1. Imagine how you’ll look in tight clothes. No rolls no shame.
2. You’ll be delicate and small. No longer will you be the fat ugly friend.
3. Collarbones. Imagine having them to touch instead of just looking at them in thinspo.
4. You’ll have a thigh gap. No more chafing and no more disgusting fat just oozing off your legs.
5. Watching the scale go down every day instead of watching it go up and feeling disgusting.
6. Your sister will envy you.
7. Your friends will be jealous of your self control and tiny body. They can preach self love while secretly hating themselves all they want. It won’t matter because you’ll be thin and beautiful.
8. Thin hands and tiny wrists.
9. Delicate ankles and small calves. No longer will you be an elephant.
10. When you walk it will be virtually silent. People won’t hear you coming a mile away with disgusting hippo footsteps. You will be tiny and quiet. A shadow and a whisper.
11. People will ask how you got so thin. Oh they’ll be envious but none of them are strong enough to reach their goals.
12. For once you will be in control. No more binging, no more hunger after already eating. You will be powerful in your decision to achieve your ideal body.
13. You won’t be too embarrassed to draw yourself.
14. You won’t have to only date fat people.
15. In a relationship you will always be tinier than your partner. They’ll be able to pick you up and twirl you around.
16. People will give you piggy backs instead of you giving them.
17. Never again will you be too heavy for something.
18. You won’t be dictated by your fat anymore. Whatever you want, wear it! Everything looks good on thin.
19. Imagine how cute you’ll look in lingerie. Lace will just accentuate your tiny form.
20. Getting naked won’t be embarrassing. Let them stare. You’ll be beautiful.
21. It won’t always be unrequited love. People you didn’t have a chance with as a fat girl will love you. People need to get past the outside to see the inside. Nobody will bother getting past a disgusting fat outside.
22. Wearing makeup will be fun, not embarrassing.
23. You will be your own thinspo.
24. You’ll spend way less money on food. Food is temporary and a waste of cash. Instead spend it on games and clothes.
25. Looking in the mirror won’t make you want to break it.
26. A flat stomach is cute and tiny.
27. Your face will look thin and dainty. No more double chins and disgusting fat cheeks .
28. When people take pics of you it won’t make you want to cry. You’ll be the pretty one.
29. You won’t have to keep your hair short. Long hair won’t make you look like a greasy land whale.
30. Girls will envy you instead of pity you.
31. You’ll be the smallest person in your family. No longer will you be the fattest.
32. People will whisper about how thin you’ve gotten.
33. You’ll be light like a feather.
34. Food won’t control you. Eating is a necessity, not a crutch.
35. Think of bony shoulders. You’ll be defined and delicate instead of a shapeless mass of fat.
36. You’ll be able to count your ribs.
37. When you bend over people will be able to see the ridges of your spine. No more flubber.
38. You’ll have a tiny cute butt.
39. Thigh high socks will fit and look adorable.
40. Boots that travel up your calves will actually fit.
41. Shorts will look good on you.
42. Carnival rides won’t be embarrassing. The bar won’t touch your stomach. If anything they’ll worry you’ll slip out. You’ll be able to ride with anyone because your weight is barely anything.
43. Seat belts will fit easily. No more embarrassing struggle to strap yourself in while people silently judge you.
44. Any style will look good on you. Experimenting with fashion will be fun and interesting. Your body won’t hold you back.
45. You’ll be in the underweight category instead of the overweight one.
46. Your father won’t be ashamed of your weight. Your grandmother won’t keep getting shocked by how fat you’ve gotten. Instead she’ll fuss because you’ll be too thin.
47. There will be a huge difference in your before and after pics, and you’ll be proud.
48. You’ll finally get to fit your aesthetic. No more being ashamed of how you look. You’ll be the cute nerdy book girl instead of the fat gamer nerd slob.
49. Instead of eating you can follow hobbies like painting your nails, doing makeup, drawing, writing, and walking out in nature.
50. If you want some fun you’ll be able to hook up with someone of quality. No sloppy seconds. You’ll be first choice, not oh-my-god-never.
51. In a romance novel you’d be the beautiful thin one, not the tragic never loved fat one.
52. Shopping will be fun. You won’t have to keep looking for bigger sizes. Large will be too large.
53. If you want to you can shop at places that don’t carry plus sizes and be able to fit.
54. Changing rooms will be roomy and you won’t feel squished. Looking in the mirror to see how you look won’t be a disappointment.
55. You’ll fit in tiny spaces. No more bumping into walls when you go by.
56. Your breasts will be small and perky instead of fat.
57. Rings will look cute on your bony fingers instead of squeezing them like fat sausages.
58. The scale won’t make you want to cry.
59. Nobody will recognize you. They won’t be able to believe you went from whale to skinny.
60. Choker necklaces will look delicate and dainty on your neck. You won’t have double chins getting in the way.
61. Your jawline will be defined and sharp. No longer will you be soft edges and squishy fat.
62. You’ll be the pretty one.
63. Guys will actually like you instead of think you’re a blob of disgusting fat.
64. People will date you.
65. When you’re measured against other girls you won’t be the ugly one.
66. You’ll be able to love yourself.
67. At Halloween parties you can dress however you want and look good. No more ghosts or pumpkins.
68. Onesies. Just imagine.
69. Guys will chase you instead of you chasing them.
70. It will be okay to have something nice to eat every once in a while because you’ll be a pro at staying in control and if you do gain half a pound you can lose it just like that.
71. You could be princess carried without breaking someone’s back.
72. It’ll be “You’re so skinny” instead of “You’re not fat”.
73. When you’re at the gym you’ll be the one making people jealous and embarrassed.
74. Your feet will look delicate and dainty when wearing heels instead of like fat blobs.
75. Thinspo blogs will use your picture as thinspo instead of reverse thinspo.
76. ‘Cute’ will be the first word to describe you, not ‘nice’.
77. People will be concerned. Maybe they shouldn’t have called you fat and ugly all those years. Oh well, now you’re thin and beautiful.
78. You could be a model.
79. Crop tops will make you look cute, not fat.
80. No muffin top.
81. At family gatherings your snobby relatives will be blown away by how beautiful you’ve become.
82. Your exes will wish they’d never let you go.
83. You’ll be able to pull of cosplay like a pro. You won’t be the fat version of everyone you cosplay.
84. Every day will be exciting because you won’t hate the clothes you wear or looking in the mirror or stepping on the scale.
85. Shopping for a prom dress will be fun. You’ll look like an ethereal goddess instead of a sausage roll.
86. You’ll be able to pull off a bikini.
87. Going swimming won’t be embarrassing. You’ll be able to wear a sexy bikini without feeling like a joke.
88. You could wear baggy clothes and look stylish instead of like a slob.
89. You could wear your boyfriend’s shirt and nothing but panties and it would be the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
90. People will stare because they can’t believe you’re so beautiful, not because you look like you just crawled out of a gutter.
91. Unhealthy food will taste gross.
92. You’ll have a small stomach so when you eat small portions you’ll still feel full.
93. Eating will become so unimportant sometimes you’ll actually forget to eat instead of binging like a pig.
94. You’ll look like a ballerina.
95. If you’re eating less meat you’re helping the environment and saving animals lives.
96. No matter what else is going on in your life you will have control over your body. Nobody can take that from you.
97. Empty feels better than full.
98. Processed foods are extremely unhealthy. You’re doing yourself a favor by not eating them.
99. You’ll have so much more time and money if you’re not wasting them on food.
100. You will finally love your body.
☆Remember to stay safe. We want to be skinny, not dead. You can’t slay with a killer body if you’re decomposing six feet under. Be kind to yourself. Every pound is progress.
Pairing : Yoongi x Reader Genre : Fluff, slight angst, Hybrid!au Word count :
Summary : Yoongi is the cat hybrid you once adopted at an adoption center. You took care of him as best as you could months following his adoption but he still has not erased the distance he voluntarily puts between you.
A dread feeling crawled down the pit of your stomach as your eyes stared blankly at your laptop screen gleaming in the pitch black room. That unexplained feeling coursed through your limbs for some seconds. Although the sole explanation of your reaction was simple and quite logical, you could not prevent your mind from tricking you. Good. Another power cut. Three in one month. These never failed to surprise you but it was also not the first time they got you thinking the worse scenarios. Like a stranger breaking into your flat or something like that. Yeah. Really tiring.
Almost one minute passed as an annoyed sigh crossed your lips, your hand lazily searching for the phone somewhere on the mess that was your desk. You checked the home screen. 44% of battery. Not bad. It would still do. Power cuts never last really long but you had to busy yourself with something not to get bored when they happened. A part of you believed you were too old for that and another doomed the defective power system of the old building you lived. It happened. But the times they happened were not the best. Far from that.
You carefully made your way to the living room with the phone’s flashlight guiding your steps, the sound of the heavy rain pounding against the windows. Unconsciously holding your breath as you padded to the couch, your grip tightened around your phone as you discovered the skinny frame of the hybrid lying on the couch. The moon rays filtering through the windows were bathing the milky skin of his face in a radiant glow.
Hello everyone! It’s been a while! But here’s a new rec list ;) Although, for the Sterek fans following me, this is strictly other fandoms, sorry. Been away from Sterek in a while and that’s the result! Here’s a listing of what you’ll find!
“At Bond’s age anything like love was trapped and walled away, a scorpion under a glass; what he felt now was like the fire at Skyfall, filtered through icewater light. And yet it was there, it was possible: one more reckless leap, one more deadshot fall, one more defiance of loss. It was there, waiting in the way Q’s eyes lingered on him, the intelligent desire in their depths, patient, saying, ‘we have almost all the time in the world’."
Despite Bond making a kind of running joke out of Q’s “exploding pen” remark by requesting one at every opportunity… it was Q who mentioned it first. The reason behind it is quite simple. They both like to blow shit up. And then they realise that that’s not the only thing they have in common.
All his life, Q has seen ghosts. For years, he’s searched for scientific proof to back up what he knows to be true. Finally, he starts a YouTube channel to chronicle his adventures of exploring haunted sites.
His latest location: Skyfall Lodge.
If you’re able to get to Houston, San Antonio, or other severely affected areas, get there. People are in need of rescue. Now is the time to break out the flat bottom boats and the jet skis, y'all. We’re Texans. We protect our own with pride, regardless of any prejudice we may carry. Stay safe out there.
Since he came back from the dead Damian finds it extremely hard to sleep without listening to something. His iPod has mostly audiobooks and classical music or opera, but there’s also some jazz, blues, and alternative recommended by Dick, hard rock, rap, and metal that Jason and Tim snuck on there (they believe that even Damian deserves to hear some good music) and pop from Stephanie.
Damian was raised bilingual (as well as learning eight major languages) and is equally comfortable in English and Arabic. Bruce’s Arabic can be stilted at times, but he’s fluent enough to not have to stop when Damian switches languages mid-conversation.
Damian has a schoolboy crush on Cassandra, which everybody except for Damian finds adorable.
Damian is very sensitive to refined sugar and detests dishes he deems too sweet. Alfred’s shortbread—more buttery than sweet and melting in the mouth—is the only dessert he really likes, although he’s grown to appreciate Pistachio ice cream.
Tim and Damian hadn’t spoken to each other for a while when the incident with the drones took place. Damian can’t remember if they were on good terms or not.
For all the flack he gives him, Damian actually holds Jason in high esteem, a fact he’s not willing to admit.
Dick was the first one to crack “Damian Code”: when Damian’s scared he yells, when he’s upset he breaks or throws things, when he feels disrespected or ignored he attacks, when he’s comfortable he insults, and when he’s tired he sulks.
Superman thinks that Damian is adorable and hilarious, which means that Batman has to regularly check that Damian doesn’t have any kryptonite.
Sometimes, especially when the kid’s quietly working on something, Bruce will see how much like his mother Damian looks and it brings back bittersweet memories.
Gordon does not like this new Robin at all. He’s rude, arrogant, callous, condescending, and much too young.
Bullock likes this new Robin much more than he did the other goody-two-shoes Robins.
Dick has a “Damian scale” with 0 being a sneer and 10 being bloodshed. “Maybe don’t come out with us tonight, Tim, it’s an eight on the Damian scale.”
Damian HATES it when people tousle his hair. Which means that Jason, Barbara, Tim, and Stephanie do it all the time.
Damian didn’t have much fiction included in his early education and was positively giddy when Alfred granted him free rein of the Manor’s extensive library.
Damian loves video games and is very good at them. However, he is often over-stimulated and cranky (well, crankier than normal), afterwards, so Bruce limits his screen time, something which Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Stephanie undermine every chance they get.
Dick’s absolute mess of a conglomerate accent and his rapid-fire patter means that Damian sometimes doesn’t understand what he says, which has caused some problems in the field. Damian refuses to admit when he doesn’t catch something, however, leading to frustration on both sides.
The first time Goliath landed on Manor grounds Alfred promptly fetched his old shotgun. When Damian climbed off of the Bat-dragon’s back Alfred promptly fetched a stiff drink.
Alfred has lost his temper with Damian exactly once. Nobody else was around and neither of them ever mention it, but Damian started treating Alfred with respect from that day on.
Damian’s one of those people who purports to despise animals but dotes on his pets and has to be prevented from keeping every stray who ever comes up to him. Kind of like his dad and kids.
For all he knows it would never work, Damian still wants his parents back together.
Damian is the most sensory-aware of the Bat family with the (probable) exception of Cassandra, meaning that he complains the most about the nasty aspects of the job, bathes frequently, and is easily put out of sorts by some irritant in his environment like Tim. It also means that he likes flowers, bubble baths, silk pajamas, and classical music.
Damian gets swarmed by ladies who declare that he is the cutest thing whenever he’s accompanying his father in the wealthy-socialite role, which is intensely distasteful to him, to the point that he considers being forced to attend a social event a form of punishment.
Damian’s favorite game is to sneak around shadowing his dad. Bruce’s favorite game is to let him think he’s getting away with it.
Damian would rather exploit loopholes than flat-out break rules. Bruce has kind of given up on this front… It’s just easier at this point to run damage control, and he’s secretly proud of his son’s ingenuity.
“I didn’t know what to tell you,”
you admitted. “It’s my problem, Ash, not yours.”
eyes mindlessly run over the popcorn texture of your ceiling as you
lie stoically in bed, arms resting rigidly over your sore stomach
that keeps clenching and tightening every time your thoughts take you
a step closer to the edge of your emotional pit.
has that ever been how we handle things?” Ashton asked,
offended. “Your problems are my problems, Y/n—what if you start
failing classes?” he added. “What if you have to stay there for
another semester to make up for them? You think that doesn’t affect
“I’m not going to fail any
“You might at this rate.”
“You’re being a dick.”
“Baby, I’m being realistic!”
Ashton exasperated, startling you. “This relationship is making you
“It’s not our relationship,”
you were quick to clarify. “It’s the distance, it just…it’s
didn’t speak for a while, the span of silence sizzling out the heat
of the argument and allowing your jumbled thoughts to evaporate into
a thinner layer of fog. You weren’t sure how you were expecting this
conversation to go, but the path it ended up taking had to be one of the worst
“It’s hard for me, too,” he
eventually confessed, “but what it’s doing to you is fucking
step closer to the pit. Your eyes close tightly for this one as your
stomach flexes again, a weak set of brakes desperately squealing from
struggling to stop the fast momentum.
“I’ll figure something out,”
you croaked as an empty promise, only trying to reassure him and put
an end to this conversation.
But Ashton could see right through you if he even heard you at all. “Y/n…”
The line went silent for a long
moment again. Your body began to shiver with anxiety, trembling more
vehemently when you heard the cracked grumble of his voice
“This isn’t working.”
brakes can’t do anything this time when the rocky border of the pit
starts to crumble like a sinkhole, expanding the mass of the dark
drop until it’s breaking apart the ground beneath you and you’re
falling through. You turn on your side as the pipes burst and the
sobbing initiates for what feels like the hundredth round tonight.
Every release hurts worse than the last, core exhausted from endless
tension, throat dry from shouts being muffled into your pillow, eyes
red and puffy from rubbing them raw. You wish you could stop thinking about the stupid phone call, stop your own head from torturing you with the
same replay of Ashton’s words, but being engrossed by him is what got
you into this mess in the first place, and if you couldn’t control
yourself when you were dating him, how were you supposed to now that
can’t sit still, frying the wooden floor beneath his feet with the
friction of his incessant pacing. His scalp has numbed from how many
times he’s tugged his hair in frantic thought, the battle between
taking it all back and convincing himself that he did the right thing
portrayed by every disarrayed strand. It’s not too late. He could ring you again and apologize, beg you to forget everything he just said, tell you he
didn’t mean it, but none of it would be true. You need this whether
you’re able to see it for yourself yet or not, and he needs to be
firm in his decision no matter how badly he’d like to change his
breaking up with me?”
Ashton’s heart wanted to explode in
his chest, knowing immediately that the pain behind that question
would stick around to haunt him for a long while. He could imagine
the look you had on your face, the distressed creases in your forehead and hurt
in your watering eyes; if he had to see that in person there’s no way he’d be able to go through with any of this.
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he said, fighting the internal voice begging him to shut up. “Just until you graduate.”
“Why does it have to be at all?”
“Because it’s what’s best for you.”
“You are.” Your voice was so weak it was barely audible at that point, and Ashton could tell that you had started crying.
“Clearly I’m not,” he objected softly. “Not right now.”
There was no way for Ashton to escape being the bad guy. If he continued to keep you in this relationship, allowing you to rely on him as your one source of happiness while the rest of your life was pushed to the back burner, he was selfish. And if he completely removed himself from the equation, giving you the space you obviously needed to focus on yourself without having him as a distraction, well, he was just flat out breaking your heart.
“Can we still talk?” you suggested hopelessly, not expecting to hear the answer you wanted but having to try for it anyway.
Ashton’s hand moved to cover his eyes, applying pressure to prevent his own heartache from leaking. “I’m still here if you need me, or if something ever happens…” he couldn’t finish his sentence, blocking his imagination from going that route. “But no, baby, we probably shouldn’t talk.”
Ashton pauses in front of his bedroom door and uses the side of his fist to punch it.
“Are you gonna see other people?”
“Of course not,” he said, appalled that you could even consider that as a factor in his decision. “This is all so we can be together.”
“Really, because dumping me seems a bit counterproductive.”
“I’m not dumping you,” he firmly denied. “I’m doing this for you.”
“Oh, save it.”
You were mad at him when you hung up. Crying, but still mad. You probably threw your phone across the room and dove face first into the closest pillow to release a scream you wish Ashton could feel the wrath of.
Well he’s mad, too. Mad that you’re choosing to ignore the reality of the situation, mad that he had no choice but to push you in the right direction. You should’ve been the one asking him for a break. You should’ve been the one to come up with the solution. It would’ve hurt all the same, but at least Ashton would have understood.
This is all so backwards.
Neither of you were planning on breaking up tonight. The topic came and went so quickly, it’s no wonder Ashton said a wrong thing or two along the way. Maybe you were rightfully angry. Was it ridiculous for him to propose that the two of you just pick up where you left off after a few months apart? Was it presumptuous to think that you would even want to come back to him once you’ve had all that time to move on? Was he setting himself up for the most typical of lies when he told you he wouldn’t be seeing anyone else in the meantime?
No, that one Ashton feels sure of. He doesn’t even want to begin to think of the damage that would cause between the two of you, and he certainly doesn’t want to entertain the idea of you messing around with some other guy.
But now that the thought’s been formed he can’t seem to shake it, which only boils his blood more. Ashton rolls his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers drag over the skin by his mouth. He just granted you the freedom to fuck someone else if you wanted to. You could be scrolling through your contacts out of spite this very second in search of a one nighter; you could already have someone on their way over.
Ashton picks up his phone and frantically unlocks it, pressing all the necessary places on the screen to pull up his conversation of text messages with you. When he finally gets there his thumbs hover over the keyboard but don’t type anything, the insanity of getting mad at you for something you haven’t done being forced to the surface of his conscious as he’s reunited with the last thing you sent him no more than 24 hours ago.
A different emotion begins to permeate the unreasonable anger, taking over Ashton’s body in an almost refreshing way. It’s not happiness he feels, not even relief, but the same sadness that weighed on his chest during the part of the phone call where he announced that your relationship is no longer working: it was by no means easy, but it was the right do.
I love you most, the text reads.
It was your response to Ashton’s “I love you more,” which was his response to your initial “I love you.” The little back-and-forth had in some way or another become an addition to your and Ashton’s routine of saying goodbye to each other, and last night was one of the few instances where you managed to begin the tradition by telling Ashton you loved him first. The one who started it was always the one who finished it, and as a natural competitor most times Ashton beat you to commencement. His relentless victories never failed to earn a stubborn grunt and a pouty, “It wanted to say it first,” but Ashton found that it worked to just repeat himself until you agreed to play by the rules.
You were the winner last night, though. You were the one who got to use the unbeatable “most.” And Ashton knows how hard you fought for that, how badly you’ve been wanting to steal that honor from him to spoil him with it instead.
Ashton’s shoulders slump as the last bit of tension leaves his muscles, realizing there’s no point in being angry. No matter what hoops you and Ashton have to jump through to be together, there’s no doubt in his mind that you two will, in fact, be together. Since he’s met you he’s felt like he’s been exactly where he belongs – maybe not physically with the miles and miles keeping the two of you separated, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually – every other part of him knew that the moment you came into his life was the moment he finally found his place.
And much like the step that needed to be taken tonight to ensure that you and Ashton could still have a future together, the tie between the two of you may not always be easy, but it is right.
You’re doing a bit better when you return to your room with the glass of water you fetched from the kitchen. It’s been about two hours since the phone call ended and nearly thirty minutes since you last cried. Your head has stopped throbbing, your heart rate has slowed. An uncomfortable rock still sits under your lungs, but at least you don’t have the energy to be mad anymore.
Or so you thought.
When you set the glass on top of your nightstand your phone lights up beside it, displaying the only name that could stir any sort of emotion through you after the events of tonight. You’re surprised to see that he’s already breaking the no-talk rule considering he was the one who established it, and you have every sassy intention of using it against him when you bitterly swipe the screen to open the message.
But you can’t find the heart to do that after actually reading what he has to say.
You are capable of conquering the world, let alone me. I love you with and without a label.
Tucking your legs under your blanket, you reread the two sentences over and over until you unintentionally have them memorized, the repetition calming you aside from the gentle sting in the center of your chest. You’re nowhere near ready to accept Ashton’s settlement, but a piece of you is reassured by the loyalty in his words. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t truly believe it was in your best interest, and if this is your chance at temporary closure, you suppose you want to take it.
I’ll do better in school, you reply.
The pending response dots pop up in seconds.
I know you will, angel.
You swallow. Are you still going to come to the ceremony?
Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
That’s that, then. The next time you can expect to see Ashton is at your graduation ceremony.
Six months from now.
“Is this a good watermelon?”
Your eyes pull away from the carton of strawberries in your hands to assist Kennedy with her fruit inspection.
“Did you knock on it?”
She shoots you a puzzled look, reluctantly tapping her knuckles against the green skin and mumbling a smart-ass, “Anybody home?” before glancing your way again for a final verdict.
“Sounds ripe to me.”
Kennedy lets out an unenthused cheer and heaves the chosen melon from its brothers and sisters, walking over to the full cart in front of you with the intent to drop the heavy item on top of all the other groceries you’ve spent the last half an hour accumulating.
“Don’t, you’ll squish,” you shoo her away, deciding against the strawberries and placing them back on the shelf from which they came. “Just hold it.”
She sighs dramatically but does as she’s told, cradling the fruit against her stomach like a baby bump as you fold your completed grocery list and begin pushing the cart toward the store check out.
“Is this food really all for you?” Kennedy eyes the massive collection skeptically.
“Me and Calum,” you answer, scanning the maze of registers for the shortest line. “He pays me back for half of it.”
“Why doesn’t he ever do the shopping?”
“Because we’d be living off of ramen noodles and beer.” You settle the cart behind an older couple who’ve just started to load their groceries onto the conveyor belt.
“He’s such a child,” Kennedy mumbles, plucking a Kit Kat bar from the candy rack that divides your lane from the one next to it and tossing it into the cart. “’Pay ya back.”
You smirk and roll your eyes, but they lock on something nearby before hitting full rotation, wiping your face clean and drawing your head farther to the left. How did you not see it before?
Opposing the shelves of candy is another rack of last minute purchases, half of it stored with chewing gum while the rest displays a selection of magazines. There are the usual celebrity-eating tabloids with their ridiculous headlines about the latest Kardashian rumor and how Brad “really feels” about Jennifer, but on the bottom row stands a magazine that you’re only familiar with because of an old subscription Calum used to have to it, and on the cover of that magazine poses a shirtless figure you’ve spent a little over the last year of your life, unbeknownst to the public, becoming intimately acquainted with.
“Really?” Kennedy teases when you stand on your tip toes to grab a copy of Ashton’s feature and add it to your cart.
“Shut up,” you retort, trying your best not to stare at the image no matter how badly your eyes have missed him. It’s hard to believe it’s already been a whole month since this picture was taken–since you last spoke to him. He looks good. A bit too photoshopped to perfection for your liking, but enough like himself that your stomach pinches at the familiar curves of his chiseled body. From his arms that don’t even need to be flexed to look defined, to his chest that is somehow the ideal combination of both strong and soft, all the way down to the v-shaped indents in his lower abdomens that vanish underneath his athletic shorts… God, the amount of times you’ve traced, licked, and kissed those lines…
“Please, Y/n, you’re drooling.”
Kennedy plops the watermelon onto the open space of the conveyor belt that you hadn’t noticed became available.
“Sorry,” you mutter, placing the magazine face down as you begin the check out process.
“Don’t sweat it. I didn’t know he looked like that,” Kennedy remarks playfully. “Your poor vibrator’s probably falling apart by now.”
The male cashier who has to be at least 60 years old narrows his bushy eyebrows in distaste but continues to go about scanning your items quietly. Your cheeks heat with mortification over the public location in which Kennedy chose to make such a private – and loud – comment.
“I don’t have one of those,” you say quickly and barely above a whisper, hyper aware that your conversation now has an audience.
That doesn’t seem to faze Kennedy, though.
You glare at her as you pull your credit card out of your wallet and shove it into the scanner, every second the machine takes to register your information more painful and awkward than the last.
“You were in a long distance relationship for how long and you’re telling me you never bought a–”
Your cart is resupplied with your bagged purchases by a teenager at the end of the counter who is losing his absolute shit over the topic of discussion, deepening your humiliation. The cashier rips your receipt from the dispenser and you thank him as you snatch it from his hand, eager to be on your way outside and beat Kennedy to the car so you can leave her here.
Unfortunately she keeps up with your pace, walking beside the cart while fishing through one of the bags for her candy bar until she finds it and rips it open.
“You’re an embarrassment,” you tell her.
She laughs. “Seriously, babe, you don’t know what you’re missing,” she says in between bites of chocolate. “It’ll change your life.”
You unlock the trunk of your car and swing it open. “I didn’t say I was opposed… Just don’t think Orville Redenbacher in there appreciated the visual.”
Kennedy’s face lights up with excitement. “Well let’s go, then!”
She pulls out her phone, Kit Kat bar in the other hand, uselessly standing to the side as you load the groceries into the car yourself, raises the phone to her lips, and proudly requests Siri’s assistance with, “Adult entertainment stores near me.”
Well, Ashton was right: this is definitely not his scene.
But he’s determined to make the best of it anyway. He needs to. He can’t just go back home to an empty apartment where he’s got nothing better to do than think about you; he’s already spent far too many evenings occupying his time that way and it’s done nothing but make him miserable. He hasn’t felt like himself since splitting up with you – not that a party would help with that, but at least here he’ll be forced to socialize and talk about something other than you with someone other than his inner turmoil.
Cheers suddenly and obnoxiously emit from the crowd surrounding the outdoor pool. Ashton glances at the area, promptly discovering the center of the commotion to be a round of chicken fight in the water between two girls sat on the shoulders of two men, the top of an undisturbed female participant nowhere to be seen.
“Vegas girls,” says one of the men from the circle of people that Ashton was sucked into shortly after arriving, raising his glass in approval of the girls’ behavior that has nothing to do with him.
Other men from the group meet his toast with drinks of their own, resulting in Ashton standing out even more like a sore thumb with his crossed arms and vacant hands. Dennis, the host of the whole extravaganza and the one who encouraged Ashton to come, notices his trainee’s lack of beverage and pats him on the shoulder.
“What’ll ya have?” Dennis asks, motioning toward the patio bar.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Ashton claims.
“Look, kid, one night of drinking won’t impair your game.”
“You’re at the top right now, you’ve earned it. I won’t be mad.”
“Really, I don’t–”
“Not whiskey,” Ashton states stiffly, swallowing the sick lump in his throat from the mere mention of the drink. He has too many memories of the smell tainting his father’s alcoholic breath. If Ashton can’t get Dennis to take no for an answer, he’ll just have to choose the lesser of evils. “Gin.”
Dennis finally accepts that order and strolls over to the bar to talk to the girl running it. Ashton is relieved to just get him off his back; he doesn’t even know if he likes gin, but he’ll nurse the damn drink all night if he has to.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he digs it out gratefully. The point of coming to the party was to keep himself busy, yet he’s still open to any excuse that might pull him away from it.
What a mess. He’s a mess. He doesn’t know what the hell he wants.
That is, until he sees your name waiting for him on the screen.
Ashton’s heart picks up in speed, his first thought convincing him that something’s wrong, that something bad must have happened. You’ve gone an entire month without contacting him, so why would you randomly text him now? His runs his thumb over the screen to pull up your full message and quickly scans it for the bad news. When he doesn’t find any telling key words, he starts at the beginning again and reads through it much slower.
Hi. Sorry, I know it’s late and that we’re not talking right now, but I wanted to show you something I picked up today.
Ashton let’s out a sigh of relief, permitting himself to breathe again. He uses both hands to type back.
It’s okay. What’d you get?
As he checks the time stamp to verify that you should still have your phone on you since your last message, the response bubbles make an appearance in the lower corner, but disappear before anything comes in. Ashton waits a few impatient seconds, debating on sending another question mark to give you the double text that you probably desire, but he doesn’t have to when a photo pops up from you instead.
He smiles, attempting to keep his lips together but ultimately failing and breaking into a small laugh. It’s a photo of the magazine he made the cover of, the comforter of your bed serving as the backdrop, and your little sock-sheltered toe accidentally peeking in at the bottom right.
Proud of you, Ash, the caption says. Though I’m not a fan of the missing freckles.
Ashton smirks, leaning his elbows on the tall table in front of him.
I told them you wouldn’t approve. Or at least he thought of it when he saw the photo they chose. One of the first things his eyes gravitated toward was how bare his shoulders looked without the freckles that litter them in person, and he knew that if you were to ever see the image, you would pick up on it too. You paid too much attention to them for their removal to go unnoticed, all those nights in bed tiredly touching and trying to count them to no success.
Thinking about writing a formal complaint.
“You’re at a party, Irwin, act like it!” Dennis jokes out of nowhere, handing Ashton the cocktail he asked for and demanding a friendly cheers.
Ashton connects the rim of his glass to his trainer’s and takes an obligated sip, concealing an instinctual grimace upon determining that he does not like gin. Like a dog in a squirrel park, Dennis becomes distracted by someone else he knows before his cup is even drawn from his lips, and miraculously leaves Ashton alone without hassling him any further to enjoy himself, giving Ashton the chance to turn to his phone again.
He had a reply prepared in his head for the last thing you said, but when he comes back to the conversation there’s a brand new grey box.
What are you doing tonight?
And that’s when it crushes him that he can’t keep responding. It’s too easy to get sucked back into your gravity, too easy to unrestrain himself and talk to you whenever he wants. He’d like nothing more than to find a quiet spot to sit and play catch up, but it would defeat the entire purpose of the break and reset you both to square one. He can’t do that to you. He can’t do that to himself.
So he hesitantly locks his phone, leaving your message unanswered, and shoves it back into his pocket to be forgotten. His gin and tonic feels ten pounds heavier in his hand, and after a moment of illogical contemplation, he raises the drink to his lips and downs every last drop.
“Christ, you’re heavy.”
Ashton stumbles over the curb of the sidewalk and bumps his elbow against the open car door. “Ow?” He glances at the hand wrapped around his other bicep as if to ask why it hadn’t prevented his clumsy trip.
“Sorry, if you wanted the Hulk you should’ve called him instead.”
“I didn’t call you,” Ashton argues, squatting to fit his large figure into the tiny vehicle’s passenger seat. His second foot is barely tucked inside before the door shuts beside him. He rests his head against the cushion of the chair, willing the pounding in his temples to subside. He’s never felt like this before.
“Well you’re lucky Dennis did.” Ashton’s startled by her voice coming from the left of him now, having sworn she was just to his right. “Or you’d be sleeping in a ditch tonight.”
“I’d prefer the ditch,” he says, lolling his head to look at her. She ignores him, keeping her focus on the road ahead, and even in his current state of inebriation Ashton can tell he struck a nerve harsher than he meant to. “It’s a joke, Mia.”
“Thanks for gettin’ me.”
She softens a bit at his gratitude, peeking at him briefly. His eyes are tired and weighed with depressants. “Just don’t puke in my car.”
“Not going to.”
Ashton takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his knotted hair. It’s getting longer, in need of a cut or he’ll have to start tying it back again.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” Mia speculates.
“Then what’s the special occasion?”
He casts his gaze forward to watch the road pass underneath the car, but instantly regrets it because of the motion. No matter how straight of a line Mia’s driving, it won’t help Ashton’s head from spinning.
“We broke up,” is all the explanation he has to offer.
Mia snaps her attention to the passenger seat, her expression unmistakably shocked yet void of sympathy. “Really?”
“If it’s because I kissed you…”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ashton coldly shuts her theory down. “Had nothing to do with you.”
Taken aback, Mia rolls her jaw, irritated by the certainty in his words. He didn’t even try to lay it on her nicely. “Well since I’m such a nonissue, how ‘bout giving me my job back?”
Ashton went through with firing her the morning after her intrusive mistake. She fought him on it, said it was merely a lapse in judgment and that nothing of the sort would ever happen again, but Ashton felt that it was wrong and too uncomfortable to keep her on the team. Not to mention he wasn’t in a very forgiving mood considering he made the decision the day after he parted ways with you. Overall the exchange with Mia could’ve gone better than it did, and the personal emotions behind it may have put Ashton and Mia on pretty bad terms, but it was final and he had no intention of changing his mind.
“Think not,” he mumbles. His ability to compose sentences is weakening along with the strength of his eyelids, sleep slowly egging him into it’s persuading comfort.
Mia lets him get a few minutes of rest in peace, appreciating the silence of the car ride so her mind can go to work. She’s pissed. Beyond pissed. She gets out of bed for a last minute phone call to make sure that her ex-boss gets home safely from a night of careless binge drinking, and he still has the audacity to be rude to her, the nerve to deny her a second chance, the insolence to laugh at the idea of her possibly causing a problem between him and his stupid girlfriend. That last one stings more than anything.
She wakes him when they pull into his apartment complex, and he stirs in a state of drunk confusion. It’s evident he won’t be able to make it up the stairs on his own, so Mia has to aid him out of the car and toward his flat one step at a time. Getting past the front door is another difficult task, having to go on a hunt for his keys in his jacket and jeans and watch him scramble to fit the metal slate in the hole. When the door finally opens Mia guides Ashton to his room where the challenging journey finally comes to an end, and she leaves Ashton to fend for himself while she trudges into the kitchen for the glass of water she knows he’ll be desperate for in the morning.
When she returns she’s only half surprised to see that Ashton is already knocked out in between the sheets, naked from the waist up as far as she can tell. She sets the glass on his bedside table and glares down at the snoozing boy, her temper changing under the influence of his sleeping innocence. He looks so much younger like this, so incapable of hurting her the way he did when he revoked her job or spoke down to her in the car.
The bed sinks lower as Mia sits on it, bothered by the fringe hanging over Ashton’s eyes and wanting to brush it away for him. As she runs her fingers delicately through the sandy strands, she notices a faint glow reflecting off of Ashton’s chest, coming from the gap between the blanket and his torso. Mia gently peels the fabric away from him to expose the source of the light, finding none other than his phone resting haphazardly in his relaxed hand. She slips it from his fingers and takes a look at the screen, mischief surging through her veins. Ashton must’ve forgotten to reactivate his passcode, or fell asleep before he could, and left his text conversation with you open for Mia to go through like a child cheating on a test.
“Ca” was as far as Ashton typed in his alcohol inspired response, his body giving out before he could finish or press send. The anger Mia sported earlier starts to come flooding back twice as hard, Ashton’s remark about “flattering herself” enraging her all over again. What are you doing for him other than stressing him out and leading him to drink? Why does he love you so much when Mia is actually here, taking care of him while you’re miles away doing God knows what? What is it that he sees in you, and why can’t he get over it?
Mia decides that she’s going to do Ashton one more favor.
Your disregarded question about what he’s doing tonight sets up the perfect linkage for Mia’s plan. She scoots further onto the bed. She lowers the wide neck of her shirt to expose the tops of her shoulders and collarbones, and lies directly next to Ashton. She opens the camera on his phone. She holds the device out at a strategic angle, making sure to include Ashton’s unconscious, shirtless body in the frame while conveniently leaving out the rim of her own shirt, making them both look naked.
When she’s happy with the misleading photo she returns to your private conversation, plucking the safety pin out of the live grenade and tossing it into your relationship, using a single word to caption what Ashton’s been doing tonight:
You haven’t always been the type of person who needs background noise to fall asleep, but since you stopped sharing a bed with Ashton, and especially since you stopped having someone to say goodnight to, you’ve accepted that sound certainly makes the mission easier. You’ve tried using the twirl of the ceiling fan as your lullaby but declared that it’s not loud enough; you’ve tried music with and without lyrics, but couldn’t control your thoughts from syncing with the pace of the beat. A list of potential remedies, ranging from white noise to whale songs, were tested and failed through trial and error until one night you came across the holy answer to your prayers without even looking for it.
And its name was Conan O’Brien.
You had given up on your search of berceuse when you turned on your TV for some form of entertainment to keep you occupied while you couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t expected to doze off – you were actually enjoying O’Brien’s monologue and chuckling along to his jokes, but at some point in the night everything went black and you woke up hours later more rested than you’d been in months. It was a miracle, really, and you’ve been relying on it ever since.
Tonight is no different. Teeth brushed, pajamas on, you’re settled into bed with the TV hanging on your wall flipped to the same old channel you pick every evening. Your cellphone isn’t far from you, left within arms reach in case Ashton decides to actually text you back, but your hopes of that have pretty much vanished since he probably already would have done so if he was going to at all. You admit that you were pushing the limits tonight by trying to carry the discussion on after its initial purpose, and you understand now that Ashton has more self-discipline than you do. Being ignored by him of all people strikes a particularly sensitive string in your heart, but you try not to dwell on it too much, assuring yourself that he’s not doing it because he wants to.
Drowsiness is starting to hit you right on cue, true to your inability to make it past the show’s first celebrity guest. You close your eyes in one extended, tired blink, but flutter them wide open when your phone alerts you with a short vibration.
Your insides warm at the one name you love to see, thrilled that he’s texting you again on his own. Your body wakes up with anticipation and your mood lifts exponentially as you type in your passcode, eager to get to your inbox to read the late night thoughts that Ashton so kindly wanted to share with you.
The 180 whiplash in the pit of your soul when you feast your eyes on what you actually received is the closest to dead you’ve ever felt.
All color drains from your face.
Your lungs shrivel into raisins. Your heart stops working. Your blood solidifies to ice. Your vision blurs out of focus. Your brain short circuits. You feel nothing.
And then you feel everything. Your fingers start to shake. Your muscles twitch. Your jaw quivers. Your head is swelling with pressure and escaping in the form of hot tears. You need to punch something. You need to throw something. You need to yell.
Part of you wants to reply to the message while another part doesn’t want to give him or her the satisfaction. A third part of you wants to demand that Ashton never talks to you again while a fourth wants to hear him beg for forgiveness.
No option feels like the right choice, so you abandon your phone for the magazine you purchased earlier, the one with Ashton’s lying face plastered across the cover. You take one last, good, infuriated look at his two-dimensional hazel eyes and savagely shred a line between them, ripping the cover in half and chucking the rest of the papers with all your might onto the floor. You’ve started crying harder and you hate yourself for it, sick of just how many tears you’ve shed lately over a boy who obviously no longer cares about you.
You torture yourself with the evidence of Ashton’s hook up once more before impulsively diving into his contact information and definitively blocking his number.
You're my fav fic writer here <3 so I wanted to ask if you also take prompts that are not from the list? If yes, please please please could you write a fic in which lola kidnaps andrew along with neil to baltimore? (or he just somehow ends up there)
(i lov u thank you sm, also this prompt is fucked up I had FUN)
Neil’s face is so sunken with grief that he’s barely recognizable. Andrew watches cooly as Nicky jokes with him, the energy of the team cascading down and off of Neil, water off an indifferent umbrella. This is not the same man who was buoyant with a fresh win half an hour ago, who holds exy in higher regard than his own life, some days.
Andrew crosses to him, siphoning Neil’s attention away from the action of the room to him, just him, their eyes hooked together.
“Thank you,” Neil says, his mouth trembling. “You were amazing.”
Andrew searches his face, waiting for more. The room around them feels hazily separate, his attention is pulled to every flicker of Neil’s eyes, every shape his mouth makes. Something is giving out like a rotting support beam, Andrew can feel the collapse as if it were happening in his own body.
He catches Wymack gesturing from the corner of his eye, and the foxes fall into line. Neil keeps holding Andrew’s gaze the way someone might watch their home disappear on the horizon as they drive away.
He turns on command, though, body held too casually to be genuinely at ease, walking in tandem with the men bracketing him.
Andrew levels Wymack with a dismissive look and turns on his heel to follow Neil to the parking lot, his heartbeat out-pacing his footsteps.
He watches the bobbing heads of the man in the reflective vest and his colleague guiding the team through a simmering crowd. A bottle careens past Aaron’s head and Andrew looks blackly out in the direction it was thrown from. His eyes return to Neil, and because he’s watching, he sees the moment the crowd swells and Neil is grabbed hard by the wrist.
Andrew starts running immediately, pushing his way through a crowd that feels more like the tumultuous surface of an angry ocean. He trips over a slippery bottle and clips a 6 foot tall Bearcats fan, who tries to punch Andrew and gets his hand ripped at the seam of his fingers for his trouble. The crowd is a firing squad pointed at him, but Andrew braves it without hesitation.
He loses sight of the shiny vest and Neil’s flaming hair, almost tripping again on a duffel bag upended in the street. He kicks viciously at it before realizing it’s Neil’s, his racquet dropped two feet away. It’s like a crime scene, like the gunpowder left in the wake of a ripping bullet.
Andrew scoops the racquet up and breaks into a flat-out sprint with it held in front of him, using its length to rake the crowd out of the way. They break, more interested in self-preservation than the spirit of revenge. Andrew gets a clear view of Neil’s shoulder being wrenched around, his face contorting with anger as he’s stuffed into the back of a highway patrol car.
“Stop,” Andrew calls, voice raised. He skids into the parking lot just as the door is closing on Neil, and four sets of eyes swing towards Andrew. He sees Neil mouth ‘no’ as a woman with an unhinged grin cranes around Neil, sizing Andrew up.
Headcanon that whenever Victor breaks something in the flat he’s showering Yuuri with compliments so that he’s not mad when he finds out.
And at first Yuuri is really flattered, but then he catches on and whenever Victor’s all like ‘Yuuri, my summer flower, the light of my life’ Yuuri’s just like ‘did you break the washing machine again, Victor’
Here is a very basic breakdown of my garden wards as they are currently being set. I won’t got too in depth because they will be active wards and I just don’t feel comfortable sharing details like that on wards I’m using.
🌱Nails or Railroad spikes
🌱A guardian (I’ll break this down)
🌱A flat surface that is water proof
🌱Suitable offerings (not food)
🌑 Personally I’m waiting to set this up during a new moon but the choice for moon phase is up to you. Typically I don’t incorporate moon phases into a lot of my craft but I was specifically instructed to do so, so I will. Each New Moon will serve as a reminder to clean up, clear off, weed, and straighten up.
🌑 I have a small ceremony in mind for the spikes to prep beforehand. My own charging and cleansing stuff, pretty standard.
- A specific chant, song, or inscription
- Coat them in something like salt, wine, herbs, crystals, blood, spit, urine… The list goes on. (Do not drive salt into the earth you will kill your plants).
-Charge in the sea, in the woods, under your bed, in the sun/moon, in fire…
-Take them on a hike around your property and expose them to local spirits (I’d do this if you have a pre-existing relationship only).
🌑 After prep ceremony it’s time to drive these guys into the earth. My garden is rectangular so my “fence” is going to be rectangular. Drive each spike into the earth at each corner, I’ll do it moving counter clockwise because I want to break a cycle and put a new one in place.
🌑 String being tied around will follow in the same manner. I’ll say some words here and all that but how you alter this is up to you.
🌑 Once this is done I’ll feed The Guardian* and ask for their protection.
🌑 Lastly set up the flat surface for offerings. I will offer offerings both daily and weekly. Water when watering will be offered daily and then something else once a week. If you offer food do NOT leave it out. Welcoming pests with food while warding your garden is counter productive.
🌑 If you feel so inclined you can spend some time in the garden as well. Personal energy definitely won’t hurt magic like this.
🐸 The Guardian 🐸
Many years ago I was gifted a frog statue and a birdbath by a friend. I figured this gift would be a perfect vessel for a Garden Guardian. Frogs eat bugs, keep wetlands clean and healthy and also blend well in their surroundings.
My Guardian lives in the birdbath. Every season they get the first harvest and I leave them offerings as I feel I should. From water, flowers, sweets, fertile soil to pretty stones and trinkets.
In return I ask they watch over the garden and keep my crops safe from pests.
I’ve never had any issues with any pests outdoors under their watchful eye until the raccoons this year.
There is a process on welcoming a spirit into the vessel to act as a guardian but that is for another time.
Prompt: The new High Warlock of Brooklyn Lorenzo shows up at a Downworlder cabinet meeting. It's almost a tie between which of the rest of the leaders present hates him the most. (basically a fic about Alec, Luke and Raphael being protective pretty pls)
Hi! I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you’ll like it :) I made it a little bit angsty because I was in the mood for a bit of angst :P
Something ugly twists in Alec’s chest as he walks in the living room,
straightening the sleeves of his jacket, and he catches Magnus’
silhouette out of the corner of his eye; he’s on the balcony, looking
out, his posture rigid even though his arms are elegantly crossed on
What if Viktor’s hair isn’t naturally straight but curly and he hates it? Imagine him waking up early every morning to straighten his hair. One reason he cut his hair so short was because it took him so long to straighten.
The first time Yuuri finds out about this he’s more than surprised to say the least and he wonders how Viktor manages to keep it straight in the humid hot springs. (Let’s just say Viktor has the dopest and most foolproof hair products ever.)
Yuuri obviously loves Viktor’s natural hair just as much as he loves Viktor’s straight hair. Sometimes when they’re watching a movie or just cuddling he’ll unconsciously roll a lock of Viktor’s hair round and round his finger. He loves to see it curl and bounce back like a spring. He especially loves it when Viktor has just woken up because it’s so big and soft and floofy!
One day Viktor’s flat iron breaks and he refuses to leave the house sporting his natural hair. Yuuri tries convincing him to wear a hat but Viktor is appalled and disgusted. He hates hats because no matter how he wears them, they always end up making his forehead look huge. In the end Yuuri leaves for the rink by himself, Viktor gets a very colorful phone call from Yakov for missing practice, and Yuuri buys a new flat iron for his boyfriend on his way back home.
Viktor avoids the rain like the plague and always carries an umbrella in case it ever starts raining suddenly because as amazing as his hair products are, they aren’t perfect. Same with snow.
One time during practice Viktor really pisses Yurio off and unthinkingly Yurio douses Viktor with water from his water bottle. That day everyone in the rink finds out that Viktor has curly hair. Viktor almost cries even though everyone assures him his natural hair is beautiful (of course Yurio is cackling in the background and making comments about how Viktor looks like Makkachin–”like master, like pet”–until Mila threatens to lift him and throw him across the ice).
With Yuuri’s help, Viktor becomes more confident in his natural hair. He starts straightening it less and less until he sees the beauty that Yuuri sees and he thanks Yuuri everyday for making him stronger than he was before.
A/N: I’m not going to lie, I intended this to be a 500 word thing, but woop it ended up being over 2,000 yikes. I hope you guys like it, it’s actually my first official piece for Kirk. :) I’m kinda excited. Reblogs and likes are appreciated, as is feedback!
Title: Star Kisses. Pairing: Captain James T. Kirk x Female!Reader. Words: 2319. Rating: T.
“Here,” Kirk urged and sat a shot glass in front of you. It was full, to the very brim and a few drops of it landed on his fingers and landed silently on the bar table in front of you, “it’s on me.” The smile he gave you was charming enough to make your heart flutter inside of your chest.
“Thank you, Captain.” You replied and gazed down at the light brown liquid in the shot glass.
The smile on his face faltered ever so slightly at the name you had chosen to call him, his hand bringing his drink to his full lips so he could take a drink. Jim chuckled behind the glass before setting it down once again, this time, with a small ‘pat’ as it made contact with the oak counter. “You know, you don’t need to call me Captain right now. We’re not on duty.” Emphasizing his words, he nodded his head and looked at you.
This was very correct, but earlier this evening, you still found yourself surrounded by people like Pavel, Scotty, Leonard, Spock and Uhura, all of whom had already left, leaving you alone with the Captain. And as right as he was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to call him by anything else. He was your Captain, and you had forever called him that since you met him nearly three years ago. Prior to that, you had heard things about him while at Starfleet Academy, but you didn’t have the glorious opportunity of meeting him until you were assigned to the Enterprise, under the Science division. You had been working rather closely with Leonard, and in turn, Captain Kirk, since your time aboard, and had heard things from Leonard himself.
Pushing back what he had told you, that being “Jim is a womanizer, I wouldn’t think about getting too close”, you picked your shot up, and downed it. The alcohol burned at your throat as it slid down, and for a second, you scrunched your face up and sighed. It wasn’t an awful taste, but it was stronger than you had anticipated. The rush of drinking it lit up your senses momentarily as you were tugged back into reality by the drawl of his deep voice.
“You can call me Jim.” He swallowed another drink, but you hadn’t even noticed that he picked up his glass again and was now waving it, signaling the bartender that he wanted another. His jaw clenched, the muscles there contracting in front of your eyes. The lighting that bounced off his skin was giving the appearance of godliness, illuminating his sharp features, the curve of his mouth, which curled mischievously on the sides, and the arch of his thick eyebrows. He continued. “Or if you want, James. I guess whichever you like better.”
“Kirk,” You said rather hastily and clutched the shot glass tightly in your hands.
“That works too.” As if he needed to be any more visually attractive, he turned in his seat to give you a smile that you were positive you’d never seen from anyone before. Whether it was made up of cockiness and slight drunkenness, or perhaps happiness, you couldn’t tell. But, it was the kind of smile that started at the edges of his mouth, to the edges around his bright eyes. It was a full on grin, and not one out of politeness. “As long as it’s not Captain.” He mumbled, watching with careful eyes as the bartender picked up his now empty glass and replaced it with a full one. Kirk gazed at you from his peripherals and slid the glass towards you and slurred to the bartender, “Can I get another one?” He was leaning forward in his seat, his ribcage rubbing against the edge of the counter.
A minute later, Kirk was drink in hand again and let his attention dwindle back to you. Lifting his glass, he knocked it towards you and whispered, “I’d like to make a toast. Well, more like a friendly gesture.” His mouth shut and he pursed his lips, his blue eyes fluttering as he tried to stay sane.
You chuckled quietly, watching him compose himself enough to actually speak clearly. You’d never seen him in such a state, and though you were sure a lot of other crew members might have, you still found it heart-wrenching that he appeared to trust you enough to see him like this. Not composed, to the point where speaking was a problem, and loose enough to actually have a good time without having to worry about the lives that were usually at stake on the Enterprise. His hair was slightly disheveled, and rather than lying to the left, parted neatly, it was rather messy, a few pieces scattered as if he pushed his hand through it multiple times this evening. This, you didn’t doubt. He was in civilian clothing, as were you, wearing a pair of tight blue jeans, a black t-shirt under a vintage leather jacket. Kirk, undoubtedly, looked amazing. And the way he moved, made you wonder if this was something he was aware of, or if he had enough to drink to be cockier than he usually was.
Nodding in agreement, you raised your glass so it paralleled his. “I for one, never realized how pretty you are,” He started rather confidently, “Wait, wait.” kirk squeezed his eyes shut, “I lie. I did realized… Realize how pretty you were, I was just too much of a baby to say anything to you, plus,” He leaned forward and momentarily, his glass rubbed against your own, “Bones would kill me if I tried to get with you. He’s like your dad or something, it’s kind of scary.” Kirk hiccuped, “I swear, this is no-not the alcohol talking. (Name)… I am very, very interested in you.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest, sir?” You asked and held your glass tightly. You were positive if the grip on it wasn’t so rough, it would slide out of your grip and explode on the floor. His words, and the brave tone of voice he had used, made your face burst with heat. Starting in the middle of your cheeks, to expand and sweep up to the tip of your ears. You weren’t sure if you were red, but if Kirk did mention, you could always blame it on the alcohol. “I’m one of your crew members… You’re the Captain. You’re directly above me. I don’t think it’s appro-”
“I don’t think the way you’re avoiding this is appropriate.” He suddenly said, sharply and clearly enough for you to understand, “You- you…” Kirk’s brows furrowed together, “don’t think I notice you staring? Or, or the way you get nervous around me?” You rested your glass back onto the counter. “I usually don’t know what I’m doing, I like to wing it, and I don’t like rules,” He explained to you, “But, I dunno. I kinda wanna see what it’s like to know what I’m doing.”
“We’d be fraternizing, sir.” His baby blue eyes shot up at that word.
“Well, technically, yeah.” Kirk gave you a sly grin, his voice rocketing inside of your ear, “But, I can bend the ruuuules just a little.” You knew this to be true, in some senses. But in others, not so much. What he’d call ‘bending the rules’ was actually flat out breaking them, sometimes with absolutely barbaric outcomes, sometimes, without any.
For a brief second, that felt like five minutes, you heavily considered this. The outcome, the entirety of the situation. Condensation lifted itself onto your chilled glass, dripping down onto the coaster that protected the oak counters from damage.
“If ya don’t say something, I’m taking it as a no, and I’m going to leave and cry my eyes out tonight.” Kirk joked, though deep down, you wondered if he was being serious. It was obvious that he two things when drunk. Emotional, and macho. Depending on the situation, these two things worked together beautifully, but as of right now, they were messing with your mind. “I mean, Uhura and Spock… They fra…” He had to pause and think of the word, “Fraternize, don’t they? By definition of the word, I mean. They have a personal relationship, which is what you’re implying would happen if we did, say…” You looked at him, watching as his mouth moved before taking a swig of the drink in his hand, “Kiss tonight.”
Kirk had leaned forward, only about a foot away from your face. One foot was on the floor steadying him so he didn’t stumble right on top of you. You could see the close up details of his face, the mischievous playfulness that rested behind his eyes. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for what felt like eternity before he finally spoke, “I know you want to. I can see it.”
This was undoubtedly true.
And the fact that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then and there, was also undoubtedly true.
“Is it still considered fraternizing if we do it off duty?” He intrigued, setting his glass down on the counter.
“Nothing’ll change the fact that you are the Captain of the Enterprise and I-”
“Bones was right,” Kirk chuckled and grasped the back of your head slowly. His fingers expanded, tangling into the depths of your hair, causing a shudder to break out down your spine at the sudden amount of affection he was giving you. “You’re such a goody two-shoes…” Kirk raised his hand and lightly pushed his thumb against your lips. It took all you had not to peep your tongue out, “You like to follow the rules because they give you structure, I don’t blame you,” He replaced his finger, with his mouth, it only being a few inches away from kissing yours, his breath dancing on your face and the vague taste of his lips lingering on yours overpowered you as he mumbled delicately, “but, you need to learn how to break a rule every once and awhile. Let me give you some structure. I’ve been told I’m good at that.”
“Who told you that?” You laughed quietly, biting down on your bottom lip.
“Uhm,” Kirk shut his eyes and puffed quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. “T-That doesn’t matter right now. Some girl, I think. First year at the Academy. Then again, she coulda been talking about something else.” Kirk had raised his eyebrows suggestively, opening his eyes in the process, “If you let me kiss yo-”
“You talk a lot.” You informed him, your right hand reaching forward to rest on his thigh as if to remind him you were only a few inches away from him, “I knew you did before, but this is a little extensive.”
“That, I have also been told. Actually, by Bones like three hours ago—”
“Let me talk, then.” Kirk popped his mouth shut at your sudden assertion and nodded. “Let’s say… I let you kiss me… We are off duty, after all…” He licked his mouth slowly, tantalizing you, “Then what?”
He smirked, ever so slightly, but enough for you to take notice, “I’d kiss you again. And again, and probably again…” He was inching closer and closer to you, the hand that was once on his thigh now resting on his side. The fabric of his leather jacket played at your fingertips as he craned his head down, his lips barely grazing against yours. It was minimal contact, but it was still enough to make your entire body light up. Starting at your lips, your senses came alive. There was a small beating at the base of your skull, like a headache, but oddly enough, it felt soothed when Kirk began brushing his fingers through your hair. Your mouth yearned for more when he push for a deeper, harder kiss.
There was something inexplicably wild about what was happening, his free hand raising to cup your jawline, subsequently making your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. For a minute, Kirk seemed to overpower you, his hands keeping you from moving, and yours bracing yourself against his body as he stood up from his seat. He ran the hand in your hair forward and grasped the other side of your jawline to cup your entire face, his mouth rapid against yours without necessarily pulling away. He tasted like everything he had to drink this evening. A bit of Cranberry vodka, a bit of a Bud Light Classic. Simultaneously, Kirk tasted sweet, bitter and warm. To contradict this, he felt physically soft. You had expected otherwise. You’d expected for the muscles of his torso to be hard, unmoving under your fingertips, and from between the fabric of his shirt. But, it wasn’t. Kirk was literally melting against you, his entire body, from head to toe, as if he needed to be near you. His mouth was melding against yours, assuring both of you were pleased by the pressure of the kiss.
It was a secure sensation. A structured action.
Pulling away from each other was the hardest thing to do. Kirk had stayed true to his words, and when his lips ceased contact with your own, even for a breath, he was diving in for another peck. The small, almost chaste kisses left you wanting much more.
You lifted your shoulders and breathed in heavily, his hands now resting on your forearms. It was chilly now, that you weren’t embraced by his warmth, but his fingers kept some parts of your skin warm. “Jim…”
“I knew I’d get you to call me by my name.” He chuckled cutely, running his hands up and down your arms, “I like how you say it… I like how it sounds. It’s like… The stars are calling my name.”
“That’s cheesy.” You whispered lightly, bumping your nose against his.