can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that he dyed his eyebrows too!

Chemistry in the Shower

Requested by Anon:  a Sherlock x reader, where he tries to explain her chemistry for her finals and they just end up doing other things
& Anon:  Can you do a smut one shot with Sherlock where he and the reader have sex in the bathroom and it’s really hot and they freak John out a bit because he thought that she was shy and All?

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1,515

Warnings: Smut - shower smut, unprotected.

A/N: This was soooo hard to write… As Dean would say “Game of Thrones is complicated, the shower sex – that is complicated… Hell ain’t complicated.”


Originally posted by mental-leaps

“It’s really not that hard, you see.” Sherlock started, using his intellectual voice as he made strange drawings on a white piece of paper, “If we add up these two, you get this one. The same goes to this: If you divide it, you get these two.”

“Yeah, but how do I know which one goes first?” (Y/N) whined.

“You mean…? Nomenclature isn’t hard.” Sherlock continued. He was trying his best to be patient with her; obviously, no one had his brains and so he had to be compassionate. So he proceeded to explain the correct order in which the chemical compounds were to be named. “Any other doubt?”

“How do I divide a compound?” Sherlock sighed heavily.

She wasn’t dumb, not at all, but she was stressed and her mind wasn’t working as it used to. Sherlock knew it, he had noticed, and so he offered his help to explain Chemistry to her – a choice he was already regretting – and all he could think of was that she would find a way to remove all of the stress in her life so he could go do his experiments in peace.

“Doubts?” He asked for the millionth time that day and mentally prayed for her to say no.

“Yes.” Sherlock groaned, shutting his eyes for an instant to try and recover the last bit of sanity he had left. “I don’t want to study anymore.” (Y/N) continued, and Sherlock couldn’t help but to release a relived sigh.

“I was about to stab you.” Sherlock confessed, looking dead serious into her eyes.

“I was about to kill myself.” She replied, and then her head fell over the table as a frustrated groan escaped her throat.

“Take a rest, we can continue later.” Sherlock spoke as he got up from the table and towards the window.

“Do you honestly want to continue helping me?” She inquired, without lifting the head from the table.

“I don’t see why not.” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

“Because I’m a freaking imbecile for this, perhaps?” Sherlock chuckled.

“Don’t feel bad, not everyone can have my brain.” He beamed.

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Open Ending | R.M.

 imagine requested by @ladyannikki

Summary: In which you get paired up for a project with Reggie friggin’ Mantle, and you just so happen to witness the duration & the aftermath of the scene in 1x02

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anonymous asked:

So, Yuri Plisetsky was a pretty isolated kid, so what if he never got chickenpox as a kid? What if he gets them now. The day after he performs. And it's /bad/. Can I see Viktor, Yuuri, and Otabek taking care of him? And a sick miserable Yuri too tired to care? It'd also be great if you could throw in some homesickness from missing his grandpa in there.

WARNING: descriptions of vomit below

read the warning

read the warning

read the warning

okay, you’ve been warned!  enjoy the fic!

When Otabek got a call from Yuri the day after the Grand Prix, he wasn’t sure what he expected to hear.  He could say with certainty, though, that “I think I’m dying” was not it.

“What?”  Otabek asked flatly, his heart pounding in his chest in spite of the fact that he suspected an exaggeration.

“I’m dying, Beka, my body was infected by itchy red dots days ago and now they’re blistering and scabbing and my skin will probably fall off tomorrow and so I called to demand that you take care of Potya when I’m gone.  She’s a good friend of mine, so I’m sure you’ll like her, and she’ll like you, though she might bite at first-”

“Yura, are you talking about your cat?”  Otabek asked, frowning as he searched Yuri’s symptoms on his laptop.

“She’s much more than a cat, Otabek!  You can’t treat her as anything less than- oh, maybe I should just ask Lilia, she knows all of this already…  Yeah, I’ll do that, goodbye Otabek, you’ve been a great friend!”

“Wait, Yura, I don’t think-”  Otabek heard the click of Yuri hanging up and sighed.  “I don’t think you’re dying,” he mumbled to himself.  He called again, but Yuri didn’t pick up.  He supposed there was only one thing left to do: jump on his motorbike and ride over to the hotel where Yuri was staying.

When he got there, he was surprised to hear the voices of Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki coming from inside.  In fact, Yuuri was the one who answered the door.

“Otabek!  What are you-”  Otabek could practically see a lightbulb go off above Yuuri’s head as he realized and slapped a hand to his head.  “So Yurio called you, too, then?”

Otabek nodded, and moved to go inside, only to be stopped by Yuuri.

“Have you ever had chickenpox?”  Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together, worry lining his face.  “If not…”

Otabek understood.  For better or worse, he had contracted chickenpox as a child, so he nodded, and then followed Yuuri inside the hotel room.

Yuri was on the couch, covered in blisters and looking absolutely miserable.  All of his energy regarding spreading the news of his impending death seemed to have completely disappeared.  Viktor, who sat on the arm of the couch, offered him a glass of water.  Yuri refused, but quickly caved as he realized that Viktor wasn’t going to let it go immediately.

That’s what scared Otabek the most: Yuri was normally so stubborn, it was terrifying to see him give up so quickly.

“How’s he doing?”  Yuuri asked, walking over and brushing Yuri’s hair out of his face.  The boy blinked blearily, for once not even bothering to glare at the Japanese skater, spilled the glass of water down his shirt, and immediately started crying.  Viktor’s eyebrows knit together as Yuuri calmed the blond.

“About that good,” Viktor said.  He turned to Otabek.  “Don’t worry, though, he’ll be okay!”

Otabek nodded, only half-convinced.  He helped Yuuri remove Yuri’s wet shirt, and put a hand to Yuri’s heated and swollen face.  The younger boy flinched, but didn’t even bother to pull away.

“Viktor, if this gets much worse, we’ll have to take him to the hospital,” Yuuri said.  He dabbed Yuri’s face with a wet cloth, but the sick boy didn’t even seem to notice.

“Beka?”  Yuri croaked, belatedly acknowledging his friend’s presence.  Otabek smiled.

“Hello, Yura,” he said.  “How are you feeling?”

Yuri made a face.  “Tired.  Sick.”

Otabek didn’t think that a two word response like that could possibly be very helpful, but, judging by the way his head whipped around, Yuuri begged to differ.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, voice more commanding than normal.  “Get a bucket.  Or a trashcan.  Or a shopping bag- anything.”

Viktor was frozen for a moment, and though Yuuri didn’t take his eyes off of Yuuri, he must have sensed the older man’s inaction.

“Now, Vitya.”

After that, Viktor didn’t question Yuuri any more.  He found a large plastic salad bowl in the kitchen and brought it back to his fiancé.  “Is this-”

“That works,” Yuuri confirmed, taking the bowl.  He then turned to Otabek.  “Can you help him sit up?”

Otabek nodded, too intimidated by Yuuri’s current presence to refuse, and put his hand on Yuri’s bare back.  The sick boy was limp as a rag doll, but somehow Otabek was able to get him into a seated position.  As soon as he did so, he felt Yuri’s muscles tense.  

Then Yuri let out a low whine, bent over at the waist, and threw up.  Yuuri had the bowl ready, and sick splashed into it, sloshing around.  The sight and smell of it made Otabek’s stomach churn, but he forced himself to keep it together for Yuri’s sake.  The younger boy vomited again, and Otabek rubbed Yuri’s back as he choked on puke.  Tears streamed down his face as he coughed violently, eventually hacking so hard that more bile spilled over his lips, despite his stomach being nearly empty.

“I want-”  Yuri gasped and gagged again.  “Want my grandpa,” he managed to choke out miserably.

“Just breathe, Yura,” Viktor murmured.  He held Yuri’s hair out of the way gingerly, making sure not to pull on it.  Yuri didn’t respond.  In fact, as soon as he was done spewing, he drifted off to sleep, tears running down his face as he continued to mumble about missing his grandpa.

Otabek was left feeling helpless and scared as the two adults in the room exchanged worried glances.  After a minute, Yuuri turned to Otabek.

“Otabek, I think we’re going to have to take him to the hospital.  He’s going to be just fine, but we want to make sure he feels better as soon as possible.  Do you want to come with us?”

Otabek hesitated.  “Is it… alright?”

At that, Yuuri smiled.  “I think Yuri would appreciate it if you did.”

“Okay,” Otabek said quickly.  He didn’t have to think about it; Yuri was his friend, and he would do anything he could to make him happy.

Never Home (or How Lila Rossi Tased Chat Noir)

A (somewhat) late addition for Week 2 of TOTLS Month. Balcony scenes may not be canon (yet) but here’s a Lilanoir remix of a Marichat staple!

From the moment Lila step foot into her apartment, she knew that she wasn’t alone.

This was largely because she had come home to an empty apartment every day for the last several months, and having grown so used to the empty feeling associated with it, she knew something was just a little off. There was an indescribable presence lingering in the air as she made her way into the kitchen, setting a bag of groceries down and reaching for the small, electric taser she kept in her purse at all times. Her parents would have never let her live alone without protection, and though she had never had the opportunity to use it, she had seen enough horror movies at one in the morning to know how to turn it on whenever the floorboards creaked awkwardly.

Powering the taser on, she made a great show of pretending to be oblivious to the intruder’s presence, stretching lazily as she turned on an Italian news station and made her way from room to room, making a quiet sweep of the small apartment as she went. Humming a tune under her breath, she made sure the bathroom and her wardrobe room were clear before heading into her bedroom, stepping out onto the balcony and breathing in the cool evening air.

After a moment, she turned around, heading back inside with a small sigh, about to slip out of her school clothes when a pair of glowing green eyes caught her attention.

The intruder froze, hand clutched around a can of water that was trickling into the potted plant next to Lila’s desk. It was too dark to see anything but the intruder’s eyes, and Lila wasn’t exactly in the mood to give strange men in her home the benefit of the doubt. As the bandit opened his mouth to say something, Lila’s survival instinct kicked in, prompting her to lunge at the assailant, taser crackling as she launched herself at the intruder like jungle cat. The man dropped the watering can with a clanging splash as Lila threw him to the ground, taser pressed against his neck as she realized she had just threw one of Paris’ resident superheroes to the floor of her apartment.

And not even the one she didn’t like.

“What…the hell are you doing here?!” Lila spluttered.

“Your…fichus…was…dying,” Chat panted.

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Get It Right (4/?)

Sebastian Stan/reader

Disclaimer: fluffy fluff fluff

Originally posted by 107th-infantry

(next part)

Grey morning light filters in through the windows, breaking me from my slumber. I stretch my arms above my head, arching my back to stretch and a small moan escapes my lips. I hear a chuckle beside me and the events of last night quickly rush back to me. I cover my mouth with my hands in embarrassment, but I can’t help the laugh that follows. With my hands still covering my face I mumble an apology.

“You don’t need to apologize” he says while moving to hover over me. He moves my hands away from my face as he continues, “besides, I thought it was pretty cute.”  

His lips cover mine in a kiss while his hands begin to roam up my sides. His lips move to my neck and he sucks on a spot long enough to guarantee a mark. My second moan for the day escapes when his fingertips brush along the bottom of my breasts. His hands run back down my stomach and he places a few more kisses on my lips before rolling off me and out of the bed.

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softssound  asked:

160 with Kihyun please! I love your writing btw :) x

❥ kihyun, ‘do you think you can teach me that?’, i love you more b~

‘i can’t help that i’m a master at cooking, babe,’ kihyun says, barely even looking up from his pan that he’s holding over the stove. ‘at the end of the day, we all have out talents and cooking is mine. lets just appreciate it for once.’

 you raise an eyebrow at his statement, one that’s matched by changkyun who stands next to you with an eye of his member who is dancing around the kitchen like he is a literal fairy. ‘i thought it was singing?’

 ‘and i thought it was sex,’ changkyun states, taking a sip from his glass as he shrugs his shoulders at you and kihyun since the two of you have turned arond to face him and neither of you look happy. ‘joking, joking. well, i don’t know actually. i’ve never–’

 kihyun is the one who threatens changkyun with the spatula he’s holding, waving it in the air as he stares down changkyun until the youngest is holding his hands up in protest. they’re stuck in a staring contest for a few moments and you’re watching the two of them try to establish dominance until the smell of smoke hits your nose. 

 unfortunately the same smell doesn’t reach kihyun, nor changkyun, and you’re the only one who notices the slight flame that’s sparked on the corner of the stove that appears to be getting bigger with each moment its left near oil. if it wasn’t for the fact you feared the building burning down you would have laughed it off. 

 ‘uhh, ki,’ you mumble softly, biting down on your lip as you watch the orange flame grow a little. 

he turns to you immediately, dropping whatever he has with changkyun to respond to you with a smile. ‘what can i do for you, babe?’

‘i, uhm,’ you pause when you try to explain the situation. there’s a fire kihyun seemed too dramatic because it was only small right now but you didn’t really ever prepare in your head for the situation at hand. ‘there, uhm, i think you need to check your food.’

 changkyun bursts into laughter when he notices the small pan fire that kihyun has started, completely ignoring the panic that kihyun is in as he tries to reach for a lid which he can place over the top so that the extinguish the fire. you’re in a personal dilemma of whether or not you should be assisting kihyun he appears to have everything under control. 

 the fire is gone before changkyun can even make it out of the room to call for shownu and the three of you are left in a slight smoky room with a lot less chance of dying with kihyun’s quick reaction skills and your sharp sight. however changkyun’s laughter completely juxtaposes kihyun’s narrowed. 

 ‘next time you’ll be the one on fire,’ kihyun says, almost growling at changkyun as he returns to try and save part of his creation. 

 ‘whatever you say, cooking master!’ changkyun teases, regaining his composure finally as he stands himself up properly and turns to you in an attempt to get you in on the banter. ‘say, kihyun, do you think you can teach me that?’

 something told you that changkyun would never let this one go.

Milestones (Slight Jake x F!MC)

Universe:  Endless Summer
Word Count: 2322 (whoops)
Rating: PG
For #ChoicesCreates Week 5, hosted by @hollyashton and @cartoonfanforlife.  The prompt for this week was: “Mirror.”
A picture speaks a thousand words.  But when you’re looking at not a still image, but what’s in front of you, the thoughts could be endless.  You tell your own story, through your own eyes, through your own parallels, and through your own reflection.

Side note: I posted another JakexF!MC earlier this week, and would love to receive feedback for it!  May or not be emotion-packed.  Check it out through this link:


-6 years old-

You stand in front of the mirror, watching the blonde pigtails that your aunt tied up bob up and down as you sway to the tempo of the pop song playing on the radio.  They were cute, but your costume isn’t.  Your puffy, cyan blue Cinderella dress seems to refuse to move with you, and because of that you groan in frustration.  It’s so itchy, and uncomfortable, you just want Halloween to be over with.  

Your aunt, Rebecca, strolls into your bedroom, tiara in hand. “What’s wrong, love? I don’t recall the part in Cinderella where she throws fits.”  She jokes, but it makes you even more upset.  

You cross your arms, trying to get the point across.  “I don’t like this costume.  It doesn’t look good on me.  I wanted to be cop.  Why can’t I be a cop?”  

“Sorry, love, I couldn’t find a police costume.  Next year, I promise.  And nonsense, you look adorable,” She tuts.  “But, if you insist, I think I might have just the solution…”  Your aunt waves the tiara ecstatically.  “I knew your dress was missing something, so I quickly drove to the store to buy you a crown, fit for royalty!”  

You stand still, arms remain folded, as she gently adjusts the tiara into your hair, careful not to poke you anywhere.  “There.  Now, you’re beautiful, princess.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes.  “I was always beautiful.” 

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A New Hope [Kylo Ren x Reader]

Summary: Leia sends the reader to Starkiller Base to try to bring Ben Solo home. However the reader fully believes him to be dead and gone, replaced by Kylo Ren. Nothing will convince the reader otherwise, not even Kylo Ren himself.

Word Count: 2,000+

Warnings: The reader fears death (many times?) at least once. Torture is mentioned in passing, but not practiced. (I wrote this almost a year ago. lmk if I missed anything)    

“Reason with him, Y/N. Please, just try to reason with him.” That had been the plea of General Organa. “He won’t listen to me,” she had said. “I’m the reason he went to the Dark Side in the first place. But he might see sense if you show it to him.” This was not an official mission. This was not mandatory. This was a request from a mother for the sake of her son. You were doing this for General Organa, because she thought that Ben might still be alive. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that you knew that Ben was gone forever, without redemption.

You approached Starkiller Base, not concerned with how you were going to get onto it, but rather what you were going to say to Kylo Ren once you were there. You hadn’t seen him in years, but when you saw him last, you had had enough time to break each other’s hearts. How he would react to seeing you again, what would happen to you, and whether you would even be able to land were all mysteries.

“We have you on our screens, now. Please identify,” a voice came from the Base’s Air Traffic Control.

“Diplomatic mission from the Ileenium System,” you announced. “Ambassador Transport X-Wing requesting deactivation of the deflector shield.”

There was nothing but static on the other end for a while, then the same voice spoke again. “We were not informed of any such mission from your system. State your personal identification.”

You closed your eyes, trying to think. But you let your thoughts slip past your control, and suddenly, you knew exactly what to say. “Kylo Ren,” you spoke to him. You somehow knew that he was there, listening. “You know who I am. Give me clearance, or I’ll tattle to your mother about you.”

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Great Scott, Barry! (Chapter 2/9)

Oh, what a night! You’re still revelling in the greatness of last night, even on your way to work the next morning. Iris’ friends are so unbelievably kind, so funny. And her brother/best friend? Damn. After spending all that time with Barry Allen at the club, you officially have it bad. They don’t make guys like that anymore. It may sound completely weird, but even just simply being in his presence made you feel safe.

And you met the guy freaking yesterday!

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Morningbird Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Dick Grayson x Reader

This is it. Our final battle chapter. (Sorry couldn’t resist the Chrom quote) I want to thank each and every one of you who has read this story. The whole series was my first shot at writing imagines, and I really like the style, so expect more in the future! That’s only if school doesn’t kill me first.

I hope the ending does everything up to this point justice. If it doesn’t I sincerely apologize. But at least I didn’t end it on a cliffhanger.

Words:  1957

“I thought I heard a muffled crash. It must have been Miss Y/N,” Alfred says as he enters the study with a plate of warm cookies.

Bruce spins around to look at the butler. “And did you not think to mention this to us?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred raises his eyebrow. “You were brooding. All of you were brooding. And I know better than to disturb a brooding bat and his birds.”

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Alive (Part 6)

Originally posted by pengwhin

(Part 5) -> Part 6 


Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

***WARNING: Language, Violence, scat***

“So, have you been by yourself since the turn, too?” You asked, sitting in front of the dim fire, facing Yoongi as he cleaned his knife with an even dirtier rag. Without meeting your gaze, he replied, “No. I have a group… We just got separated.” By the tense quality of his voice, you assumed the worst.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

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anonymous asked:

griezmann Imagine? :-)

jesus, sorry, this did not end the way i’d planned for this to end lol. hope you like it anyway 💩😂💕

You can’t move, can’t think, can barely even breathe when you see him standing there, his arm slung around a woman’s shoulders lazily, her body slightly leaned against his as he’s talking to one of Atlético’s managers.

He looks great in that suit. The thought strikes your mind as abruptly as lightning, and it’s just as blinding, just as debilitating. Heat crawls up your neck, all the way up to your cheeks, and you want to look away, need to, have to, but can’t. He’s always had that effect on you, always managed to keep you close, wanting more. How ironic. You want to laugh. Maybe you do. You’re not sure because you don’t feel anything but his presence, even if he’s a few feet away.

Antoine laughs — you don’t hear it, can only see it from where you’re standing, a glass of already lukewarm champagne in your trembling hand, but you know exactly what it sounds like. You’ve memorized him so well, too well, that you know which sounds accompany which miens. The woman next to him, his date, looks up at him, a surprised bark of laughter falling from her red lips.

Again, you remind yourself to try and tear your gaze away. Again, it doesn’t work. Ridiculous, you think, that you’re standing here on your own, at a lame party thrown to celebrate the most outstanding footballers of 2016, watching your ex and his new girlfriend. You can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s proposed to her already? If maybe she’s the one he can actually imagine spending a life with?

Huffing, you finally manage to look away. It’s ten in the evening now. Maybe you can just leave? Surely your boss wouldn’t be too pissed if you just said you couldn’t get any of the nominated footballers to give a short interview? Cristiano Ronaldo, for example, hadn’t even shown up so far.

Nah. That idea is crap and not an option. You need to keep your job, after all.

Thankfully, you catch sight of Gareth Bale pushing his way through the crowd, a polite smile on his face. With a deep breath, you walk over to him. It is an interview with questions he’d probably heard a million times this evening already, but he laughs and grins and says how grateful he is to have had all these great opportunities and moments, and god, he is nice. You see an engagement ring adorning his ring finger. Lucky woman. Your heart aches at the thought.

It’s not like marrying is your biggest goal in life, of course. You’re not obsessed with marriage. In fact, growing up, you hadn’t even wanted to marry at all — but then you’d met Antoine who has had every character trait you’d ever looked for in a man. He’s funny, spontaneous, sweet, caring, knows what he wants out of life. And apparently marrying you isn’t one of these things. It had hurt when he told you that he didn’t want to get married; especially since you’d later learned from one of his friends, Sebastian, that he’d sometimes talked about how and where he wanted to marry.

Sighing, you take a sip of champagne. It warms your chest a little already, so you decide to not drink a second glass after this. It wouldn’t look that professional if you stumbled around at this event, your press card a dead giveaway. Then again, it’s not super professional to just stand around and watch your ex boyfriend all the time. (Thank God you had managed to get a few footballers to do an interview already.)

“A glass of champagne, ma'am?” A waiter holding a silver tray with what looks like twenty flutes on it asks. He offers a beaming smile when you look at him. He’s quite attractive, very young still. Maybe he’s an aspiring pro footballer working here to see what it’s like off the pitch?

“Oh no, thank you. I’m good,” you answer, wiggling your half-full glass in your hand gently.

His smile grows wider. “Ah, hadn’t seen that. Sorry. Can I ask you something?”

A little confused, you nod.

“You’re Griezmann’s ex, aren’t you?”

You nod again, pressing your lips together. Then, you smile. You’re a professional. Even if this evening is a nightmare.

“What’s he like? Like, I’m sorry if that’s uncomfortable to you, but I admire how far he’s come with all those obstacles in his way.”

You’re his ex but still your heart melts at this boy’s words. He’s so right, you’ve always felt the same way, always been so proud, still are. And it hurts even more now, oddly, because he’s nominated for the best player of 2016 and you’re not here with him to celebrate. No, you’re here to interview him and even that you feel like you won’t be able to do.

Finally you understand why people shouldn’t fall in love with clients, co-workers, et cetera. It’s horrible.

“He’s great. He knows what he wants and he’s worked very hard, still does, of course. He always wants more but he hasn’t forgotten where he’s from. He’s an amazing idol to have,” you say, a lump in your throat. Jesus Christ. So much for being professional. But the boy looks happy, grinning excitedly. “Hey, I’m sure you can go over and talk to him. He’s really nice and he loves talking to people. You’re a footballer, too?”

“Yeah, I’m in Atlético’s youth team. Are you sure?”

“Oh, congrats. That’s awesome,” you say, “and yes, sure. He’ll appreciate it.”

He beams even wider now. You like him. “Okay, I will. Thank you!”

With that, he walks over to Antoine, his movements a little stiff with nervousness. He’s left the tray on the bar table next to you. Rolling your eyes, you grab one of the flutes. One more won’t do you harm.

You watch as the boy starts talking to Antoine, who has turned around to face him fully, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

But then your heart drops, your cheeks burn and there are a million thoughts rushing through your brain all at once because suddenly, the boy lifts his arm to point right at you. Right at where you’re standing, staring at Antoine.

So that’s what you get for being nice. Great. At least now you finally manage to turn away and avert your gaze from Antoine. Instead, you focus on your phone, acting as if you’d gotten an important text message that you need to reply to immediately. You feel how fake that looks. Thankfully there is, in fact, a text sent by your boss popping up on your iPhone’s screen, asking how it’s going. Awful, you should reply if you were honest. Fine, you text back instead.

“So I’m an amazing idol to have, huh?”

You jump at the sound of Antoine’s deep voice, quickly looking up from your phone to see him standing in front of you, his hands buried in his dress pants’ pockets. He looks even better now that he’s closer and you can really, actually look at him.

You shrug. “He’s an aspiring pro footballer, you’re nominated to be the best this year. So, yes, you are. Congratulations, by the way.”

Antoine smiles. “Thank you. You’re here on business?”

Raising your eyebrows, you study him. He knows you are, of course — your press card is hardly invisible. There’s no other reason you’d be here anyway; it’s not like you’re anyone’s date anymore. Jeez, that’s bitter.

“Why else would I be here?”

“Why are you so snippy?” Antoine gives back. “If you’re here on business, shouldn’t you be nice? Representing your office and all that?”

You lean closer because what you’re saying next is meant for only Antoine to hear. Representing your office and all that. Asshole. “Fuck you.”

Antoine laughs. He seriously, actually laughs. You’re so taken aback that you can’t say anything in response, merely glare as you watch him snicker.

Fury licks its way up your spine. You bite the inside of your cheek as you straighten again, then take another sip of champagne. Now you regret holding yourself back with the alcohol.

“What?” you snap. You do, however, follow that up with a smile. Be a professional, you repeat in your head like a mantra. If it works, you’re not sure.

Antoine shrugs, his laughter dying slowly. “Nothing. It’s just— Doesn’t your boss want you to interview the nominees?”

“Yes. So?”

“I’m a nominee.” He grins. Nice to see he’s having a good time. You roll your eyes.

“Okay,” you say, producing your recorder, “How do you feel about this award?”

“Oh, come on. You can do better than this.”

You flash your eyes at him. Why does he look so relaxed while you’re fuming? It’s annoying. “Is this how you’d talk to any reporter?”

Antoine rolls his azure eyes. They’re the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, but right now they do nothing but inflict anger inside of you. “Of course not.”

“Good. Because this,” you motion between the two of you, “is business.”

“You’re not business to me.”

Digging your teeth into your bottom lip, you glare at him. “Yes, I am. I’m a reporter. And you wanted me to interview you, so don’t be an asshole.”

“You’re my ex girlfriend, Y/N. I can’t pretend you’re just a reporter. But yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Ask me a question.”

“I have already.”

“Ask me a question I haven’t heard a million times tonight.”

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t study journalism for fun, Antoine. I know how to do an interview.”

Antoine shrugs but finally answers your question. “I’m very grateful to be here. I was lucky meeting all the right people in my career so far and I wouldn’t be where I am without my family, friends and fans. Thank you.”

“That’s a lame answer.”

“It was a lame question.”

Another deep breath. You decide it’s better to put the glass of champagne away before its contents end up on Antoine’s expensive designer suit. The last thing you want to do is make a scene. Be professional.

“Do you think you deserve to win this award?”

“I am nominated. So, yes. But so do Gareth Bale and Cristiano Ronaldo. And many others who weren’t nominated.”

“Very considerate. Did you bring a date tonight?”

Immediately, Antoine grins, leaning against the bar tables next to him.

“I thought we were talking business?”  

“I thought we were more than business.”

He smiles wider but doesn’t answer. It pisses you off. He does.

“Did you?” he asks after a moment.

“No. I’m here on business. Thought we’d established that.”

“Well, technically, so am I.”

“I know you enjoy those evenings. This is hardly work for you,” you say.

“It’s work before the event. Getting prepared, dressed, trying to be there on time.”

You catch the little jab at you and you don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle with mischief when the words fall from his mouth; you’d always taken too long getting ready, and it had annoyed him. Either that, or you’d gotten out of your clothes to have sex before driving off. Antoine had always been into you, especially when you were wearing dresses. Low-cut ones in particular. You feel hot all over just thinking about the way his burning eyes had felt flickering over you, taking in every inch of your body.

“I wasn’t the one to get hard within a minute. And finish first.”

“That happened once.” He is right but he does look insulted, crossing his arms over his chest, his face all hard lines. You smile at him.

“You were in time today, weren’t you?”

Antoine nods.

“So, is she missing something?” you ask, gesturing in his date’s direction discreetly. Antoine keeps his eyes on you, cold and hot at the same time. He’s always been confusing like that. Somehow, you liked that about him because even though you knew he loved you, it kept things exciting.

“Is your boss going to listen to this?” he shoots back, pointing at the recorder. “Not sure you’re supposed to ask about someone’s sex life.”

“Oh, sorry. I hear you’re referring to it as ‘sex life’ instead of ‘love life’, which is the probably more established phrase. Anything to comment on that?”

“I take it you’re still pissed about the marriage situation?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes focused on him. You know you’ve had that one coming, having had provoked him. “No. I’m over it.”

Antoine nods. “You know Sebastian was in love with you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shake your head. “Bullshit. He’s one of your closest friends. Of course he was not.”

“Yes, he was.” He leans forward. “For a while, actually. That’s why he told you those things about me not wanting to marry you.”

“Bullshit,” you repeat, voice quivering. Being professional, as usual.

“Maybe you should’ve given me a chance to explain before breaking up and running away.”

“Bullshit.” Your voice is more a whisper now than anything else. Absent-mindedly, you click the recorder’s red button, stopping the audio recording.


“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you just ran away and wouldn’t answer any of my texts, calls, or the doorbell.”

He’s right. You stare at him.

“And I was pissed because you just believed him. I didn’t understand why since I think I made it pretty clear I was in love with you. So why would you think I wouldn’t want to marry you one day?”

You can’t answer. You don’t know what, even if you could. So you just continue to stare, as if you were paralyzed by his words, by the intensity of his gaze, by his proximity.

And suddenly, there’s that woman by his side, her fingers curling around his wrist. “Hi, sorry to interrupt,” she says, her voice silvery, her smile sweet, “but it’s time to go take our seats, Antoine.”
He glances at her, nods, looks back at you.

“Thank you for the interview,” is the last thing he says before he leaves, hand in hand, with her.

Awful, you should have texted your boss.

Words: 2,272
Warnings: Major Character Death; swearing
Summary: Simon decided he was fine with dying, until he met Baz.

“Bluest eyes against my own skin
I’ve never been so caught up”
~Evergreen, Ben Howard


Six months from now, Simon Snow would just be a memory; a name that no longer had a face, and he was completely fine with it. What he was not completely fine with was the stranger scowling at him from a park bench nearby. Simon tried distracting himself with his phone, the strings of his hoodie, anything that kept his gaze from wandering back to the man. He almost wanted to leave, but he refused to let the stranger have the satisfaction of running him off (if that even was the handsome bastard’s goal).

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the boy that stood by the sea 1/3

Killian has been a part-time carer for Henry Cassidy for nearly five years now, over which time he has come to appreciate and value the balance it’s brought to his mostly tumultuous existence. But when Neal remarries and brings someone new into their lives, he finds his precarious peace about to be disturbed forever. All he knows is this - no matter what happens, somebody has to fight for Henry’s happiness.

(Which may well make Emma Swan the best damn thing that ever happens to them.)

Captain Cobra Swan. Loosely based on Henry James’ ‘What Maisie Knew’.


A/N: Henry af. CS af. Captain Cobra Swan af. this has literally been bursting at the edge of my consciousness for ~weeks~.
Rating: T
Warnings: slight tw for.. certainly not abuse, but perhaps what some could delicately consider dubious treatment of a child. some parents don’t always get it right, even when they desperately want to. 

now, on we go! 

This is just like Neal.

“You don’t understand,” Killian tries to reason, “I’m not even supposed to be here, I have the week off. Henry’s father is supposed to be picking him up today.”

“Yet, as you can see — Henry is still here, and it is well past the end of the school day.”

It’s his sodding week off, and of course it only takes two days for his cell to light up with the familiar number from Hopper’s Elementary with a receptionist on the other side demanding to know why nobody has come to pick up Henry Cassidy after the final ring of the bell. Killian had jetted down there as fast as the Boston traffic would allow, but he only has his bicycle and there’s no chance in hell he’s letting Henry on it without a helmet. Not to mention he has a shift starting in thirty minutes and Neal still won’t answer his bloody phone. He’s probably at work and has completely forgot about the basic parental responsibility expected of him, he usually spaces when it comes to Henry if Killian isn’t around, but he’s still his father. There are certain things you don’t just forget — and Killian only started looking after the boy as a favour to an old friend with a busy professional schedule.

That was five years ago. Becoming an on-off live-in nanny for half of his income had never been the plan. Yet, here he is.

“Miss Blanchard,” he begs, “I’m on my way to work, all I have is my bike. I can’t take him. There has to be some other solution.”

Henry’s small hands begin to play with Killian’s fingers resting at his side as he hums quietly to himself. His heart melts for the six-year-old, and he finds himself crouching down so he can lift the boy into his arms — it isn’t Henry’s fault, it never is. The lad is always so good about being handed around like a sack of potatoes from sitter to Killian to sitter to Dad, bearing it with a staggering patience and grace for a child his age.

As much as Killian considers Neal a friend, that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t deserve Henry, or Henry’s good favour. Killian presses a kiss to the crown of his chestnut hair.

“I wish there was something I could do, Killian. Aside from calling social services and letting them deal with it there’s very little else within my power — we only rang you because you’re Henry’s emergency contact.”

Just at that moment, as Killian is trying to furiously think his way out of the dilemma, there is a quiet knock on the classroom door before it opens to reveal the most arresting woman he has ever laid eyes on. She steps hesitantly inside.

“Uh, sorry to — um. Neal Cassidy. He sent me to get his son?”

With long, lightly curled blonde hair that falls to her waist and frames a lovely, unblemished face with fierce green eyes, Killian finds whatever response he had been about to utter to Miss Blanchard dying instantly on his tongue. She’s wearing only a simple red jacket and jeans and he struggles to identify just what it is about her that takes his breath away — he’s not entirely unused to the objective attractiveness of women, after all. On closer inspection of the storming jade of her eyes he can detect a hardness to her stare. Although her expression exudes the sheepish timidity of one having walked in on a conversation they weren’t invited to, there is some sort of mask in front of it that snaps any semblance of emotional connection. It’s difficult for him to describe. He feels as if he is merely observing an impossibly detailed artist’s impression of the human face rather than the article itself. A person with a screen in the way.

She’s beautiful.

But she’s also unfamiliar to him — and apparently she’s here for Henry.

Killian’s arms tighten around the boy protectively, who is watching the stranger with interest in his keen brown eyes.

Miss Blanchard’s response is in direct contrast to the way Killian’s hackles have raised, and blesses the newcomer with a friendly smile. “And who might you be?”

The woman shrugs awkwardly, stepping fully into the classroom. “I’m, uh. I’m his — I’m sorta like Henry’s step-mom.”

That Killian hadn’t been expecting.

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The Boutique

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I secretly hope he’ll come into the shop where I work and sweep me off my feet haha. 

The Boutique

You work at a little boutique in a small coastal tourist town, but it’s January now, the dreaded slow season. All the tourists have gone home and the locals have spent all their money over the holidays. So it’s just you and your manager straightening out racks and passing the time by going back and forth with bad puns, hoping you can at least make half of that day’s goal in profits. It’s gotten to the point where your ears perk up any time you hear someone even get close to the door, and you’ve probably refolded the tank top section about three times in the last two hours. This is how it’s been the past week in your sleepy little town and you’re dying for some kind of diversion. 

An attractive young guy comes through the doors and you’re excited for a moment, before remembering that the only time attractive guys come in here, is because they’re looking for a gift for their girlfriend. Your manager will do anything to make a sale and she flirts shamelessly with any guy, single or not, just to get him to buy an extra accessory. You’re a little more subtle in your approach, but you definitely wouldn’t mind flirting with this one, you think as you admire his profile. Nice jawline. “Damn.” Your manager whispers, winking at you. “Hey listen, I’m going crazy and I need to get out for a while. I’m going to take a half hour break. Think you can handle the shop without me?” She says flickering her eyes toward him. “You know it, woman.” “Have fuuuunnn.” She says with a wink. 

You confidently approach this tall drink of water who’s currently browsing the scarves and are ready to turn on the salesgirl charm. “Hey let me know if I can help you fi…” You stop short, realising who this customer is. “If you can help meee…” He says, leaning his head forward jokingly. “Sorry, I know you must get so sick and tired of this, but you’re Robbie Kay, aren’t you?” He sighs, “The one and only.” He says tiredly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to go all fangirl on you. That must get so old.” “I appreciate that.” he says. “Truth is, I couldn’t do what I do without fans being supportive, and I appreciate that, but it does get overwhelming sometimes. I mean, I couldn’t tweet about having a bit of toast, not that I would tweet something that boring, without at least a hundred teenage girls tweeting back, ‘Omg Robbie I love toast too lol xoxo!’” he says in a fangirl voice.

You laugh and say, “Well, I can’t help you with your crazy fangirls, but maybe I can help you find something for your… girlfriend?” Real subtle. You think as you mentally kick yourself. “No actually, my sister!” He says quickly. A little too quickly. You raise an eyebrow. “I see. Well, what’s her style?” “Well I guess you might call it bohemian. Flowy or, whatever.” 

“Hmm… well what about something like this?” You say, holding up a purple Free People dress. “Oh, she’d like that! Do you have a few other ones like that?” “We sure do.” You say, glancing him up and down subtlety. Part of you doesn’t care if he notices you checking him out. You pull a couple more items to show him, and he’s looking a little overwhelmed, which you’re finding very cute. 

“You look a little unsure, do you not like these?” “No no, you’re doing great love. Um, listen. I have a really strange request. You and my sister are basically the exact same size. Would it be weird if I asked you to try them on for me? I’d hate to get her something and it not fit, you know? I mean, I don’t want to pull you away from your job or anything.” He adds quickly. “Oh yeah, let’s see if I can manage to get some time away from all these clambering customers.” You joke, motioning to the empty shop. “Alright, thanks love, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I’m clueless about this kind of thing.” “Yeah well, you can owe me one.” You say with a wink. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. There’s that mischievous appeal you’ve been admiring on TV and instagram for several months now.

You step out in the first purple dress, give a twirl and say, “I’m not so sure about this one. What do you think?” He takes a moment to respond, looking right at you, instead of the dress. You look down and stifle a small laugh. “Oh right. Umm, well. It kind of looks better on the hanger than it does actually on. I mean, you look great. Not what I meant. I just mean -“ You cut him short and laugh, “It’s not like it’s my dress! I get what you’re saying. The fit is a little off.” “What about that green one you pulled earlier? I bet you’d look lovely in that! I mean, my sister. I bet my sister would like it.” “Sure thing.” You say in a slightly lower voice, trying to hide the fact that you’re absolutely charmed by him. 

You step out and can tell by his expression that this dress is definitely doing it for him. Of course, it’s for his sister, but you can’t help but enjoy the attention. For once you’re glad it’s a slow day, or you’d never be able to take the time to do this. “Wow.” He says, breathlessly.  “I uh, think that’s the one. You’re great, really. I don’t know many people who would take the extra time to do this.” He says, meeting your eyes. You hold his gaze. “My pleasure.” You lightly nod. “Well then, I’ll go change and ring you up.” You say, biting your lip. That would mean this little chance meeting would be over soon. 

You’re back in your clothes and about to gift wrap the dress when he says, “Wait! Don’t you think I should get her a necklace to match?” He says, raising an eyebrow again. Was this an excuse to spend a little more time with you, or did he really want to buy a necklace? “Well as a salesgirl, yes. And as just a girl in general, yes. No matter how much a girl might deny it, we love that stuff.” 

“What about this one?” he says, reaching his arm across you to grab a gold and bronze necklace hanging from a jewellery stand. “I like it.” You say, glancing up to find him already looking at you. The chemistry was electric and you both knew it was there, ready to short circuit. “I’ll take it.” He says quietly, still not moving. You break the spell first by stepping back and acting casual again. “Great! I’ve got a nice gossamer bag for it.” 

You ring him up, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. As you hand him the bag he says, “Hey listen, I know this is a long shot and you don’t even know me, but would you be open to meeting me for coffee later? Maybe after your shift?” You hesitate, not wanting to seem too eager. “I am off in 20 minutes but… So, does this really work for you?” “Does what work for me?” He says, confused. “This! I mean, how do I know you don’t always pick up random shopgirls or watiresses?” You say, teasingly. “I guess actors do have a reputation as players, don’t we?” He says, catching onto your teasing. “Well I’ll tell you what…” He hesitates, realising he doesn’t even know your name. “Oh, Y/N.” You say. “Y/N, I like that.” He says, looking down and smiling to himself. “Well I’ll tell you what, Y/N, I’d like to prove you wrong.” He says, raising an eyebrow. He has to know the effect that has. His confidence is just so sexy. “Oh really?” You say, crossing your arms. “Yes, really. And I’d quite like some coffee right now, so you can either join me at that little place I saw across the street from here and let me prove you wrong, or you can not come and I’ll have my coffee all alone.” He says, feigning disappointment as he looks off to the side.

You study him for a minute. Of course you want to join him. I mean, just look at him! And your chemistry was undeniable. But still, you know he’s used to girls throwing themselves at him, and what if isn’t such a nice guy after all? “Look, Y/N. You want to know the truth? The truth is, I’d like a sense of normalcy, even just for the afternoon. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I talked to someone outside my family about something not related to my acting for the entertainment industry. It gets lonely. That may sound kind of selfish, and I know you’re skeptical, but I’d love it if you could be my diversion for a while.” You raise an eyebrow. You can play that game too. “No, that came out all wrong. Not that I’d just be using you as a distraction! I mean, I just. I’d like to spend time with someone who treats me normally, and I’d genuinely like that to be you. Sorry if that’s weird for you seeing as we’ve only just met.”

“No, that’s not weird at all.” You say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his eyes. “Alright, but you’re buying. You do owe me one.” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He says, eyes still locked with yours. “See you soon then.” You say. “If I’m lucky.” He says with a wink as he turns to leave. Dear goodness he’s charming. 

As soon as he leaves your manager comes up behind you, giving you a start. “If you don’t go meet that guy for coffee, you’re fired!” She yells. “I don’t know, girl. He’s an actor. That’s basically synonymous with being a player.” “But how could you turn down those eyes?! And his eyebrow game is just… dang. You HAVE to go.” You sigh. “Look, worst case scenario, free coffee. Best case scenario. Well I have no idea but with a guy that hot the opportunities are endless.” “You’re boy crazy.” You tease. “And you’re too cynical.” She shoots back. “Fine, I’ll go.” She punches your arm. “Now go fix your lipstick and get out of here.” 

You take a deep breath as you cross the street, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. As you walk into the coffee shop, his eyes light up and he looks at you in a way that you’ve only wished someone would look at you. He stands as you walk up to the table, standing close enough to feel the warmth between you. “So.” He says, looking down at you. You’re enjoying this height difference. “I owe you a favour, don’t I Miss Y/N?” He says, still standing awfully close to you. “That you do, Mr. Kay.” “Then let’s go cash that in.” He says with a wink. In that moment  you’ve never been so glad you decided to meet someone for coffee <3

“Spice” – A Pirates in Love Fanfiction Featuring Captain Alan

Warning – Smexy Times ahead with Alan!

Dedicated to and Inspired by hikarunohana

Rated M for Mature

The jingle of the buckles on Alan’s boots echoed along the wooden plank floor as he entered the antique stone cottage, the sound of his tentative footsteps amplified by the eerie silence of the empty room.  Nervously, he licked his lips as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, only a few rays of sunlight illuminating the small space through an aged stained-glass window.  Though there was no one in sight, the deep imprints on the cushions of the well-worn couch and a nearby half-filled cup of tea indicated that someone did indeed live somewhere within the hushed walls.  However, the sparseness of guest chairs gave off the distinct impression that the owner of said abode was not inclined towards visitors.

Alan had expected as much.  The remote location of the cottage, five miles deep into the forbidding forest and away from the port of Dione, would have been indication enough, even without the unsettling rumors about the hermetic herbalist who resided there.  The curmudgeonly crone known only as Cytherea was both revered and feared by the locals, her vast knowledge of the potency of the flora that flourished on the island bordering on magical.  It was said that her curative powers were matched only by her distaste of the residents that lived alongside her on that idyllic isle, many of whom told a terrifying tale of accidentally crossing her path while wandering the woods. Only an incredibly brave man, or an absolutely foolish one, would dare to trespass on her hallowed grounds.

Luckily for Alan, he was equal parts both.

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After Midnight- Part 1

Author’s Note: Alright so, this is my first time posting anything like this! I’ve written a bunch more parts to this already and I’m really happy with how it turned out and it is completed! If you want me to post more let me know! Basically it’s a Badboy! Michael Au. Don’t be too harsh since it’s the first fic I’ve ever posted. I felt like Michael needs more writing about him because there isn’t enough and it’s kind of a shame. Also let’s be honest bad boy Michael is hot as fuck.   Anyways let me know what you think! More to come soon :)

Word Count:4.7k

Rating: G for now, but it will get smutty in the future.

It had been months since I’d last seen him. Months since he broke my heart  and I was finally starting to move on. He had been my first everything, my first real boyfriend, my first kiss, my first time, my first love. He had this way about him, that just made you fall in love, no matter how much you didn’t want to. Maybe it was the tattoos, the piercings and colorful hair? Maybe it was the way he looked at me with those beautiful green eyes, or the way he looked when he smiled and the sound of his laugh? Maybe it was the fact that he came across as the most self confident asshole you could meet, until you got to know him and you realized he was simply a shy, sweet, lovable, kitten. Maybe it was how he could go from joking about balls and dicks one second to talking about what he thought the meaning of life was and revealing his deepest fears and his darkest secrets? It was a combination of all of those things that made me fall in love.

                             We met each other one Friday night at a party in high school. Everyone was either drunk or high, people were making out and grinding every which way you looked. I was never really the partying sort, but my best friend dragged me out with her that night, although after ten minutes she disappeared and left me on my own. “Great”, I thought to myself, “the one person I know here just left me and she’s my ride. So now I have to wait for god knows how long until she’s finished doing whatever the hell she thought was so important that she couldn’t miss out on. I started walking around exploring the house that was in the midst of being trashed, trying to find somewhere that the stench of weed wasn’t as overwhelming, because I already thought I was going to be sick. I wandered down a flight of stairs curious as to what I might find. When I reached the bottom, I found myself in a finished basement with the lights turned all the way down. There was a group of kids sitting in a circle, playing what appeared to be a very drunk game of spin the bottle. “Seriously?” I thought, “What are we? In middle school?” I rolled my eyes in disgust and turned in a different direction. There was a door placed to the left of the staircase, so I thought why not check it out? All I found there was a bathtub full of ice and alcohol. Not finding anything that interested me I headed back up the stairs. It’s not that I’d never had alcohol or been drunk, but when I was I preferred to do so in my own home. I’d had enough of this, so I decided to go outside on the back porch and look at the stars. I took a seat on the step and looked up. The sky truly was beautiful that night, the stars seemed brighter than I’d ever noticed and the moon was full. All those people inside, too wasted to appreciate it. That was one of my pet peeves, nobody every stops to admire the little things. I’d been outside staring up at the sky for what felt like ages, I looked down at my phone and it was just a little past midnight. I looked back up the sky, ‘oh well, at least it’s a nice night.’ I thought. I was snapped out of my daydream like state of mind when I heard the sliding glass door open. I didn’t bother turning around, it was probably just another drunk idiot looking for more beer. After a moment I felt the porch getting shakier from the heavy feet making their way towards me. A boy sat down next to me, wearing black ripped up skinny jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket. His hair was dyed bright red and he had an eyebrow piercing in his right eyebrow. His eyes were bright green, the brightest green I’d ever seen. His tongue dipped out of his cherry red lips and swiped across them before he spoke.

“Beer?” He asked me offering me his.

“No thanks.” I said looking back up at the sky.

“What are you doing?” He asked laughing with a cocky tone. “You seem a bit too sober to be here right now?”

“The sky looks extra beautiful tonight, I think. It’s a shame no one appreciates it.”

“Are you high?” He chuckled in a low tone.

“No, I am aggressively sober right now.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My best friend is an idiot and needed me to come so I can drive her drunk ass home later.”

“Sure you don’t want some?” He asked again nodding towards the beer in his hand.

“Did you not just hear me? I have to drive later. No thanks, I’m good.” I said looking straight into the darkness in front of us. I could see he nodded slightly, out of the corner of my eye. He set the bottle down on the step in front of us and looked up at the sky.

“You’re right, the sky does look nice tonight. I’m Michael, by the way.”

“Y/N. Why are you even out here? The party is inside.”

“I noticed you sitting out here an hour ago, and you were still here when I walked back by. I wanted to make sure you weren’t like, dead or something.”

“Well, I’m not, so you can go back to whatever it is you really want to be doing.”

“I am doing what I want.” It was silent for a few minutes, the dull swirl of music coming from inside the house, not making the tension any less awkward. Why was he even still sitting here? “So, what should I know about you?” He asked taking a sip of his drink.

“Why would you want to know anything?”

“Let me guess, and tell me how many of these things I’m right about. You’re a straight A student, never smoked, never drank, never had sex, never snuck out, never broken the rules?” He asked smirking raising his pierced brow.

“What makes you assume any of that?”

“You’re at a gigantic party on a Friday night, and instead of drinking or smoking or making out with a stranger, you’re sitting outside looking at the sky. Plus I’ve seen you around and I know what you’re all about. You are the ultimate good girl.” I rolled my eyes, what an ass.

“I’m sorry is there a point to this conversation? Because I don’t see one.”

“The point is, Princess, I would really love to be the one to corrupt you.” Why the hell was I so attracted to this idiot?

“Again, I’ll pass.” He laughed again. “What exactly is so funny?”

“You, Princess. I’m gonna make you fall in love with me.”

“Sorry. ‘Self absorbed asshole’ isn’t really my type.”

“I’m insulted, Princess” He scoffed in a sarcastic tone.

“Do you even go to my school? Because I’ve never ever seen you before.”

“I’m definitely enrolled there. I just make a point to never go to class, I’ve got more important things to do.”

“Like what? Getting drunk and taking advantage of girls?”

“Though I do love drinking, I save that for my evenings. I’m too busy with my band to give a shit about school. I don’t take advantage of anybody. Any girl that I’ve been with has come onto me. That’s why I like you, you’re playing hard to get, and I like a challenge.”

“When you say playing, that implies that this is some kind of game to you, so don’t waste your time because you’ll lose.” I said getting up and heading back inside. I faintly heard him respond as I walked away.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, when I want something, I get it.” I rolled my eyes as I slid the glass closed behind me and went to search for my friend. When I found her she was laughing her ass off and almost too drunk to move. It was definitely time to go. I hoisted her up and started dragging her out to our car. I drove her home and tucked her into bed. Her parents were gone for the weekend so I stayed with her. I had the privilege of sleeping on her floor, as I laid there, not about to get any sort of a good night’s sleep, due to the combination of my best friend throwing up, the hard floor, and my mind being unable to stop thinking about him. I wanted to know what his deal was? Why did I never notice him before? How long had he noticed me for? “Hey? Are you still awake?” I asked after her throwing up stopped for ten minutes.


“Do you know a guy named Michael? Red hair? Eyebrow piercing.”

“Oh yeah I know him, he’s bad news.” She yawned.

“Why do you say that?” I never got an answer. Monday morning at school I wondered if I’d see him. Probably not, he said he never came to school. Why would he show up on a Monday morning? I didn’t even want to be here and my life was studying and getting good grades. I was busy putting my books in my locker and organizing myself for the day when someone leaned up against the locker next to mine. I saw the black combat boots and I was shocked, to say the least.

“Morning Princess.” He said tapping me on the shoulder, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, so you do go here? Wow, and no alcohol in your bloodstream but you’re still a cocky prick.”

“Baby I don’t like the assumptions, they aren’t fair.”

“They aren’t assumptions when they’re facts.”

“Oh and what made you decide that was a fact?”

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve had sex with any girl at this school you could get your hands on and that you walk around with that stupid smile plastered on your face all the time, or that you think you can call me baby and princess.” I said shutting my locker and walking away from him, but he followed me.

“Go out with me Friday night.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I know you’re dying to have a little fun, and I sort of fascinate you.”

“I can think of about a million other things I’d rather do on a Friday night than spend it with you.”

“One date. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Again, no thanks.”

“What can I do to get you to say yes?”

“Nothing. Excuse me, I have a class to go to.” I said pushing past him and going to my history class, taking a seat in the back, since it was the only place left. Usually I sat up front, but since he held me up on my way to class I lost my spot. I guess it didn’t matter we were watching a movie. Then he strolled in.

“Mr. Clifford, nice of you to join us for once.” Said my teacher in a snarky tone. What the fuck? Is he in this class? I guess I wouldn’t know if he never shows up, and that same cocky smirk appeared on his lips as he took a seat next to me, and there was no where I could move.

“Princess, I’m actually in class for you. The least you could do is go out with me, just give me two hours on Friday night, I promise you won’t regret it.” He whispered scooting closer to my chair. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, pulling my skirt down, for some reason feeling extremely vulnerable.

“No talking.” Said the monotone voice of my teacher from the front of the room.

“What part of ‘not interested’ do you not understand?” I whispered back.

“The ‘not’ part.” He whispered back laughing. “C’mon, one date. If you still hate me afterwards I’ll stop bugging you.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll pick you up at 9.” He said winking at me.  9? I mean I get that it’s a Friday night but 9? Whatever it’s one Friday night I’m giving up. I didn’t see him for the rest of the school week. How did he even know where to pick me up? We hadn’t talked since Monday, but I wasn’t gonna be mad if he didn’t show up. All Friday afternoon I couldn’t decide how I wanted to dress. I didn’t know whether I should dress myself up as pretty as I could, just to make him mad that he can’t have me or if I shouldn’t try at all. I settled on a baby blue dress that was the perfect mix between casual and pretty. To my surprise a car pulled into my driveway at nine on the dot. I was planning on just going outside to meet him but he beat me to my front door, and rang the door bell. I opened it to find him standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and I was a bit thrown off. “I uhm, I got you these.” He said handing them to me. For once he didn’t have a cocky air about him and I was completely confused.

“Oh, uhm, thank you?” I said not really sure how to respond.

“You ready to go?”

“One second, let me get my jacket.” I put the flowers down on my kitchen counter and went to grab my jacket out of the closet. He stood waiting on my front step, and I was just trying to understand who this person was. What happened to the guy I met at the party and the guy on Monday morning? This has to be an act and I’m not going to fall for it. He looked the same, black skinny jeans, combat boots and that damn leather jacket, with what looked like a black button up underneath. Was that his attempt at dressing nicely? He even went as far as opening my car door for me. “So what exactly are we doing, and why did we have to wait until 9?”

“You’ll see.” He said smirking as he back out of my driveway. There he was, the guy I met last weekend. We drove for a while and then all at once he pulled over onto the side of the road and parked. I looked at him completely confused for about the tenth time in the past half hour.

“Why’d you stop?”

“We’re here.” He said casually, while unbuckling his seat belt and getting out. I wasn’t really sure if getting out of the car was a good idea, what the fuck did he have planned? He opened the trunk of his car and started pulling things out. I unbuckled my seat belt, still unsure about what to do. I opened my door and got out cautiously, at least I had pepper spray in my purse if I needed it. I noticed he had a guitar case slung over his shoulder and a blanket and picnic basket in one hand. I looked at him, still completely dumbfounded. He smirked, although it didn’t seem cocky this time, it just seemed genuine.

“So what? Is this where you take me into the middle of nowhere and murder me?” I teased

“C’mon.” He said shaking his head and holding out his empty hand. I reluctantly took it and we started walking into a giant field, but we didn’t stop like I thought we would. Instead we started walking into a wooded area and now I wasn’t so sure about this.

“Where are we going? Cause I’m not really into this whole walking in the woods in the darkness thing.”

“We’re almost there.” After another five minutes we were near a clearing, and a little further ahead I saw what looked like a train, sitting there.

“What are we doing here?” He didn’t answer me, all he did was keep pulling me towards the train. “Michael I am not breaking and entering into this train.”

“Relax, it’s been broken down for years, it doesn’t get used, I come here all the time.”

“All the time as in, you bring girls here all the time? What is this, where you take girls to fuck them? I have news for you, that’s not gonna happen. I’m not gonna be another one of your sexual conquests. That’s just not going to happen. so if that’s what you think you can take me home right now.”

“That’s not what I think. And no I don’t bring girls here. I come here by myself. I like to write songs out here and think. You’re the first girl I’ve brought here, I thought you would like it.”

“And why would I like this?”

“Because it’s outside, and you like being outside, you like looking at the stars, and this is the best place I know to do that.” He said pulling open the car door and stepping up inside setting everything down before helping me up. Now I understood, the ceiling was missing and you could see all the stars perfectly. He shut the door and started setting up whatever he had in the basket. I could see he’d already pretty much made it his own, a few band posters hung up on the walls, there were pillows, some empty beer bottles, battery powered fairy lights hung up around the top, and there were countless other items he’d collected over I didn’t know how much time. I sat down on the blanket he set down, against a few of the pillows and stretched my legs out crossing them. He sat down next to me pulling out a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses. See here he was confusing me again. If I would have guessed I would have said he’d bring like, wine, or beer, or something that contained alcohol.

“Okay, I’m so confused by you.”

“Why? What’s confusing?”

“Because sometimes you’re an ass, but you keep doing sort of decent things, and I guess I don’t really get it. Who are you? Like are you actually a jerk or is that some front you put on? Do you mean anything you say? Or is the whole bad-ass thing an act? Or are you actually a jerk who just wants to get in my pants?”

“I’m not a jerk that just wants to get in your pants. I know it seems like I have a reputation but it’s not what it sounds like. I’m not a bad guy.”

“So then what’s with the way you act when other people are around? What’s with the stupid “I’m a bad-ass thing” you do?”

“If people think you’re a dick they don’t mess with you. If they think I’m trouble it just means I don’t have to deal with expectations and no one bothers me. I’m free to do what I want.”

“Then how come last weekend you were all, “I wanna corrupt you” I said mocking him.

“Oh I meant that. I might not be an asshole, but I like breaking rules. I want you to let loose and have fun for once in your life.”

“You don’t know my life, partying and breaking rules doesn’t automatically equal fun.”

“I know that you maintain straight A’s, your parents expect a lot from you, and you spend a lot of your free time studying. You’re under a lot of pressure. I know you never get to have any fun, and breaking rules and partying is the best way to have fun.”

“And that’s where we disagree. I don’t find waking up with a bitch of a hangover fun. I don’t like being out of control of myself. That’s when bad stuff happens.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you. “

“It’s true. And when you’re fucked up you don’t appreciate the little stuff.”

“I think you can. When I’m stoned everything is a million times more amazing.”

“But that’s not real, and then everything in reality just seems mediocre.”

“Have you ever even been high before though?” He asked raising an eyebrow at me.

“No and I don’t plan on it. I don’t want the appreciation I have for all the beauty in the world to be tainted by messing with the chemicals in my brain.”

“See that’s another thing I like about you, you know what you think about things. You’re the first girl I’ve met in a while that isn’t afraid of disagreeing with me.”

“No point in pretending I think you’re right when you aren’t.” I shrugged.

“What else do I need to know about you?”

“You seem to think you have me all figured out. So what do I need to know about you? And how do you even know all of that?”

“You know your neighbor across the street? Calum? He’s like my best friend and he plays bass in my band. What do you wanna know?”

It was silent for a minute and then I just had to ask, “Why’d you bring a guitar? and to be honest, I don’t really know him. I’ve seen him a couple times, but I didn’t even know his name. I know his sister better, and we’ve spoken like 5 times since they moved here.”

“Ah, well” He said reaching for the case and opening it. “Personally, I don’t think there is anything more romantic than an acoustic guitar.”

“I still don’t get it, what’s your angle here?”

“My angle? There is no angle. I just want you to like me.”

“Why? Why is how I feel about you important? It shouldn’t damage your ego that much if I don’t like you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Even though you’ve never noticed me, I’ve had a thing for you, for a long time. I think you are really interesting, and beautiful and smart, you’re sorta perfect.” He said scratching the back of his head and looking up at me shyly.

“You’re wrong about that, I’m not perfect. Nobody is perfect. Perfect isn’t real. I hate the word perfect.” I said biting my lip and looking up at the stars. “Play me something?”  He started picking and strumming and it took me a moment to recognize what it was he was playing. He was playing ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out’ by The Smiths. I couldn’t say I wasn’t impressed, it was one of my favorite songs. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That, that’s one of my favorite songs?”

“See now I know you’re perfect. That is my all time favorite song.”

“Why because it’s tragic?”

“No because it’s about loving someone so much that you realize life isn’t even worth living without them, and if you died with them, you could die happy. Tragedy isn’t beautiful, it’s fucking awful, and this world is full of it. I like it because the point is, sometimes you meet someone who even in the darkest of times makes it a little brighter and you can feel confident in knowing even when you’re feeling your worst, and you think there isn’t anything good left, you know in the back of your mind that there’s always a bright place in the darkness.” This was a side of him that I really, really liked. One that was thoughtful and deep. One that was real and vulnerable. I know you can’t catch feelings, but I’d caught them.

“Well, for the record, I don’t hate you. So if that was your goal you’ve achieved it.” The same genuine smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as he put his guitar down. I was about to ask him about his band when my phone rang. It was my Dad and he wanted me home. “Hi- I told you I- okay- alright- be there as soon as I can- yes she has to drive me home, she picked me up- okay- okay- bye”

“What was that about? She?”

“My Dad, he wants me home. I’m sorry, but we’ve gotta go, otherwise I’m dead. I maybe sort of lied and told my parents I was going out with a girlfriend tonight.”

“The good girl lied? I’m impressed. I’m corrupting you already aren’t I? Why did you though? And seriously it’s only 11? Do you have to be home right now?”

“I had to lie. They’d never let me go out if they knew I was with you. Just take me home please?”

“What’s that suppose to mean? I’ll take you home, only if you promise you’ll go out with me again?”

“It means they would take one look at you and freak. You know what? Okay.”

“Why would they freak out?”

“Well, let’s start with the fact that you have bright red hair, you have tattoos on your fingers, you have an eyebrow pierced, you wear a leather jacket. You sort of scream I’m gonna ruin your daughter’s life.” I laughed. “To them anyways.”

“Oh yeah? And to you?”

“I’ll let you know. I haven’t decided yet.” As he drove me home, I felt something I’d never felt. Maybe he really wasn’t the jerk everyone made him out to be? When we pulled into the driveway, I wasn’t sure what to do. Do I kiss him? Do I not? “So uhm, I guess I’ll see you? Thanks for tonight.” I said getting out and heading towards my front door.

“Wait a second.” He said getting out behind me and catching up to me and taking my hand, looking down into my eyes. “I uhm, I had a really great time tonight.” He said moving a strand of hair away from my face. He was about to kiss me wasn’t he? When his lips reached mine I felt my stomach erupting with butterflies, this kiss was electric. He had no idea it was my first kiss ever, and it was one to remember, in such a good way. When he pulled away the genuine smile was once again taking over his expression, as I gently bit the inside of my bottom lip. “So I’ll call you.” He said winking and walking away. I rolled my eyes smiling to myself, as I went inside. When I walked inside my Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading the news paper.

“How was your night? Besides being late for curfew? Which by the way means you’re grounded for the rest of the weekend.” He said not even glancing up from his paper.

“I’m sorry I’m late, really. We were just talking and I lost track of time. It won’t happen again. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”  I headed up the stairs into my bedroom and I looked out my window across the street at the Hood’s house. If they were best friends and I’d never really noticed either one of them. I guess it was due to the fact that my nose was always buried in a book, or I was too busy doing homework to notice anything around me. I’m terrible in that way, it’s true. My parents have me essentially only focused on school and my grades and getting into a good college. I wasn’t even allowed to have a job because they wanted me to be studying. It did get tiring, trying to be the ‘perfect daughter’, and the ‘perfect student.’ I hated the word perfect and that’s who Michael thought I was, he thought I was perfect and that’s not what I want. I don’t want people to think I’m perfect, nobody is. I just have to keep it together, I don’t have another choice. I also don’t have anything to complain about, my parents want what’s best for me and they give me everything. There are kids out there who don’t have that kind of support. I don’t want to be ungrateful, and I just want to make them proud. After tonight, however I was truly reconsidering my life choices. He made me feel alive, and I didn’t feel like I had to be anything but myself with him. It was something I’d never felt before.

Date Night - Klaine [PG-13]

McKinley High’s resident skank Kurt Hummel decides to take his nerdy boyfriend out on a special date. (~3k / AO3 link)

Thanks to livwholikestv for betaing and everyone else who gave me their input and ideas on twitter. klainesupremist I hope this makes you smile because you deserve to smile always and at all times.

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happy birthday, eliorah! 
title: invincible
pairing: shizuo/izaya
word count: 2245
summary: zombie apocalypse!au in a world where everyone's
eating each other's brains, izaya decides that his last
words will be a pun--though, does heiwajima shizuo have the
brain capacity to understand it?

Orihara Izaya had never used a gun.

Handled one, sure. All the time. He knew models and types, knew which was the most appropriate for who, for what. But pulling the trigger was something he’d never done before. He’d felt the weight, the cool metal in his hand. He’d even waved it around, playfully mimicked the sound it would make if he were to shoot it, pointed it at something arbitrarily. Like a child with a toy.

But even fully loaded, Izaya had never actually used it or even thought about it.

Because for one thing, Orihara Izaya loved his humans—why would he kill them?

And another: if he were to kill them, why in such a cold, impersonal, quick fashion?


Sitting on top of a pile of crates, Izaya was handling one he had managed to grab before his office was raided by those disgusting monsters. They were absolutely atrocious; it was honestly a travesty what his precious humans had become. Zombies. Rotting flesh and bared teeth, blood and moans; Izaya had taken moments to stare and shudder in disgust before narrowly avoiding being caught by one.

Shinra was probably fine. He had Celty and she probably saved them. It didn’t surprise Izaya that the doctor was nowhere to be found; he tried his phone and then Celty’s, but after one call to each, he didn’t bother anymore. Naturally, Shinra didn’t spare Izaya a second thought. Not when it meant keeping Celty and himself safe.

What a bastard.

Straightening, Izaya looked over to see the only other non-zombiefied person (had he really just called him a person?) in Ikebukuro. They had found each other in the streets and it was relatively easy for Shizuo to figure out Izaya was fine, but the blond was such a mess, covered in blood and looking so angry that Izaya had difficulty distinguishing him from the mob behind him. But when Shizuo barked out his name, Izaya knew instantly that Shizuo was still Shizuo (was that really a good thing?) and murmured ‘follow me.’

They had found an abandoned warehouse to hide in until they came up with a plan of attack. Shizuo did most of the talking; he was pissed, his words kept getting jumbled, he swore every three syllables, there was no use trying to talk to him. So Izaya didn’t. He stayed silent until now, when he stood, some of the wooden panels of boxes creaking under his weight. Shizuo had been rattling on and on and Izaya wasn’t listening; maybe it was a defense mechanism, to not think about Kasuka and his friends, what they had become.

Poor, poor Shizu-chan.

Not that Izaya cared about Shizuo’s feelings.


His voice was bright and cheery.

Shizuo turned around, blood and cuts all over his uniform. Blue shades were cracked, but he still wore them, hardly able to conceal the anger in his eyes as he grunted, having finally run out of ranting a good five minutes ago. “What?”

“Shizu-chan is drop dead gorgeous,” Izaya called airily. “We’d be a good match, no?”

Shizuo’s eyes narrowed. “…What the fuck?”

Izaya smirked. His fingers curled around the gun in his pocket and brought it out, pressed the cold barrel to the soft flesh under his neck. Shizuo’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, just stared, as if in disbelief. And Izaya, if he were a spectator, probably would have too, if he were staring at himself.

“Because, Shizu-chan…”

His finger curled around the trigger.

“I recently dropped dead.”


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