She cried because she just wanted her daddy. 

She sniffled and wiped under her nose as she looked up. Her blonde hair all over the place.

It took her a moment before she realized that the pair of eyes before her matched her own. 


She turned her head and watched her daddy run toward her. She stood up despite the blood dripping down her knees and flung herself into his welcoming arms. 

It was only when he was holding her and promising to get her ice-cream that she turned and watched the curly brown haired boy walking in the other direction. The boy who had eyes just like hers. 

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Malec Week Day 5: Back to the Future

Okay so I did the wrong day 5 for Malec Week and I know I’m really late but here’s the actual Day 5: Back to the Future Day!

New York City, New York. 2015.

“Guys, hurry up! We don’t have much time!” Jace cried as they fought off a hoard of angry demons. There had been a drastic increase in the amount of demon activity in the city recently, and further investigation had turned up something very, very bad. The demons were in search of an old and ancient artifact that, if it fell into the wrong hands, could completely change the course of history.

What the demons were searching for was an old and ancient staff that Magnus had found out could actually control time. This would allow the holder to not only stop time, but to travel backwards in it, say to almost a decade ago when the Dark War took place. Right now, as the Shadowhunters of New York fought atop the Empire State Building, their time was running out.

Alec looked up and saw a demon grasping for the staff. Alec loaded up his last arrow and let it fly, sending the demon - and the staff - tumbling from the top toward more demons on the ground. Alec knew they couldn’t let staff fall into their control, so he did something so stupid only Jace would have probably attempted it: he jumped after it.

He heard his siblings and friends call out to him as they watched in horror as he fell. He looked and saw Jace and Simon try to restrain Magnus from going after him, knowing only he could close the Portal the demons had come through. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Alec reached out and trapped the staff. It was then that he finally realised the reality of his stupidity. He clenched his eyes shut, awaiting the impact, his life flashing in front of him. His family, his friends, Magnus. He recalled all the conversations he had ever had with Magnus, about his life and travels, about Peru, about France, about England-

As the Shadowhunters watched as Alec fell, there was a blinding flash of blue light that lasted only a split second. When they looked again, Alec was gone.

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The Tales

Title: The Tales

Pairing: Gruvia

Summary: Because Love hit you fast and unexpected

“Mummy, why you fat?” the dark blue haired boy asked, Silver Rain Fullbuster, four years old, looked like an exact replica of his father except for his curly hair. The four year old clad on his duck printed blue pajamas made him ten times more adorable than he was.

Juvia smiled warmly at the young boy in front of her and rubbed her tummy lovingly. “Mommy is pregnant.”

“pwegnan?” he tilted his head in the side, which made Juvia giggled. She lightly pinched his chubby pink cheeks and the little boy scowled like the way his father would do. “Yes, mommy carries a baby here.” She pointed at her large stomach.

The boy’s dark blue eyes widened. “Mommy you eat baby?”

“No. Mommy umm… has a baby inside her, and this is the place to protect the baby.” She explained while cradling Silver’s chubby hands.

“oh. Soooo mummy protectsss baby.”


He suddenly threw his hands up, gave his mother a cute grin, some of his teeth were missing, and exclaimed “Mummy ‘sss a hero.”

And that made Juvia smiled some more. She took Silver’s hands and placed it on her tummy and the little boy looked at her with confusion. “Shhh…just wait for it.” She whispered and Silver waited patiently with a cute pout on his face, determination etched his cute features.

And when his little palm felt a fluttering force beneath it, Juvia could swear that his smile was the most amazing she had witnessed.

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anonymous asked:

Okay, so... Blue dressing up Lance, making him all pretty and such (not that their paladin isn't already the prettiest, but still) Sheer fabrics that glimmer in all the shades of the ocean, dropped gold and silver chains, so fine they look like he could snap them (but strong enough to be used as make shift restraints ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) glimmering jewels and fine oil that makes his skin glimmer in the light. All the other paladins/lions end up "humunahumunahumuna" when they see Lance. Esp Black/Shiro

Lance’s hands smoothed down the front of his gown anxiously; he was unsure what to feel as he followed Blue into the meeting chamber of Black’s temple. He could smell food, savory meats and the yeasty smell of freshly baked bread wafting on the air, and hear the crackling of the fire mixed with the quiet rumble of voices. 

He knew they’d be seated around the table and even how they’d be seated. Black at the head with Shiro at his left, then Red and Keith next to him and Matt and Green next to them. Across the table, at Black’s right, would be two empty chairs and then Yellow and Hunk. It was nothing new and yet he felt nervous, had been chewing his lip the entire trip through the temple. 

The problem was how Blue had decided to dress him up. He was used to his lion wanting to play games, making him wear tiny revealing things, or nothing at all, and Lance was fine with it. Sexy things that made Blue’s eyes light up were more than okay with him because, obviously, they always aided in him getting laid. But this…this wasn’t that. This wasn’t dress up as foreplay or to embarrass him a little or to put him on display for the other Lions.

Well. It might have been that too. But not in the usual way. 

This was a long gown made of soft, sort of sheer fabric that seemed to change the shade of blue it was depending on the way the light was hitting it. It was a deceptively simple dress, wide straps at the shoulder, a deep V in the front, lots of skin showing at his sides, and silver ropes criss-crossed the bodice. The skirt that pulled away from his body a little, gave the illusion of hips and curve he didn’t have, folding and pleating in a way that made the fabric overlap and look almost like cascading water as he moved.  He had silver cuffs around his wrists, each decorated with blue jewels and delicate looking silver chains that dangled from the cuffs. There were matching cuffs around his ankles, the chains trailing after him, and a close fitting choker in the same style around his throat. The chains from the choker fell into the V of his dress and trailed low enough to disappear beneath it. 

His skin was dusted with shimmering powder which added another layer of movement and shine in places the gone covered him.  A jeweled clip was fixed in his hair, used to keep the hair on the left side tucked behind his ears. His lips were painted a soft pink, only a few shades off from his lips, and smokey gray powder dusted over his eyelids.

He felt…oddly exposed in spite of it being more than he usually wore in the company of Blue. It was sheer-ish, yes, but not even close to the revealing level of some of the stuff the others had seen him in. And, even though he knew that logically, he still felt out of place, imagined that nothing short of being stripped bare and shoved under a spotlight could be as awkward. 

And maybe not even that. 

It got even worse when a sudden heavy silence fell over the room and all eyes turned towards them. It was an obvious quiet, the kind that came with something shocking happening, and his skin crawled from the sheer ‘oh god, don’t look at me like that’ of it. He wanted to duck down, to hide behind Blue’s tiny body, beg his friends and the Lions to not look at him like he was something that needed to be observed and memorized. 

Like there was nothing else in the room worth looking at. Matt was turning red and had ducked down in his seat while Green was watching, head tilted to the side in seeming curiosity. Red and Keith were wearing identical expressions that were somewhere between angry and awed but veering closer to angry, like they couldn’t decide how to feel but were becoming increasingly pissed off about it. Hunk was just…staring. Hard. Yellow was less obvious, lips quirked into a slight smile, but there was heat in his eyes. 

The worst was Black and Shiro at the far end of the room. Black usually regarded him with amused fondness but now his eyes were narrowed, laser focused and hot, hungry. It was a look Lance had seen Black lay on Shiro, and on Blue, but never for him. 

And Shiro. Shiro looked like someone had just punched him in the face or told him Zarkon had surrounded and wanted to hand over Emperor-ship to him. Lips parted, eyes wide, eyebrows up, color rushing up his cheeks. 

“You started without us.” Blue, in the form of a curvy petite woman with brown skin and thick coily hair, clucked in feigned annoyance but Lance could hear how pleased she was underneath it. “I didn’t take that long getting Lance ready did I?” 

Black shook his head then smiled toothily. “It was time well spent. Come my love, sit in Shiro’s seat and speak with me.” 

Lance made a noise of protest but a sharp look from Blue silenced him and kept him that way as his Lion took the seat Shiro hastily vacated. Lance took his usual seat on the long bench and resolutely didn’t look at Shiro as he sat next to him. 

Or when Shiro’s leg slid across the bench to press against his or a hand touched the small of his back. “You look nice.” 

He blushed and muttered a thanks, hating the situation that much more. He didn’t do nice. He did…obvious. And slutty, and understood the attention that came with that. This was…different. He didn’t know what to do with *this*.

He did glance up to glare darkly at Blue’s unhidden look of glee. 

Summer Blue

I saw a prompt I loved, so I spent all day writing this. Enjoy a Clexa AU summer flower fic.

Lexa presses the soil down with her fingers, her nails ringed with dirt and the smell of hydrangeas making her breath feel lighter with every inhale. The whole greenhouse smells like wet earth, the greenest smell she knows, and the sun beating through the glass makes even the air seem green.

She was finally finished repotting the last of the flower basket display; all ready for the summer rush of ladies with lawns to beautify, their hats overlarge and their tennis shoes grimy with mulch. Lexa would never admit it to her boss, but there is a part of her that enjoys showing the garden club types around– picking out new trowels and flower print gloves, matching them with the right perennials and ringing up those godawful garden stones with the sayings like “fairy play zone” and “friends, like flowers, bloom with love.”

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klarolineforevermine  asked:

“i came to the gym to work out but holy god i can’t stop watching you do one armed push ups that’s so hot” AU

Caroline clocks out and makes her way to the women’s locker room. As a personal trainer, you would think that she would have had enough of the gym by the end of the day, but helping others get their sweat on verses doing the sweating yourself is a completely different thing.

Working out is euphoric. The feel of her legs burning, the sweat running down her body as she forgets about the world and focuses solely on herself.

She passes by the water cooler where a number of women are gathered. They’re talking quietly and staring across the room - mouths gaping and water bottles being used as cold compresses.

“I could watch this all day.”

“If I were 10 years younger…”

“I wonder if he could bench press me?”

“This image is going to get me through sex with Bob tonight.” 

Caroline giggles to herself, entertained by the ladies’ commentary. She glances over to where they are looking, curiosity overtaking her, when she spots him. It’s no one that she recognizes, which doesn’t surprise her since they have new faces coming and going all the time, but her interest has definitely been piqued.

She drinks him in as she slowly makes her way to the machines. He’s wearing a loose tank top with the sleeves ripped down his sides. She can see the tonality of his arms, and the leanness of his stomach, and she silently wishes there wasn’t a mandatory clothing policy at the gym. The fluidity of the push-ups he’s doing, makes her subconsciously lick her lips. Up, down, up, down, one arm then two arms then back to one. He’s like a well oiled machine with his perfect technique. His legs and back are straight as a board and his head is down in concentration.  

Up, down…up, down. Biceps rippling, sweat glistening, it’s enough to make her lady parts do a few exercises themselves.

She was going to cycle, but the view from the elliptical suddenly becomes more appealing. She steps up onto the machine and punches in her information before slowly starting her routine. 

Up, down…one arm…then the other.

She continues to glance over at him, watching him in the mirror as he begins a new set. She’s been so focused on his body, and the way it moves so perfectly, that when he looks up into the mirror she feels her breath catch.

He just has to be dropped dead gorgeous too, doesn’t he?

She can’t even feel the sweat trickling down her forehead or the burning in her thighs as she focuses on the deliciousness in front of her. Dark blonde hair, a scruffy face and a pair of lips that are begging to be sucked on. She feels like a complete perv, but Lord knows she’s been on the receiving end of some creepy leers, and so her actions seem justified. Plus, it’s not like she’s the only one staring. She glances back over at the water cooler where the collection of middle-aged matrons has increased.

She turns back to him and starts to wonder what color his eyes are. Blue? Green? Grey? It’s a mystery that is soon solved, however, when his eyes flick toward her in the mirror’s reflection. She shakes her head and glances away immediately, pretending to suddenly be extremely interested in the red blinking lights on her machine.


He caught her staring, and she’s sinking into an early grave. Death by embarrassment. And there she’ll lie with the words Caroline “the Oggler” Forbes engraved upon her tombstone.

She focuses on her workout, trying to sweat the embarrassment out, until she feels the coast is clear. She nonchalantly glances back up, but the mystery man is gone. She looks around the room, but he seems to have disappeared, along with the cougar den over at the water cooler. She takes a deep breath and laughs at herself.

Silly, Caroline.

“Is this machine taken?” she hears an accented man inquire.

“Nope,” she says brightly, glad to have the distraction gone. “It’s all-”

Her feet slow down, and she falters for a moment on her machine. Her hands grab the railing and she composes herself.

So he has an accent too. Isn’t that just perfect?

“-Yours,” she quietly finishes her statement. He laughs and she does too before turning back to her machine. He climbs up onto the elliptical next to her and she tries to focus on her workout.

It’s funny though, cause she can sense him staring. She can tell that those blue-green-gray eyes are boring a smoldering hole into the side of her face. She glances over briefly and, yep, he’s definitely staring at her. She presses her lips together as she tries to hold back a smile, and she shakes her head. 

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” she finally asks him but doesn’t look at him.

“If you mean staring at the most beautiful woman in the gym, then yes I am.” 

She shakes her head again and rolls her eyes back. She stops her workout and turns to look at him. 

Blue…they’re blue.

“So you caught me staring,” she tells him.

“Yes…yes I did. And I must say, I’ve never felt more like a piece of meat in my entire life.”

His voice is playful and light, and she knows he’s just messing with her…or dare she think, flirting with her?

“Oh, is that so?” she asks, keeping the same level of amusement to her voice.

“Mmm hmm,” he nods.

“Well then, tell me…how can I acquit myself?”

A smirk lifts in the corner of his mouth and his eyes do this sparkle thing that she’s pretty certain gets him anything that he wants in life.

“I’m a reasonable man,” he begins. “I feel as though an evening in your company may assist in your exoneration.”

“Seems reasonable,” she agrees and puts her hand out for him to shake on it.

“Caroline,” she introduces herself.

“It’s very nice to meet you Caroline.”  He grabs hold of her hand and gently shakes it. “I’m Klaus.”

Part 1 of the Bones-is-half-alien au
Part 2

Fuck fuck shit fuck fuck, Leonard McCoy, CMO of the Starship Enterprise, swore profanely in his head as he was called to the bridge. Focus, Leonard, focus, you can keep it up, come on, you won’t be able to get a refill ‘til the next time you hit Earth, so focus.

There was no emergency, Jim had just wanted his opinion on a matter that he and the rest of the bridge crew had been discussing. To Leonard’s surprise, it was Spock who noticed first, dark eyes widening, voice edged as he breathed, “Doctor.”

Uhura gasped. Sulu swore in a non-earthen dialect. Chekov practically squeaked. Jim, of course, had the worst reaction of all, jumping out of his seat to approach McCoy, voice more than tinged with fear as he spoke, “Bones! Oh my god, are you alright?? Spock, message Medbay that we have an emergency, now!”

“No!” Leonard shouted, followed by, “Fuck!” Stepping back, not letting Jim touch him, “I’m okay, Jim, really, I just-”

Blue eyes were wide and bewildered, frightened, “But Bones, you’ve gone white as a ghost!”

Leonard froze, feeling the fear swim through him and looked down to his milky skin, a sickly yellow-green creeping up form his fingers as he was haunted by worry. As dread began to creep in, the white changed into an unwelcoming gray.

Uhura gasped again, “Skin changing with emotions, oh my god, Leonard, are you…are you part Kaleidopian?”

Everyone looked from her, to the doctor, who’s entire body flushed rose pink, before sinking back to gray. He brushed his hair back, trying to cover his pointed ears (pointed straight back, not up as was the Vulcan fashion), that were tinted with that sickly yellow still.

“Half,” the doctor replied, “My mother.” He looked to Jim, who’s emotions - though not being brightly projected through his skin - were still racing across his face. Leonard cringed, more ugly yellow creeping up his arms, “My meds ran out early. There’s no harm from not havin’ them, I just..well, look like this.”

While expressions that varied from worry to wonderment passed through the faces of the rest of the bridge crew, Spock’s surprised Bones the most, as he stepped forward, a look of almost open interest in his eyes, as he stated, “Fascinating.”

Bones scowled at him and flushed pink again, fading back to white as he saw the unreadable look on Jim’s face. He became rigid, stern, “Sulu, you have the Conn. McCoy, Spock, Uhura, my ready room, now.

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4 in the morning part 4/5


Summary: you fall in love with your best friends boyfriend.

Part one. part two. part three.


Ellie’s father’s beach house is enormous. It is so extravagant that you, Ellie, Calum, Michael, Ashton and Luke all get to have a bedroom with a combined bathroom each. Everything is painted in white and all the details are in gold.  Portraits of various people are lining the walls and in the middle of the absolutely enormous foyer a staircase made out of shining white marble leads up to the second floor.

Everything is simply gold and white and gold.

It is beyond a doubt the most overdone ”beach house” you have ever been to. All of you stare at Ellie, almost in disbelief, but she only smiles and says “It was my step-mother who picked and decorated the place” and everyone gives up a sound of understanding, for you had all heard stories of the infamous step-mother (or Cruella DeVille, as Ellie had renamed her) about how her and her annoying habits had driven Ellie to move out of her father’s mansion and in to your tiny little apartment.

“Well” Ellie says and throws her suitcase on the floor with a loud bang, “There are 3 bedrooms in the west wing” she says and points to the corridor on the left side of the staircase “I thought that Ash and Luke and Mikey can sleep there” no one seems to have any objections to this so she continues “And on the east win there are two ones so well you could sleep there” she looks directly at you and you nod “And me and Cal share the master bedroom.” The boys’ wolf whistles until Ellie gives Michael a hard blow in his stomach with her blood red Hermés bag that matches her nails perfectly.

Ashton raises his hand as if he was a child and Ellie the teacher and this was all some strange school trip. “Yes” she says shortly and Ashton gives up a cheeky grin “Will we need a map and compass to find our way?”

Ellie doesn’t dignify that with an answer but instead takes Calum hands and begins to climb the stairs. Then she shouts over her shoulder “You boys can carry the suitcases to our rooms, we’ll meet on the back yard in half an hour for drinks” and you can practically hear the smile in her voice as the boys groan. You take your own suitcase and carry it upstairs.

Ashton wasn’t far off with his question of a map and compass, for the mansion is truly huge. You follow Ellie and Calum (Calum who has been strangely distant the entire trip, Calum who refuses to look or talk to you – as if the sight of you would burn him – Calum who you can’t stop thinking about and who now has his arms around your best friend) as the go to their room, for Ellie had said yours would be somewhere near. You keep your distance though; keep your eyes fixed on the scarlet colored carpet that lines the entire corridor and tries to drag your heavy suitcase as quietly as possible.

Then Ellie turns to you “Oh, right” she says, happy (yellow gold and yellow) as ever “Your room is there!” And she points to your left. “Thanks” you call out halfheartedly. Calum hasn’t even turned around but seemingly stare into the door that leads to and his and Ellie’s master bedroom.

 You walk in to yours and gently close the door behind you. The room is like the rest of the room, light and gold and completely extravagant.  The poster bed has lots of gold details and expensive looking white sheets and you drop your heavy baggage and lay down on it. It’s soft and wonderful and for a moment this whole trip actually felt like a good idea.
That was until you heard moaning from the room next door.

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Sock It To Me [Pun Intended] + A Daddy!Killian One Shot

Due to this video (and the socks) as well as wine related reasons, optomisticgirl (my reliable enabler) and I decided this would be a good idea….so here’s daddy!Killian and a peculiar obsession :] 

Killian stood casually in front of the dryer, his procrastination of folding the load of clothes tumbling around finally reaching its dreaded end. Laundry wasn’t exactly his least favorite chore, but often times it neared the top of the list - especially when he’d much rather be watching Saturday morning cartoons with his five year old sidekick in the next room. Emma had headed to the station to deal with the latest town overreaction and she’d definitely come home with that are-you-serious look on her face if she found the clean pile of clothes still in the laundry room. Needless to say, his little Liam would have to make do with a bowl of Cheerios and without his father for a few minutes.

The laundry room floor was slightly cold and he was glad he’d prepared his feet before embarking on his avoided chore. He peered down at his toes, wiggling them in the pair of bright blue socks he’d pulled on when he rolled out of bed that morning. They were soft and thickly woven, stretching up to the middle of his calves. Emma would have shaken her head at the way he’d used them to slide across the kitchen floor while he waited for coffee to brew a few hours earlier, but searching for her smile amidst her teasing words had become one of his favorite pastimes long ago.

It was a bit quirky, yes - but Killian had always had a fondness for this sort of colorful and often ridiculously patterned footwear. Emma had lectured him about why he didn’t need such a variety of socks more times than he dared to count, but he didn’t miss the amusement in her eyes when he wore the green and blue checkered ones or the way she bit back a laugh when she noticed his feet were clad in the black ones with the little skull and crossbones pattern. Yeah, she could taunt him as much as she wanted. He wasn’t daft enough to believe that she didn’t adore this particular trait - foolish and odd as it was.

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Stolen Moments

            I knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But still, he was looking at me like I was the last drop of water in the Sahara and I was looking at him like he was the last breath of air on this earth. I wasn’t sure who moved first, and I knew that if I asked him about it, he would probably say I did, but in the end, it still didn’t much matter. His skin met my skin and I wondered how I was able to even exist before without his skin on my skin, his breath on my face or his heart against mine.

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