I haven’t lived with a girl for a while, which sucks because I used to borrow clothes all the time when I lived with girls in drama school. I think I still have plenty of clothes from my first flatmate! I used to wear my mum’s clothes a lot. She had this really cool old denim jacket that she had in the ’80s and then I left it on a plane—I’ve still not forgiven myself. It was baggy, in a faded denim, and I’d wear it with the sleeves pushed up.

in the moment.

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader
best friend au / fluff
word count:
the best moments with jeon jungkook have always happened by chance.
author’s note:
well, this came out longer than i thought it would. it was also inspired by this post because game night with namkook seemed too fun not to write~

It’s funny how easily people come into your life. Sometimes they pass through, other times they stick around for a while, and even rarer times, you come across the ones that stay. The ones in the last group almost always come by chance. Though arguably anything that happens by chance seem to be the best ones.

You’ve found that last statement to be true.

The best moments in your life have always happened by chance. From that one spontaneous trip to downtown by yourself, which you learned a few things about the city’s oldest bookstore and yourself to that time you met someone who stayed, who actually continues to stay. To be more specific, despite how cheesy this’ll sound, this was how you met your best friend, Jeon Jungkook—by chance.

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so uhhhhh, in light that it’s practically halloween for the entire month and also seeing as i just reached 1500 followers (um this blog is trash n i’m shookt to the core??), i quickly whipped up another piece of shitty cc for you all. ✨

👻 this faded black denim jacket is an accessory piece that comes in 6 spoopy flavours.
🎃 you’ll need @blogsimplesimmer‘s denim jacket accessory for this to work!

Be My Guest

 Warning: Smut, Language, Older Man/Young Girl Relationship, Unnamed O/C

Summary/Prompt: There’s something about Alfred’s 19 year old daughter. 

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! Feel free to send in your requests :)

Originally posted by banshy

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Dean Winchester x Reader

1200 Words

Story Summary: Pining for Dean Winchester, you decide to distract yourself with the bartender. Until Dean notices.

A/N: This is for @impalaimagining and her  Cheesy Pick Up Line challenge. My cheesy pick up line was: Can I tie your shoe? Because I can’t have you fall for anyone else. 

With both of your hands wrapped around the frosty glass, you couldn’t help but chuckle as Sam and Dean once again won the pool game, raking in another couple hundred dollars. The college boys had no idea what had hit them, begrudgingly handing the money over. Sam was following Dean’s lead, and Dean was portraying a drunk all too well.

“Did you see that Y/N?” He exclaimed as he leaned against the bar, leaning dangerously close to you, and you could smell the distinct aroma of Dean. A mixture of car oil, gunpowder and musk, it was a heady combination that exclaimed he was all male. And he was. If he knew how hard of a time you had keeping your hands off him, well, you don’t know what would happen.

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FN Gothic: You are on chopped. Alex Guarnaschelli is tasting your dish. “Its so…daddy” she says. You gasp. You look down and realize you have a pot belly and are wearing 1996-circa faded denim jeans with loafers. Your hands are calloused and hairy. You can’t see. You put on your glasses. ‘Since when do I need glasses?’ you think. You now clearly see the judges. They all look like you. They are all average BBQ dads with salt and pepper goatees. Ted Allen makes a dad joke. You scream, but the only sound that comes out is a hearty, dad-like chuckle. You realize you are standing in a backyard. Someone asks if you want mustard on your burger. You are crying

(submitted by anonymous)

starsinoureyescas  asked:

Could I request a destiel au where maybe dean has been smoking since he was in high school, and he's never really had a reason to quit. He's perfectly content to stay in his ways until he meets and falls for Sam's friend Castiel, who is severely asthmatic. He can't be around when Dean smokes, because it's a trigger for his attacks, so dean tries to quit for him? (Sorry this is so long! 😂 I love the seven minutes in Heaven ficlet, but the way!)

This got a little longer than I intended (mostly because I spent way too much time on the backstory) so I hope you enjoy it! Also, I’m so glad you liked the seven minutes in heaven fic! (also on ao3!)

Dean had never intended to become a smoker.

It was just something that sort of happened. Like the fact that he lost his virginity in the backseat of his car when he was sixteen or happened to enjoy wearing women’s panties or fell in love with his brother’s best friend.

He had smoked his first cigarette when he was thirteen.

His mom had been out for the night, having dinner with a few of her friends that she hadn’t seen in awhile. Sam was out of the house, having a sleepover with a few of his own friends.

His dad had ended up falling asleep on the couch after watching a rather intense wrestling match. Gunner Lawless had won, of course.

Dean had been bored out of his mind, desperately trying to come up with some way to entertain himself. Like any thirteen year old red-blooded American boy, he was a little reckless, rebellious for the sake of being rebellious.

Watching TV had been out of the question since they only had one, which was stationed in the living room, and turning it on would mean waking his dad. And his dad could be a grumpy son of a bitch when woken from up, like a crotchety old bear whose hibernation had been interrupted.

Video games were out of the question, too. Mostly because they required the use of the TV and partially because Sam had taken their best games with him.

He ate some leftovers from the night before, using the carved up turkey to make a few sandwiches. But as much as he loved food, it was a poor substitute for worthwhile entertainment.

He was desperately searching for a way to pass the time, to cure his mind-numbing boredom, and satisfy his insatiable curiosity. So, with his dad still snoring on the couch, Dean swiped his pack of Marlboros and a lighter and snuck outside to smoke his first cigarette.

His dad had been a smoker since he was a teenager himself, a trait he had picked up from his own dad. Dean had always secretly suspected it had something to do with maintaining a manly image.

Dean’s mom had been insisting that John quit smoking for years, citing the numerous health risks involved with the dirty little habit. But his dad had always just brushed it off, always claimed it would be his New Year’s resolution, always put it off for another year.

John had finally relented when Mary decided to take a more passive aggressive route.

Whenever John would come home from a long day of work at the garage, covered in grease and grime and sweat, and leaned in to kiss her hello, Mary would twist away. Waving a hand, she would dismiss, “Oh, John, you know I hate kissing you after you’ve smoked.”

That pattern had gone on for weeks. And as much as Dean hated to admit that his mom holding out on his dad in the bedroom — hell, he didn’t even like to think about it — was what finally convinced his dad to quit smoking.

John had gradually reduced his cigarette consumption little by little. He slowly but surely went from a pack every few days to a pack a week to a pack a month.

But at thirteen, Dean hadn’t been thinking about the fact that his dad was a taking a step to improve his health. All he had been thinking about was trying out a cigarette himself.

With John slumbering on the couch and no one else home to catch him, Dean had tiptoed into his parents’ bedroom where he rummaged around for his dad’s pack of cigarettes. He had eventually found it in the pocket of his dad’s favorite leather jacket along with an old silver Zippo.

Prize in hand, Dean had quietly crept outside to the backyard to enjoy the spoils of his little covert mission. He had hidden in the shadow of a tall pine tree, not wanting any of their neighbors to spot him.

He had shivered a bit, the ground cold beneath his socked feet. Winter would be there soon, hopefully bringing snow days so he could get out of his most boring classes.

He had placed the butt of a cigarette between his lips the same way he had seen his dad do a million times. Flicking the igniter on the Zippo, summoning a small dancing flame, he raised the lighter to the end of the cigarette.

He had only managed to take a few short puffs of the cigarette before he was bent over coughing, hacking up a lung. His eyes had watered from the intensity of his coughing fit, his stomach aching from it.

He hadn’t understood how anyone could get addicted to smoking. It was horrible. And it tasted beyond disgusting.

It definitely wasn’t as cool as everyone in the movies made it look.

Dean had snubbed out the cigarette after recovering from his fit, tossing it over the fence into their neighbor’s trash can to destroy the evidence of his little crime. He hadn’t wanted to get the same lecture about how dangerous and disgusting smoking was that his mother had often given his father.

Slipping back inside, he had returned the pack of cigarettes and the Zippo to his dad’s jacket pocket. Then he brushed his teeth three times and chugged two glasses of water just to get the taste of nicotine out of his mouth. It really wasn’t that cool.

The only people he had ever told included his three best friends and, after swearing him to secrecy, Sam. It remained his dirty little secret for years until more important ones took its place.

He had smoked his second cigarette when he was seventeen, only a few months before he turned eighteen.

He had been at a party celebrating the most recent win of their high school football team, of which he was the star player, voted MVP after nearly every single game they played. One of the other players on the team, a rich kid whose parents were out of town often enough for him to do so, had invited half of the school to his palatial home.

Dean had been hanging out with Benny and Jo, Charlie having already found a pretty girl to disappear upstairs with. They had been sipping on illegally obtained beer in red solo cups, shooting the breeze about school and work and other crap that wouldn’t matter once they graduated.

From across the room, a cute cheerleader had caught his eye. In her bright hot pink tank top and the tiny scrap of faded denim that she called shorts, she was rather hard to miss.

She had winked at him, biting her plump bottom lip between her teeth and beckoning him over with a crooked finger, nodding her head towards the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He would have had to be an idiot to refuse such a blatant invitation.

With a salute to his friends that was greeted by a round of eye rolling, Dean had crossed the crowded room to her. The pretty brunette had led him outside to a patio where a few other guys from the football team were hanging out, each of them with at least two girls hanging off their arms, all of whom vying to be the next homecoming queen.

All of them were smoking, the lit ends of their cigarettes bright in the shoddy patio lighting.

He had been smart enough to know that smoking wouldn’t make him cool, that he shouldn’t smoke just to fit in with a people whose names he barely knew. But he had also been young and dumb enough to only be thinking with the head between his legs.

So when the brunette, whose name he later learned was Amy, pulled a white and green box out of her back pocket and offered him a cigarette, he had accepted without a moment of hesitation.

That time, he managed not to double over coughing, muffling the few coughs that did escape his lips by laughing a little too hard at the stupid jokes one of the other guys made. It had been a menthol cigarette, the taste of mint soothing the nausea he felt thanks to the plethora of chemicals he was inhaling.

Amy had seemed impressed. Enough so that she blew him in the bathroom later.

He had started smoking regularly after that, at least socially. He would accept a cigarette whenever someone at a party or a bar offered him one, telling himself that it would be rude to refuse.

Women seemed to like it, along with a few guys. They told him it made him seem more mysterious, more mature.

Personally, he had to agree. He thought it gave him a bit of a James Dean quality. Especially when he wore his leather jacket.

He started carrying gum and breath mints around wherever he went, for both his own benefit and others. He didn’t imagine it was all that enjoyable to kiss someone who tasted like an ashtray.

Unfortunately, he had to hide his smoking from his family. At least until he was old enough to buy us own cigarettes and by then, he was a bona fide smoker.

He smoked between classes while in college, attending the University of Kansas for automotive technologies. He always made sure he could sneak out for a smoke break every few hours at work.

When he moved into his own apartment, he was able to smoke freely, not having to worry about the smoke bothering anyone.

The only place he drew the line was his car. His baby deserved better than the stench of nicotine and tobacco that lingered when he smoked, that soaked into every fiber of his clothing.

His mother had been beside herself when she found out. Not a second later, she had launched into a lecture that Dean already knew by heart, detailing the horrible effects of smoking. Meanwhile, his dad had just looked impossibly guilty, more disappointed in himself than in Dean.

Yet while they both clearly disapproved of his smoking, along with Sam, they accepted that they couldn’t make him stop smoking. He doubted that anything could.

He didn’t think he would ever find a good reason to quit. Until he met Castiel Novak.

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How Charming

Request: no

Warnings: alcohol, language, violence, sex (allusions) 

Summary: The Sons were meant to keep Charming safe, so naturally shit happens when the Winchesters arrive but maybe they’re best friend is more useful than they thought. 

Tags: @arian5a @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @mishaohmygod @lightthischickup @lupine-princess @coffeebooksandfandomsohmy

Originally posted by karladahmer

Charming was far from being accurately named, there was a dark side far worse than the cozy name implied. For all that went bump in the night, there were the Sons. Big, burly, and brave they rode together, died together under Jax’s command. 

For the Winchesters and Company, Charming was merely another notch in a belt full of "just passing through.” All the towns blended into one: each had a jail, police station, and nosy neighbors who just wanted to haunt progress for the sake of gossip. The Winchester brothers never saw much of the latter, often only seeing victims and their families. The domestic side of hunting was delegated to Y/N. 

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Jar Of Hearts

Summary: Jensen and Y/N had a love that happens once in a lifetime, until it slipped through their fingers. Years later, he has moved on, but deep in his heart she will always be the one he dreams of. Y/N returns with a secret he’ll never know.

Characters: Jensen, Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 2935

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, romance, sadness, guilt, pain, regret, tears…. I could go on.

A/N: originally written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s Anti-Valentine’s challenge, but got hopelessly delayed. Based on Christina Perri song by the same title. Lyrics are bolded, flashbacks/back story are italicized. Beta’d by the lovely @eyes-of-a-disney-princess and @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid


Originally posted by spn-spam


You sit at the small coffee bar table all alone, fingers worrying at the cup of forgotten coffee going colder every moment, your knees are pressed tightly together below the tabletop, ankles crossed and one foot bouncing in double-time to the heartbeat you can feel at the back of your tongue. A shadow passes across your hands and you glance up to the glass door and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. Hipsters in their chill wide cropped pants scoff at the new professionals in knockoff Stella McCartney. Still, every one of them has a phone pasted to their cheeks. Sun spots like camera flares from adjoining windows draw the straggling hopefuls in to see and be seen. Everyone chooses their part to perform. Great. This makes it easy to get lost in the slew of fake laughter and too-wide eyes.

‘This is pointless. Why did I even bother? What do I hope to accomplish?’ you whisper to yourself as your eyes range over the table top and the usual spotty utensils strangled in a paper napkin next to your elbow. A presence stops next to the chair opposite you. Without raising your head, you take your  hands from the cup and curl your fingers into fragile fists, eyes clenched shut in a silent prayer for mercy. With the contained effort of purpose, you lay your trembling palms flat on the surface in front of your cup. Only then do you open your eyes and turn your face up. To him. That one special “him”.

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“I am wearing my favorite indigo hand-blocked Malian wrap which I purchased from the artist 15 years ago, a small indigo scarf from Senegal, a vintage Liz Claiborne (LizWear) pinstriped jumpsuit, an all purpose Zara denim duster found at Salvation Army, and my trusty Pumas.I just need to be comfortable in my clothes at all times. I also look to the way indigenous people around the world cover themselves; layers of prints, textures, and patterns that serve a purpose but are also beautiful to look at to me. I love denim in all shades, fades and washes in blues and greys. I like to mix patterns, and I definitely prefer vintage pieces.”

Apr 8, 2017 ∙ Chelsea
Secret (Sirius Black x Reader)

(It’s better than the title I swear. This just came in my mind, I’m working on some requests now!)

You tried to turn the knob of the Marauder’s dorm but found it locked. ‘That’s weird’ You thought due to the fact you could hear muggle rock music being blasted.

You immediately took out your wand and muttered “Alohamora.” You heard the lock click and you pushed through the door. You were stopped in your tracks by the last sight you expected to see.

Sirius was facing away from you, his long, dark hair pulled back into a bun. He was wearing a faded denim button up, sleeves rolled over his elbows and thin grey joggers. He sat on a stool in front of an easel, a paint pallet in one hand and a brush in the other.

You closed the door softly behind you and started to walk quietly to him. He was obviously very focused and you didn’t want to distract him so you sat on his bed and just watched.

Your eyes widened in shock when you noticed the painting. It was you, asleep, resting on a white pillow. Sunlight shone across your face, making you look angelic. One arm gently placed over your head, the other across your bare chest. Sirius was working fervently, only stopping to rub his strained eyes or tuck a hair behind his ear.

About an hour later, Sirius checked his watch. He then turned to put his tools in his trunk and nearly spilt his water cup when he spotted you.

“(Y/N)! What are you doing here? I thought you went to Hogsmeade with the guys!?”

“I-I decided I’d rather spend time with you, I’m sorry.” You stuttered back, surprised he seemed so angry.

Sirius’s anger seemed to fade into embarrassment, his cheeks flushed.

“I-I… t-this isn’t anyth-”

“Sirius, why didn’t you tell me you paint.” You asked, standing and walking over to the flustered boy.

“I haven’t told anyone.” He said softly, “I thought you’d think it was… I don’t know, It’s just a bit embarrassing I guess.”

You rolled your eyes at him and gestured to his easel.

“This is the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.”

He looked skeptically at you, “Really?”

You nodded, “Really, Sirius you’re very talented.” He broke into a bit of a smirk.

He scrunched his face, “You’re not creeped out by it.”

You shook your head with a smirk, “Maybe if it was bad.”

He blushed, “I-I mean it didn’t turn out exactly as I wanted, I wanted it to be a bit more realistic. It-it’s hard with acrylic to capture what I was going for…”

He looked simply beautiful as he explained his work. Sirius usually did, his god given looks were enough but the passionate look in his eyes, the strands of hair falling from his bun against his cheeks, and the way he was chewed on his bottom lip to focus made him unbearably attractive.

“…I’m just glad you like it, you are my muse as you can see. That one night you fell asleep in my bed, you just looked like an angel. I couldn’t get the image out of my head.” He finished, a hit of nervousness in his voice.

You said nothing but pressed your lips softly to his. His were rough, but felt perfect against yours. He pulled away gently, with a smirk

“I was kind of hoping you would do that.” He mumbled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. You responded with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. He bent down again, pressing a harder, more passionate kiss. You breathed in the scent of acrylic and cologne, feeling drunk on the smell. He pulled you flush to him, running his hands down your back and resting on bum softly.

You heard a cough and heads both shot to the doorway to see 3 wide-eyed, very uncomfortable looking Marauders.