fineness thinness

Clueless (M)


Words: 9.4k

Summary: After your apartment gets flooded, Tae let’s you stay at his apartment for a few days. But things don’t go as you had expected. Your problem? Having a crush on Jimin. His problem? Well, you’re about to find out. 

Disclaimer: You all know the drill: strong mature content ahead, clueless Jimin, sharing beds, and an unexpected suggestion. Enjoy!

It had been decided that you’d be spending at least three days at V’s house.

Apparently, your plumbing hated you, and a faucet decided to blow up without you noticing, leaving most of your apartment completely flooded. You’d managed the water flow to stop, but the damage was already done, and it seemed as though you had an entire river filling the place up. Nothing you couldn’t deal with, so you picked up your phone and texted V to ask for help.

He sent you the plumber number.


“Are you fucking kidding me, Tae? We’ve been friends for years, and you send me a number? It’s two in the morning!” You had yelled at him, your patience wearing thin.

“Fine! You can come to my house until that’s fixed!” He had growled before hanging the phone in your face to go back to sleep.

You managed to stuff your bag quickly with your laptop, phone charger and a few clothes before exiting your ruined apartment. Not to mention, you’d have to call the plumber and some house service to deal with all that water first thing in the morning.

After half an hour, you’d finally reached his apartment, pressing his doorbell and waiting for him, and it didn’t take long for the door to abruptly swing open to reveal a shower-dampened and half naked Jimin dressed only in some sleeping shorts.

You had not expected to be confronted by Jimin’s bare torso, but it wasn’t as if you had never seen that before.

But more importantly, it had been quite a while since you’d last seen Jimin. And your feelings for him had never wavered even apart. It had been at least a month, and it felt like too damn long. Watching BTS live videos on Youtube wasn’t quite the same, especially considering how you felt towards him.

He had dyed his hair a soft pink color again that was slightly darkened from being wet, but he somehow seemed different besides his hair color. Something about the way he was eyeing you.

Your body reacted before your mind could, a big smile on your face “Do you greet everyone dressed like that?”

Jimin leaned against the door frame, eyeing you from head to toes. “Only you, of course.”

It as a harmless tease, you knew. However, it still made your stomach do a summersault at his sultry tone.

And then he unexpectedly swung his arms around you, gripping you into a tight embrace, and you tensed briefly before you returned the gesture, hugging him as you smell the sweet scent of his shampoo.  You felt your own shirt dampen as droplets of water fell from his hair.

“I’ve missed you!” You laughed, finally breaking the embrace.

“Me too,” Jimin stepped aside, allowing you to enter before shutting the door. “You look great.”

And so did he. More than great.

You looked around, dropping your bag by the nearby couch. “Where’s Tae?”

Jimin arched one eyebrow, drying off his hair with a towel. “Tae is not here. He’s with Jungkook on some trip that lasts the three days we have off. I thought you knew.”

What? Why hadn’t he told you anything? That was weird.

“Oh,” You started, slightly confused at that information. “So, what are you doing here?”

You tried your best not to let your eyes linger too much on any part of his body that wasn’t his face, but it was proving to be harder than expected.

“I’ve been staying here whenever we get some off time. We keep each other company.” He flashed you his trademark cute grin.

Well, it made sense. They had been friends long before you had met any of them.

Jimin yawned, rubbing the towel through his hair one last time. “I’m sorry to hear about your apartment. It sucks.”

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They Keep Calling

So, like, I’m never going to finish this thingy? So *shrug* whatever. 

Scenario where the team find Shiro in a Galra Ship and they are going to rescue him but OFC Lance pushes Keith from a clear shot from the enemy and starts bleeding and bla bla bla. 

It’s tiny; I don’t really have much to say, lmao. It  was on my drafts. 

Disclaimer: Voltron doesn’t belong to me. 

Lance coughs up blood and Keith’s eyes widen in horror as some of it lands on his cheek.

“S-sorry.” Lance whispers, a thin fine line of blood on the corner of his lips as he tries to smile down at the black haired man below him.

“L-Lance.” Keith whispers in shock, eyes darting from the brunet’s blue eyes to the gapping bullet hole in his right side of his chest, wondering how a laser can be powerful enough to break through their paladin armor. “Lance.”

“It’s okay.” Lance whispers, wincing in pain, hand hovering over his wound, “It’s okay, go find Shiro. W-we’re so close, go to him.”

Keith shakes his head at him, “No, n-no, no! Lance!”

“Keith, it’s okay.” Lance rasps out, sweat mixing with the dirt on his face and yet his smile lights up his entire face, “I got your back, love. Go.”

“Keith, we have a visual on Shiro!” Pidge’s voice echoes in their coms, “Do you copy? We need you!”

“Go, Keith.” Lance urges softly, leaning heavily against the wall, “Go.”

“Keith, where are you? KEITH!”




“No!” Keith snaps harshly, angry tears falling from his eyes as he shakes his head, “No, no, no, no! HUNK!” He yells into the comm, “Help Pidge with Shiro, forget the data of this damn ship. Follow her directions and get them out, now!”

“Where are you going? Keith!” Pidge fumes through their coms.

“I’m saving Lance, that’s what I’m doing,”

Ignoring Pidge and Hunk’s shouts of alarm and questions, Keith continues talking.“Stick to the new plan and let’s get out of here, now.” He fumes, turning around and gathering Lance in his arms, “All of us. Alive.” He stresses out strongly, his eyes lingering in Lance’s misty ones.

“Okay.” Lance whispers softly, letting himself to be carried by Keith, “Okay.”


*Noise of FaceTime ringing*

You click accept and see Shawn standing in his kitchen. You place your phone against the toaster, standing in your kitchen too. Shawn was back home from tour and you had been at home for a month now. Whilst Shawn was away, you had sent him a photo of a meal you had made yourself. He made you promise to teach him how to make it once he was home. 
“You’re gonna need to turn that music down Shawn,” you shouted so he could hear you, as if he was in the room with you. His head snapped in the direction of his phone. He lowered the music and smiled, “Hey baby.” You had the usual ‘how are you’ exchanges before he clapped his hands and said, “Let’s do this!”

“You know this is really easy right, and I don’t need to be doing this with you?” you laughed as you stepped away from the phone and made sure you had every set on the counter. “I know, but I thought it would be a cute little thing to do” Shawn confessed. “And we could see who is the better chef” he added with a smirk. “I knew it,” you sighed shaking your head. 
“Do you have everything?” You asked, knowing exactly what Shawn was like when it came to remembering things. He nodded eagerly as he changed the song. “You got the chicken?” You asked, with which he replied with a nod and smile. “The bacon?” He nodded again, “Darling I bring home the bacon, remember?” You rolled your eyes, “It wasn’t funny the first time Shawn.” He shrugged his shoulders and backed away from the phone. 
“I set the oven to 350 F degrees right?” Shawn asked, as he stood over the oven. “Yep,” you replied as you did the same. “Is it cold over there?” You asked as you reached up for the cupboard above to grab some foil. “Yeah, it’s snowing outside” Shawn said. “Really?” You said excitedly, looking at the phone. Shawn wandered over to the phone and leaned over, “(Y/N) you shouldn’t be excited about the snow. You should be excited about how great I look” he said as he brushed his hand through his hair. “Just look at my hair,” he said sarcastically, knowing that he hated it when it was too long. “Wash your hands before you continue,” you said with a cheeky smile. 

You instructed Shawn throughout the cooking process, waiting for him when he panicked that he was behind yelling, “Wait wait.”
“Ok, is your bacon thick?” You asked, as you opened your packet of bacon. Shawn remained silent so you glanced over at the screen to see him close to the camera, with a smile on his face as he repeatedly raised his eyebrows. “Grow up,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. Shawn pushed himself off the counter, “Fine, it’s thin.” You let a little chuckle escape your mouth, “Sorry.”
You wrapped pieces of bacon round pieces of chicken, hearing Shawn panic over how the bacon would stay wrapped. “You don’t need toothpicks, it will stick. Trust me,” you said loudly. 
“Ok, then you grab the bowl of brown sugar and roll the wrapped chicken around until it’s evenly coated” you said, doing just that. 
“Now I’m gonna dress myself for two, once for me; and once for someone new” you heard Shawn sing at the top of his lungs. “Concentrate Shawn,” you snapped. Shawn stopped just as he was about to sing even louder, and wandered over closely to his phone. “I’m sorry, kiss?” he asked in a sweet voice. You frowned at the phone before giving in, and puffing your lips out like he was. 

Both of you placed your wrapped chicken on the baking tray and placed them inside the ovens, and waited for 45 minutes. “You bored of being back home yet?” you asked, as you both sat on your kitchen floors opposite the ovens. Shawn nodded, “I miss performing so much. I gathered some of Aaliyahs’ old toys and set them out and performed to them.” You gave Shawn a weird look, “Did you really?” Shawn burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Of course not, I used my own toys.” You shook your head, but smiled because you had missed laughing with Shawn. “But I miss you,” he said softly. You smiled, “I’ve missed you too.” Throughout the waiting time, you’d smile whenever you caught Shawn looking past the camera at the oven, keeping a close eye on the food. Shawn would sing snippets of his songs, asking you which way you preferred when he changed the notes of words slightly. 

Finally it was time to reveal the truth, and find out who was the best cook. “Mine look like little dog shits,” Shawn laughed, flipping the camera to reveal his burnt chicken bites. “Sprinkle the parsley,” you said as you admired your perfect cooking. “Now it looks like little dog shits covered in grass,” Shawn said. You glanced at the screen and did a double take, “I said sprinkle not pour!” “Oh well,” Shawn sighed, flipping the camera back on him. “Let’s see yours.” You showed him your perfectly cooked bites and heard him curse under his breath. “I guess that means you admit defeat,” you said smiling at him feeling smug. He frowned at the camera, “Never.” 

Best Friends

Request: Can you write jughead imagine where he is clingy and the reader loves it but it’s just weird because it’s not him so she asks him why and he says that she has been spending to much time with Archie

Requested by: anonymous.

A/N: Okay, i’ve been very excited to write this. This is just such a cute idea. Thank you for the request!

Remember, requests of all kinds are closed.

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Warning: none.

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Your two best friends, Jughead and Archie. For as long as you can remember, you’ve been best friends with the two (along with Betty). They were your protectors, the boys you looked up to and the only two who seemed to understand what you were feeling before you even knew what you were feeling.

You three were so close as children, you three were inseparable. But as you grew, and days became less play-related and more school-related, your two best friends drifted. It had been fine, though hanging on thin strings, the three of you were still quite close. But it had been more you hanging out with one than the other one day, and then switching the next day. It was very rare for all three of you to be together anymore, but it still happened.

That all changed though, when the road trip you had set up for the two of them, got derailed. You had been sick of this ignorance and complete ‘pick-sides-thing’, so you had practically ordered them to go on a road trip the weekend of July fourth, refusing to join them. You thought this would help them rekindle the friendship that had dwindled the few years previous.

But then Archie had ditched Jughead, and Jughead came to you. You, of course had been mad at Archie as well, but eventually when school started and you saw how frazzled he looked, you’d forgiven him. You’d always been soft at heart.

Then the regular routine picked up again. Some days with Jughead and some with Archie. You became use to it, but you still hated it. Especially since Jughead had been acting out recently and you weren’t sure why.

Closing your locker, you shook yourself out of your musings, locking your lock and turning. You nearly jumped in spot when Jughead appeared beside you, and you held your hand against your chest with a sigh. “Seriously, Jug, you need to stop sneaking up on me.”

He let one of those few, rare smiles reserved for you, slip as he shrugged his hands into his pockets. “Pop’s?” He suggested and looking at your phone, you shrugged. 

“Sure.” You agreed and soon you found yourself sitting in a booth at Pop’s, a chocolate milkshake in front of you. Though, instead of Jughead taking the seat next you, which it seemed like he had originally planned, he suddenly scooted you over and sat beside you. 

It wasn’t that you minded. But all your life, Jughead had never been one for physical contact but if his side pressed up against yours and his arm around your waist had anything to go by, it seemed maybe you were wrong. Though you knew you weren’t. Even if you were his best friend, you were not an exception. Jughead just didn’t like physical contact.

So then why was he so close to you now?

“Juggie?” You asked, looking at him from the side of your head. He said nothing, instead huddling a bit closer and taking a bite of his burger he’d ordered. You shrugged it off, as you two fell into a soft chatter.

Soon enough you heard the bell chime and looking up because of curiosity, you saw Archie and Betty walking in. You smiled and looking down at the boy next to you, you saw him sulking. You shook your head, “Arch! Betty! Come here!” Their gaze fell on you, and immediately smile they began to walk over.

You faintly heard Jughead grumble next to you, but you shook it off. “You’re gonna have to be his friend again, eventually, Juggie.” You whispered just as Betty and Archie slid in in front of you. You easily fell into a conversation with Betty, missing the way Jughead fixed Archie with a glare.

As you talked on, you faintly noticed Jughead’s position became more straighter and him scoot even closer to you. He poked you constantly, (mainly when you spoke to Archie) and tried to gain your attention, but you only gave him a sideways glare.

You weren’t sure why he was being so clingy. This was so unlike him. But, thinking back you had to be honest and mention that this kind of behaviour had been happening a lot with him. And you just couldn’t figure out why.

“So, Arch, I heard that you’l’ be taking Jason’s spot of the football team?” You asked, staring over at your redheaded best friend. Betty immediately smiled proudly and you giggled silently in your mind. 

Archie shrugged, bashful. “Yeah, well… coach said they had an open spot.”

“That’s awesome!” You cheered, clapping your hands. Turning to Jughead, you smiled over at him. “Isn’t it, Juggie?” He looked up from his lap, glaring at Archie before turning to you. His arm was still around your waist and he practically had you leaning against him. You weren’t the only one odded out by this behaviour, Betty and Archie constantly threw you confused glances to which you could only shrug.

“Sure.” He mumbled.

You sighed. “Well, hows your music going?” You remembered him speaking about an interest in music and remembered how enthusiastic he had seemed. 

“Oh! Yeah, Ms. Grundy offered to help me, so that should be good.” He immediately perked up at the mention of music.

“That’s grea-”

“We should get going.” Jughead suddenly interrupted, snapping all of your gazes over at him by he only focused on you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you silently asked what was wrong. He just looked at you urgently. “Right, Y/N?” He asked again.

You shook your head, “i do-”

“You do.” Was all he said as he stood up and practically dragged you out of the booth. 

“Wait, Y/N…” Betty tried and you threw an apologetic gaze over at your two friends, just as confused. 

Once outside of the diner, you ripped your arm away from Jughead’s grip, stopping him. “What the hell was that, Jughead?”

He stopped, turning to you but not looking at you in the eye. He said nothing and you crossed your arms, frustrated. “You’ve been acting really odd lately, Juggie. Clinging to me and pulling me away from the middle of conversations, what the hell is going on?” You demanded an answer, confused and frustrated.

“You’re spending too much time with him…” He mumbled.

“What?” You blinked.

“You’re spending too much time with Archie.” He repeated and you blinked, confused. His answer only left more unanswered questions rather than answers.

 “What do you mean? He’s my best friend.”

“I’m your best friend! He ditched me, remember! I am your best friend…” Jughead began yelling, but by the end it ended in a whisper. Suddenly you felt guilty, understanding how this must have made him felt. Uncrossing his arms, you sighed, walking over to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how this made you feel.” You apologized, smiling apologetically up at him. He wasn’t made, instead he looked as if he was sulking as he sighed too, allowing a small smile to slip.

“It’s okay.”

diversemediums  asked:

You're killing me with book quotes. In a good way ☺ Do you have one in particular that has stuck with you?

Yes - Dragonfly in Amber chapter 17, “Possession” - the first Outlander excerpt I ever read. And in my mind, the most honest conversation Jamie and Claire have ever had:

“Claire. To feel the small bones of your neck beneath my hands, and that fine, thin skin on your breasts and your arms… Lord, you are my wife, whom I cherish and I love wi’ all my life, and still I want to kiss ye hard enough to bruise your tender lips, and see the marks of my fingers on your skin.”

He dropped the towel. He raised his hands and held them trembling in the air before his face, then very slowly brought them down to rest on my head as though in benediction.

“I want to hold you like a kitten in my shirt, mo duinne , and still I want to spread your thighs and plow ye like a rutting bull.” His fingers tightened in my hair. “I dinna understand myself!”

I pulled my head back, freeing myself, and took a half-step backward. The blood seemed all to be on the surface of my skin, and a chill ran down my body at the brief separation.

“Do you think it’s different for me? Do you think I don’t feel the same?” I demanded. “That I don’t sometimes want to bite you hard enough to taste blood, or claw you ‘til you cry out?”

I reached out slowly to touch him. The skin of his breast was damp and warm. Only the nail of my forefinger touched him, just below the nipple. Lightly, barely touching, I drew the nail upward, downward, circling round, watching the tiny nub rise hard amid the curling ruddy hairs.

The nail pressed slightly harder, sliding down, leaving a faint red streak on the fair skin of his chest. I was trembling all over by this time, but did not turn away.
“Sometimes I want to ride you like a wild horse, and bring you to the taming—did you know that? I can do it, you know I can. Drag you over the edge and drain you to a gasping husk. I can drive you to the edge of collapse and sometimes
I delight in it, Jamie, I do! And yet so often I want"—my voice broke suddenly and I had to swallow hard before continuing—"I want… to hold your head against my breast and cradle you like a child and comfort you to sleep.”

My eyes were so full of tears that I couldn’t see his face clearly; couldn’t see if he wept as well. His arms went tight around me and the damp heat of him engulfed me like the breath of a monsoon.

"Claire, ye do kill me, knife or no,” he whispered, face buried in my hair. He bent and picked me up, carrying me to the bed. He sank to his knees, laying me amid the rumpled quilts.

“You’ll lie wi’ me now,” he said quietly. “And I shall use ye as I must. And if you’ll have your revenge for it, then take it and welcome, for my soul is yours, in all the black corners of it.”

The skin of his shoulders was warm with the heat of the bath, but he shivered as with cold as my hands traveled up to his neck, and I pulled him down to me.
And when I had at length taken my last revenge of him, I did cradle him, stroking back the roughened, half-dry locks.

“And sometimes,” I whispered to him, “I wish it could be you inside me. That I could take you into me and keep you safe always.”

His hand, large and warm, lifted slowly from the bed and cupped the small round swell of my belly, sheltering and caressing.

“You do, my own,” he said. “You do.”

How to measure the relevance of a voice you hear on the internet:

A series of thoughts you can implement to cope with criticism or hatred.

Step 1: if whatever this person is complaining about vanished, what would they do with themselves that is useful to society? Would they likely move on to complaining vehemently about something else? Or would they suddenly have time for their abandoned engineering careers, their medical degree, or perhaps their terrible art?

If the answer is “nothing”, then disregard them

Step 2: is this person actually trying to improve whatever situation it is they’re complaining about? Are they providing strategies, speaking in a way the welcomes equal and frank discussion, allows for ideas other than their own? Are they providing resources which a person can use to reproduce their opinions for themselves, or to assist in fixing the situation? Are citations being made? Is information being given in an even-handed way? If not, then they are not there to improve anything. They point out the discrepancies to mock them, not to heal them.

Step 3: Does the person honestly have a single ounce of care for the people with whom they clash? The best way to root out a professional duelist is to watch how easily he goes for his revolver - which is to say, attacking as a natural beginning is not constructive. It indicates a lack of care or concern for anyone but themselves. It means their opinion is entirely self-serving, and all other arguments they may make that incorporate other people or their situations (Using veterans to lambast a presidential administration for example) is only utilized as a pawn for their own selfish reasons. If no strategies, resources, alternatives are offered, and all arguments are framed in terms of abusive, dismissive language or exaggerated situations…they are there just to brawl…disregard.

Step 4: if the person uses nothing but inflammatory language, mockery, or sarcasm, they have but one thing in mind - which is to hurt the feelings of one group to entertain another. All their points are henceforth invalidated because they refused to obey the rules of decorum.

Step 5: if they tell you, in ANY capacity, that how you feel about something, how your soul reacts, is wrong…if they try to correct that with negative judgements or inflammatory language…they aren’t actually interested in your opinion. It contradicts theirs. They will not listen. They operate with the arrogance that allows them the freedom to question you, but not the humility to receive similar. They literally have a neuronal network weighted against your words and will never hear you. Don’t bother trying.

Step 6: if what they say makes you feel like ripping off one of their arms so that you can use the jagged bone to scoop out their eyes so that you can piss into their open skull…disregard them.

My advice in all cases is the same:

Leave it alone for a time. Walk away. Let your mind come up with all its clever rejoinders. Tell others. Vent your frustrations. Most importantly - breathe. Center yourself. Focus all that anger and hurt into a fine, thin sheet of steel, hammer and temper it in your focus, sharpen it on your energy level. But never wield it unless you’re willing to cross swords, fight for blood, be injured, divide your mind between the fray and the strategy.

Don’t tax yourself with responding to these people unless you know for a fact, you can outlast them. They have nothing else to live for. This is all there is for them. So their all goes into it.

If anything can compromise you or harm you…leave it.

Unless you know that someone else is being harmed, and then the decision is up to you. You can step in the way, deflect the rage, distract. Or you can walk away. Both have consequences.

But think on this: they’re relying on your strength to provide them with entertainment. They’re relying on weakness to let them keep shouting from their soapboxes. Either way you act, they are waiting for it and will get something from that if they can.

Because they are leeches. And as we have established in the steps of thought…have nothing constructive to add.

This goes for me too. I am old and set in my ways. I have certain notions about the world. I try to be flexible but I have my own thoughts. If I am ever all of these in one place with regards to an issue…

Please chastise me. I bite…but I will work hard not to.

My favorite thing about Jason Todd is how diverse he is as a character.

He can be as broody and dramatic as Bruce despite claiming to be nothing like the man. He uses an expressionless helmet and his large, confident to put fear into his criminals. He exists on a fine line, working the thin dichotomy between justifying his actions based on Batman and doing things of his own accord because he believes in them. He makes bold statements, claiming he is "no one’s son" and physically attacking members of his former family. And yet everything he does is defined as a lost son lashing out as his Father. his characterizations and motivations (when done well) are constantly shifting minutely over that line between hero and anti-hero, making him complex and too human as he vacillates on the choices he has made and the suffering her has borne.

And then there are times where Jason will be sprawled lazily on the Batmobile complaining to dad that he forgot to ask the take-out place for no pickle on his hamburger and honestly he’s just ready for death again. Such a vibrant and complex character that Jason Todd.

Eyes On Me (Pt. II)

Title: Eyes On Me (Pt. II)

Pairing: Josh/Reader/Tyler

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Dirty Talk, Voyeurism, Heavy Cheating… More like Blatant Cheating.

A/N: I’m rushing to write this author’s note because I said I would post the damn story by 8:30 and I’m LATE UGH.  No time to talk, any questions just ask, not sure if I’ll add more but there’s kinda a cliff hanger so I guess I’ll let you dipshits decide.  Also, this is long as shit. HOPE YA LIKE IT.

P.S. I would recommend reading Eyes On Me (Pt. I) before reading this, but do whatever you want.

Your breath catches in your throat.  Tyler beckons you over to his bunk, and you walk towards him hesitantly, leaning in when he motions you closer still.

“I know you put on a fuckin’ show for me and that you’re teasing me.  You’re going to regret it.” he whispered, lightly nipping at your neck.

You back away from his bunk, shaken again, turn off the bathroom light and crawl into Josh’s arms, who was by this time sleeping.  Thoughts fly through your head at breakneck speed.  You roll over, putting your back to Tyler.  

When you woke up in the morning, the bus was stopped.  It was silent, and Josh had already gone.  Rolling over, you crawl out of the bunk, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.  You shuffle to the kitchen, yawning, and clatter around making eggs and bacon while the stereo plays.  Losing yourself in the music, you begin to sway your hips to the beat.  The sizzle of the eggs and the sound of the music reverberating makes you smile to yourself as you sing along and scoop the eggs onto your plate. 

After breakfast, you move towards the small bathroom, stripping off clothing as you went.  Feeling your knotted hair, you speculate that you may very well be forming a dread lock back there.  As you—rather ungracefully—pull your t-shirt over your head, you shiver feeling the chill on your chest, your nipples pulling tight in the cool air.

Upon reaching the bathroom, you turn on the stream of water and realize you’ve left your towel on the couch.  After an exasperated sigh, you decide to scamper out of the safety of the humid bathroom to retrieve it.  When you reach the couch, you hear someone clear their throat.  Freezing, you look up, meeting Tyler’s dark eyes; he’d just walked onto the bus and seen you, in all your glory, stark naked, reaching for a towel. 

Your mouth goes dry when you see him pull his teeth over his lower lip, and inhale slowly.  Almost shakily.  You snap out of your state of shock and snatch the towel off of the couch, pulling it up to cover your modesty (or lack thereof)  dropping your eyes to the floor.  Before he can say a word, you run to the bathroom, closing the door and turning the lock.

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sin eater, part 4 (between heaven and hell)

Part Four of my ongoing birthday fic for @kliomuse, who has become a dear friend through our shared love of both Once and historical fiction in general (and certain sexy devils!). She’s been such a great source of support for my writing and she wanted a 1920s New Orleans flashback in the world of Between Heaven and Hell, so that’s what she got!

Summary: A desperate young woman seeks a deal with the devil, but in the city of sinners and saints called New Orleans anything can happen, and while a demons answers, an angel listens and the souls of two young lovers hang in the balance between heaven and hell. 

This fic is only posted on Tumblr while it’s a WIP, catch up with the previous chapters below - oh, and this part is definitely rated M ; )

Part One
Part Two
Part Three  

Part Four 
New Orleans, 1923

Just off of Canal St and outside the French Quarter proper stood the stately facade of the  Hotel Grunewald, fourteen stories of white stone, elegant styling, and modern amenities to suit travellers from both the Old World of aristocrats and family fortunes that stretched backwards into the mists of time, and the New World of silver screen stars and money that was made, not inherited. The rival of anything to be found in New York, Paris or London, it offered fine dining, live entertainment, white-gloved European service, and six hundred guest rooms that started at the princely sum of six dollars a night for a single bed and a shared bath and only went up from there.

He’d called it a room, but what he’d actually booked with the concierge was a corner suite, east and south-facing windows, cozy sitting room, full-sized bedroom, private bath. It cost considerably more than six dollars but the price was immaterial, money came and went, he could lose a king’s ransom in a single evening at the gaming tables and still walk away with a smile, knowing that he would win it back twofold the next night.

However, there were some things that both gold and greenbacks couldn’t buy.

“Are there any roses left at all in this town or is every garden plucked completely clean?’

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I’m Here (Pt. 4)
Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Originally posted by sail-not-drift

I felt the bed shift quickly under me, pulling me from my dreams. When I opened my eyes I could see Daryl’s form as he sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed. I groggily reached out and put my hand on his back. “You okay?” I mumbled. 

He nodded, “go back to sleep.”

“No.” I scooted closer to him and hugged him from behind, putting my head on his shoulder. I could feel how hot his body was and I knew he’d had a nightmare. “You don’t have to tell me anything but I’m gonna stay here with you until you’re okay again.”

He gripped my hand. “I’m fine. It was just…just a stupid dream.”

“Was it?” He nodded his head but it was unconvincing. I knew him better than that. I rubbed my hand over his back. “You don’t have to tell me…but you do have to let me try and help.” 

“Go back to sleep.”

I kissed his neck, right under his ear. “Not until you do.” 

He stood up, almost making me fall forward–off the bed. “Dar–”

“I’m goin’ out.” He started towards the door.

I glanced at the clock as I followed. “It’s almost three in the morning, Daryl. Where the hell are you gonna go?”


“And get yourself killed?” We’d made it down the stairs now. “No, you aren’t.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need…I just need some air.”

I let out a breath. “Don’t leave the walls.” I could see his hesitation. “Please. Stay in. I will go back to sleep if you promise to stay in the walls.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Why?” 

“Because if you go out there I won’t be able to sleep.”

“I can take care of myself.”

I shook my head. “I know that. But it’s the middle of the night and you’re not at your best right now.” I stepped closer to him. “Don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger.” I took his hand in mine. “Besides, if you do go out there I’ll end up looking for you after an hour.”

I could tell his patience with me was growing thin. “Fine. Whatever.” He pulled his hand from mine and stormed out the door. 

“Everything okay?” the voice made me jump.

“Jesus…what are you doing up?”

He shrugged. I could tell he’d just woken up. “I heard you two…wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “It is. Daryl just needed some air and I was trying to convince him to stay inside the community.”

“Did it work?”

I shook my head. “Probably not.” I started towards the stairs. “Which also means I should get a bit of sleep before I go out to find him.”

“I can keep an eye out–”

“Don’t worry about it.” I patted Jesus’ shoulder as I passed him. “He can handle himself. I just have a bad habit of worrying too much.”


Okay this one isn’t like the others but I just went with it. I’ll probably get back on track with the next one. 

Thanks for reading!

@guera2010 @isis278 @zombeeegurl

Milk and black spiders

Originally posted by strictly-bucky


Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: It’s angsty and has a couple swear words

Word count: 1.611

Summary: You’re captured by Hydra and forced to work for them. One day they bring in sergeant James Barnes and start to experiment on him. You feel for this man and the inevitable happens… Inspired by the song “Milk and black spiders” by Foals.

Disclaimer: the name Ruth has been chosen randomly by using a random name generator.

A/N: @dabblinginmarvel reached a huge milestone, 4k followers! This is my entry for the 4k challenge.

Keep reading

so i was bored, a tad bit tired, & extremely motivated to expand my vocabulary & improve my writing, so i figured i’d share. under the cut is a LONG ASS masterpost of anything you could think of to improve vocabulary & such. there will most likely be a part two considering i have so much left to write, & i’ll definitely post that if people enjoy this one ! like/reblog as you please, i just hope this helps some people !

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

a one shot in which plumette and lumiere go on a romantic tryst about the castle in the days following their wedding 💕

“The library?”

“Shhh! Ma chérie, you know they’ll find us there.”

A giggle that is promptly shushed, first by his finger on her lips, than by his lips on hers. Cogsworth looks up from his stamp collection. He would know that mischief-maker’s voice anywhere.

“We have to be discrete,” whispers Plumette’s voice.

“Then you picked the wrong outfit,” mutters the Frenchman, and Cogsworth wants to bury himself in his stamp collection, shut his ears up with book bindings and glue. For the love of….they must be behind the curtains. The curtains! As if they were still small objects who could hide among the household, holding secrets and never noticed. Well, Cogsworth noticed. He always noticed.

A muffled shriek and one of Plumette’s shoes slid across the floor. With haste he packed up his stamp collection, swept up his glue-pots and sheets, and sprinted from the room as fast as his old legs could carry him. Let them have their secrets; all Cogsworth wanted was peace.

Ah, the dining room. A place of peace and contemplation, at least when Lumiere wasn’t in it. Cogsworth sat himself down in the chair—quietly grateful the chairs didn’t move around by themselves anymore, he’d found that disturbing—and pulled out his scrapbook. A quiet day of pasting clippings, yes; he’d started collecting pictures of clocks, he wasn’t sure why, and it soothed him to dip his brush in the glue and carefully lay out the images, labeling them one by one.

Dip, brush, place, label. Dip, brush—

“Mon amour!”

“What? Is it a crime to sample something so luscious in a room meant for tasting? Or is that too tender—let me try here, instead—oh, mademoiselle—”

Far at the other end of the room, a chair moved by itself, as if pushed from below the table. The scrapbooking supplies lay abandoned, the door swinging shut behind running feet, and the giggles landed on empty air.

At least Mrs. Potts was here, in the kitchen. She was supposed to be down in the village, taking a day off with her husband, but she had decided to cook supper for the palace since Lumiere was a little engaged.

“Now, then, you’re just all out of sorts, Mr. Cogsworth,” she cooed, pouring tea and coaxing sugar into him. “Don’t you worry about it, luv—all of them do it.”

“All the time? All over the place?!

“Well, now, they’ve had longer to wait than most newlyweds.“

“They’ll find us here!” Plumette’s hiss is too loud to be drowned by the wine-cellar door.

“Are you so afraid of being found? What if I found….some other parts….”

Oh,” and there’s a loud crash from behind the door, and Cogsworth knows he is never going to get to taste that 1735 vintage, now.

“Do you know what,” says Mrs. Potts, with haste, “I think I will go down to the village, after all.”

His room. At last, his room. The one safe haven from the madness of the palace. He pulled out his old woodworking kit—making model carriages is a fine hobby—and set out the wood, the glue bottle, the fine thin knives. He closed the window curtains, tired of the sun, and sat at his desk and took off his shoes. Cogsworth breathed in the stale, musty air of his private chamber. Ah, comfort. Ahh, serenity.

“Ooooh la la!”

Slammed down the wood, the glue bottle. “Can a man,” yelled the major domo, his heartbeat tick-tick-ticking in his temples, “get a day’s rest from this romance, this harried quest for flirtation?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lumiere, from somewhere on Cogsworth’s private balcony. Plumette was there, too—pulling up her stays as if they had somehow begun to fall off, of their own accord, though Cogsworth knew enough about that to wager another guess as to how laces came undone and boning went to slip.

“Can you not. Find. Somewhere private,” he said, “to engage in these…these t-tiffs of p-passion?”

“Why, yes, but that’s not as fun,” and the Frenchman beamed, and Cogsworth would have saw fit to murder him if it weren’t impolite to kill a man dressed only in his breeches and his wife’s lace shawl. “We were hoping if we kept on long enough you’d like to advise us on how to proceed properly.” And his russet hair lights up from within, and he’s smiling with all the teeth Cogsworth wants to knock in.

“Get yourselves to a gazebo, somewhere,” he moans. “Just leave the palace for the day.”

“Is that permission to take a honeymoon?” pipes Plumette. “Formal permission? With paid leave? Two weeks of travel?”

“God, yes, anything,” moans Cogsworth, and it’s suddenly silent, and the two are gone. Thank you, says a note pinned to the door. We’ve planned to honeymoon for weeks, but we couldn’t leave without driving you crazy first.

“Sacre bleau,” he says, in words he borrowed from his best friend. What madness comes with magic.

Words: Damian Wayne x Reader

Your name: submit What is this?

Damian first started trying to read the words on his leg when he was three. After a few hours, he went to ask his mother about them. “I can’t understand the words,” he said, a little nervous. He could read, and write a little, and he didn’t know quite why he couldn’t understand these.

“They say, His name is Rocky. They’re in English.”

He nodded slowly. He could speak a little English, and he would be learning to read and write it soon. Before he could leave, Talia stopped him.

“Cover up the words,” she said, pulling his pants leg down over the inked letters on his calf. So he did.

Your words were written in a thin fine hand, stretching across one of your shoulder blades. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t see them well enough to read- something about a dog. Finally, when you were five or six your mom came in and saw you turning around in front of the mirror, trying to decipher the backwards reflection.

Keep reading

Josh Dun x Reader : Understand

A/N: So I was on another vacation and super busy, I’m extremely sorry for not posting in a while. This one is probably one of the lengthiest one’s I’ve ever posted yet, so I hope it makes up for my absence… As always, requests, comments, and questions are accepted. Thanks so much for putting up with me guys, you’re the best.

Anonymous said:
One where Y/N has to stay with Josh family when hers goes out of town. Her and Josh don’t know each other very well but then they bond and its fluffy like staying up late watching xfiles and they fall for each other Maybe some fluffy smut in the end?

*female reader, also i am so fucking sorry i realized after writing this that i wrote it in reverse, where josh has to stay with y/n’s family instead, i hope that’s okay, i’m super sorry. and for fluffy smut, um, sorry i kind of got carried away

You poked at the food on your plate with the prongs of your fork, not that hungry. You’ve stopped eating lately, mostly because you didn’t feel like it, but also because you decided you might want to lose a couple pounds, because hey, why not? You didn’t like what you saw in the mirror, and you wanted to change that. You hated yourself. Not just that, but life was getting too much to handle. You were being pestered by your parents with chores, annoyed by your siblings, and your friends at school had been particularly moody lately. You weren’t really sure what was going on, but you didn’t like it. It also had a negative effect on you, because not eating was the least of your worries. There were much bigger problems you didn’t want to deal with. “Not eating, honey?” your mom wondered, a concerned expression on her face. “Come on, you’re getting a little thin.”

“I’m fine,” you sighed, reluctantly taking a bite. “I had a little more to eat for lunch today.” That was a lie, you actually didn’t eat anything. You told your friends in the cafeteria that you had a large breakfast, which again, you didn’t.

“You sure?” your dad pressed. “I haven’t seen you eat lately.”

“I already told you, I’m not hungry. I’m fine,” you repeated.

“Okay,” your mom sighed. “Well anyways, my friend Linda is going out of town for a couple days and she was wondering if we could take care of her son while she’s gone. He’s about your age, y/n. He’s very sweet and I hear he plays the drums, isn’t that cool? His name is Josh. I told her we’d be more than happy to keep him for a little while. He can stay in the guest room and-”

“What?” you asked.

“Excuse me?” your mom inquired.

“We’re inviting a boy to spend a couple nights at our house?” you narrowed your eyes. “A boy we don’t even know?”

“Y/n!” your mother raised her voice. “You need to be positive about this. You can make a friend.”

“Friend?” you scoffed. That’s just what you needed, another problem to add to your list. What were you going to do with a boy living in your house for a couple days?

“Change your attitude right now, young lady,” your father snapped. “And eat your food.”

“So what?” you challenged, earning a smirk from your siblings. “I can’t have an opinion in this household anymore? Is that such a crime?”

“Stop it!” your mom shouted. “Josh is coming over tomorrow to spend a couple nights with us and that is final. It’s not your decision, it’s mine, and I’ve already said yes to the offer. Understand me?”

“Yeah,” you grumbled.

“Now eat your food,” your mom demanded.

You mumbled a string of profanities under your breath, begrudgingly swallowing down your food, your siblings chuckling at you as you did so. Your parents glared, but you couldn’t care in the least. You had a million problems already and to top it all off, there was going to be a fucking boy your age that you didn’t even know staying at your house. You went to bed that night, unable to sleep. Whoever that boy was, what was his name, Jonah or Jacob or Josh or something, you hated him already. He was ruining your life. You didn’t want to meet him. You didn’t want him to spend several days at your house. And you didn’t want to be friends. He was just one more problem to your very long list. Or so you thought.

The next day when you got home from school, the entire house was clean. Your parents had made the place look spotless just for this guy, and it made you sick. Just wait until he figures out what a mess your family really is, then he’ll want to leave for good. You had brainstormed all day long, thinking that maybe if you avoided him and never came out of your room, then you wouldn’t have to interact. That’d be acceptable right? Maybe he’d think you didn’t even exist. So you were in your room, testing out the plan, when the doorbell rang and your mom shouted your name. Looks like you’d have to try a different time. You trudged down the steps, your entire family waiting for you until they opened the door. It was ridiculous, like a family long awaiting their solider to get home from war, and you thought it was overkill. Why did everyone have to greet him when he entered? Everything just made you hate this dude more and more.

That’s when the door swung open and Linda, your mom’s friend, greeted you all with a grin, a boy about your age standing behind her. Every single thought you ever had about this boy was wiped away when you locked eyes with him. He was wearing a gray snapback hat with dyed red hair peeking out, a camouflage jacket, ripped jeans, sneakers, and black gages in his earlobes, which made your lips curl up at the sides into a smile. “Hey,” he waved hesitantly.

“Come in. Welcome!” your mom grinned, hugging Linda as your dad helped carry his bags inside. “Don’t be scared. You guys come inside. We won’t bite, I promise.” Your siblings grabbed some stuff, them taking it to the guest room. Your mom and Linda carried on a conversation on a couch, while you and Josh stood by the closed door, still looking awkwardly at each other.

“Hi,” you finally decided to speak. “I’m y/n.”

“Josh,” he replied. “You like Panic! at the Disco?”

“Huh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Your shirt,” he laughed. You looked down, forgetting you were wearing a band shirt today, and then looked back up at him.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I love them.”

“Me too,” he nodded. “I really like music. I play drums.”

“Neat,” you commented. “Do you watch TV shows?”

“Definitely,” his eyes lit up. “I’m obsessed with The X-files.”

“I’ve watched a couple,” you admitted. “It’s pretty good.”

“A couple?” he chuckled. “You should watch them all.”

“Well I get a little scared sometimes,” you confessed. “I usually have to watch with someone else.”

“I’ll watch with you,” he decided. “I mean uh, if you want to, if that’s okay.”

“That sounds great,” you reassured. “I’d love to.”

“Awesome,” he smiled.

“Hey kiddo, you’ll be staying in the guest room tonight,” your dad announced, walking towards you two. Your dad gave you a quick glance, probably confused why one minute you loathed him and now you were grinning at him, but you ignored it. “It’s across from y/n’s room. You want to show him?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Come on.”

You led him down the hallway, opening the door and revealing his bags set on the edge of the bed, the freshly cleaned guest room available for him to stay in. “So you’re across the hall?” he clarified.

“Yeah, in case you need anything,” you replied. “You can just knock on my door and I’ll answer it.”

“Cool,” he nodded his head slowly.

“So you don’t go to my school?” you inquired.

“Nope, I’m on the other side of town,” he explained.

“Oh okay,” you responded. “You like school?”

“Eh, it’s okay I guess,” Josh answered. He glanced at the clock, noticing it was getting a little late. “So, how’s your family with rules? Strict or lenient?”

“If you’re me then they’re strict,” you rolled your eyes. “But if you’re one of my siblings, then rules don’t even exist.”

“How come? Are you a rebel or something?” he teased.

“Nah, they just hate me,” you sighed.

“Sorry to hear that,” he frowned. “I can agree.”

“Really?” you raised your eyebrows. “My mom said you were a good kid.”

“Good kid?” he scoffs. “My parents threatened to send me to military school.”

“Seriously?” you widened your eyes.

“Not even joking,” he admitted. “I was scared to death.”

“That would’ve been terrifying,” you agreed.

“Hey guys,” your dad knocked on the door. “Time to go to bed. It’s almost midnight. Get some sleep and you can continue your conversation tomorrow morning. Okay?”

“Okay,” you both answered.

“Well it was nice meeting you y/n,” Josh smiled. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Good night.” You were halfway out the door when he responded with a surprise.

“Sweet dreams,” he laughed.

“You too,” you chuckled.

You got dressed in your pajamas, brushed your teeth, combed your hair, and laid down in bed, thinking of everything that happened. You hadn’t imagined him to be like that. You thought of Josh as a snotty, stupid, stuck up asshole teenage boy who was a jerk. You thought he’d be wearing shorts and a jersey, gelled back fancy hair and a fuckboy grin. You didn’t expect what was currently across the hallway. The dyed hair, camo jacket, gages, sneakers, and ripped jeans caught you by surprise. You liked it, a lot. You couldn’t get him out of your head. It was his face and his smile and his laugh and his voice and the way he told you sweet dreams and everything about him. It drove you crazy. It was strange to think that yesterday you couldn’t sleep because you were hating on him, and now you couldn’t sleep because you were crushing on him. You wondered what else was in store for the rest of his stay.

The next morning you woke up and got ready, going out and seeing Josh eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. “Good morning, beautiful,” he greeted. Did he just call you beautiful? What the fuck. Your mind did a double take and then decided no, that was just your brain playing tricks on you, and then walked past him.

“Hey Josh,” you grinned. “Get a good sleep last night?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “How about you?”

“I guess,” you shrugged. You looked at the time and then began to walk away when he stopped you.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“The bus is coming soon,” you explained. “I’m going to wait outside.”

“Y/n, there’s still fifteen minutes,” he narrowed his eyes. “Even I know that.”

“So what? Can’t I enjoy the beautiful sunrise?” you protested.

“No, you can come enjoy a great conversation with me,” he joked.

“Fine,” you complied way too easily, walking over and joining him.

“Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” he wondered.

“Nope,” you shook your head. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

“It’s the most important meal of the day,” he reminded.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been told that bullshit?” you laughed. “Way too many.”

“But won’t you get hungry later on in the day?” he pressed.

“Nope,” you argued. “I don’t get hungry.”

“You don’t get hungry,” he rolled his eyes. “How do you not get hungry?”

“I eat lunch,” you lied.

“You eat school lunch?” he widened his eyes. “I’m surprised.”

“Whatever,” you giggled. “How about you? Do you like to eat a lot?”

“I love eating,” he grinned. “Oreos, Red Bull, cereal, doughnuts…”

“For a junk food lover you’re in pretty good shape,” you commented, trying not to stare at his muscles.

“I work out sometimes,” he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Well I don’t work out at all,” you confessed. “So you’re doing better than I am.”

“You’re fine,” he sighed. “You don’t need to. You’re great just how you are.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed.

“What? You don’t think that?” he frowned, taking the last bite of his cereal.

“I’m fine,” you just replied quickly, leaving the table and walking outside to wait for the bus. You sat on the steps of the front porch, wondering whether or not he thought you were weird for responding so fast and nervous, but you were. You were nervous. Because although while you might have too many problems to even count, you didn’t want Josh to know about a single one of them. For Josh, you wanted to plaster on a smile and let him know you were okay. You wanted to take each ray of sunshine and keep them in the palm of your hand, so you could warm him up whenever he got cold. You wanted to pluck out the stars in the sky and give them to him when it was dark and he couldn’t see. You wanted to be there for him, to show him the good things about you, not the bad. You didn’t need him seeing your sadness or insecurities or doubt, because you didn’t even like seeing them yourself. That’s when you realized that maybe it was impossible. How could a problematic girl like you just magically hide everything she hated about herself? It was useless. He would find out somehow. He wouldn’t care for someone like you. Much less, it had just been one day. You didn’t even know him that well yet. So when the bus pulled up and you didn’t even say goodbye to Josh, you didn’t feel too guilty. He didn’t need a mess like you anyways. You were a fool to think he would even consider giving you a chance.

The entire day at school, Josh was the only thing you could think of. Yeah, you had just met him in one day, but you still could not get him out of your head. He hadn’t specified how long his mother would be gone and you were curious what else was going to happen during the rest of the week. You found yourself doodling him in the margins of your notebook paper, accidentally mumbling his name, looking at your surroundings, whether it was ripped jeans or camo print, and thinking immediately of him. You couldn’t stop, no matter how hard you could. It wasn’t an obsession; it was almost a curse. You could not get this boy out of your head. When you got on the bus and finally got home, you went to your room and knew Josh would be home any minute. You took a deep breath and told yourself it’s better to get over him while you can, or else when he leaves you’d be extremely heartbroken. You had to learn to not care. Easy, right?

Not easy. As soon as Josh got home and you saw the smile on his face when you greeted him by the door, you couldn’t. You can’t just fall in love with someone, yes you knew it was way too quick, and then not care about them the next day. It was like love at first sight, and although you had never believed in that before, you did now. Josh gave you hope, something you hadn’t even seen a glimpse of before. “Hey y/n,” he grinned, joining you on the couch where you were doing your homework.

“Hi,” you smiled. “How’d your day go?”

“Okay I guess,” he shrugged. “Was waiting until I could leave though.”

“Me too,” you agreed.

“How come?” he inquired, and you weren’t prepared for that question, because you froze up. How were you supposed to tell him that you were looking forward to seeing him again without giving off the wrong vibe or making a bad move? You couldn’t.

“Uh, I was just bored,” you murmured. “I had a long day.”

“Oh,” his face fell, looking somewhat disappointed. You weren’t sure why.

“Do you have a lot of homework?” you asked.

“Not really,” he shook his head. “I don’t even do most of it anyways, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Josh,” you narrowed your eyes.

“What?” he wondered.

“Not doing your homework?” you teased. “No wonder your parents wanted to send you to military school!”

“Oh y/n,” he clicked his tongue. “You’re such a goody two shoes.”

“No I am not,” you argued. “I get in trouble all the time.”

“Uh huh?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” you gave a smug smile and crossed your arms. “I do.”

“Like what?” he challenged.

“Uh, I got a detention last week,” you announced.

“What for?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” you stammered. “It was for being late to class.”

“Wow, what a rebel. You know, you could go to juvy for that I hear,” he joked.

“Oh shut up,” you laughed. “Like you’d do something terrible.”

“Maybe I would,” he hinted.

“Yeah?” you inquired. “Like what?”

“Fist fights,” he grinned. “Talking back to teachers.”

“You?” you widened your eyes. “No way.”

“Yup,” he grinned.

“I don’t believe it,” you shook your head. “You’re too-”

“Too what?” he smirked.

“Too…” your voice drifted off. You couldn’t call him too nice, or too cute, or too amazing, because then you’d sound like a creep.

“You never finished,” he reminded.

“I forgot,” you lied.

“No you didn’t,” he narrowed his eyes. “You know what you were going to say.”

“I forgot,” you repeated. “Really.”

“I don’t think so,” he persisted, leaning closer, too close.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, him dangerously close to you. Was he going to kiss you?

“I’m going to tickle you until you divulge the information!” he chuckled, tickling your neck.

“Josh!” you squealed, falling onto his lap and trying to regain composure as his fingers grazed your neck and trailed towards your armpits, you bursting out into pure laughter.

“Tell me,” he begged, his hands working their way to your stomach.

“Come on,” he pleaded, starting to tickle your sides until his fingers touched your ribs and he stopped, just flat out stopped, and pulled away, a concerned look on your face.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused. One minute he was all giggly and teasing, and now he looked like he just ran over a puppy or found out he had cancer. His face turned sad, but also really concerned, and serious. You’ve actually never really seen him like this. You sat up, getting up from his lap and his embrace, what the fuck, when were you guys so tangled together, and stared at him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You-” he frowned.

“Mm-me?” you stammered. Of course you fucked up. Well that didn’t last long at all. “What did I do?”

“Y/n,” he murmured your name quietly.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” you questioned. “Because I am thoroughly confused.”

He shook his head, blinking a couple times, and then turning to his normal facial expression. “Uh, hold on,” he directed. He opened up his bookbag, scrounging around for something, searching in several pockets, before he pulled out a package of…

“Oreos?” you raised your eyebrows. “How come?”

“You need to eat,” he explained. He opened up the bag and pulled out a cookie and held it out in front of your lips. “Have an Oreo.”

“I don’t need an Oreo,” you argued and pushed away his hand, only for it to return back to your lips, him pushing it closer to your mouth.

“Y/n,” he sighed. “Come on. Please. For me.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered.

“I don’t want to hear that phrase ever again,” he glared at you and placed the cookie at your lips. “Now eat an Oreo or else I’m going to have to tickle you again.”

“Fine,” you complied, lurching forward and snatching the cookie out of his hand with your lips, crunching it between your teeth. You chewed and then swallowed, looking at him. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Now eat another one.”

“Why are you force feeding me Oreos?” you groaned, taking another one and munching on it slowly.

“Don’t they taste good?” he wondered.

“Well yeah, they taste great. But that wasn’t the question,” you reminded. “Come on, Josh.”

“You need to eat,” he repeated.

“Going to elaborate?” you questioned.

“Nope,” he replied. “I don’t need to.”

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes and ate another Oreo. “How many do I have to eat?”

“As many as your heart desires,” he grinned.

“Last I checked, my heart didn’t desire for any Oreos,” you laughed.

“Did it desire for me?” he gave a sly smile.

“What?” you widened your eyes and dropped the Oreo you were holding. Did he really say that?

“What?” he inquired innocently.

“Whatever,” you shook your head and decided forget about it, picking up the fallen Oreo off your lap and putting it in your mouth.

“I’m just worried about you,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around you tight. “Something’s wrong and I want to fix it.” Was he fucking hugging you now? What was going on?

“Am, uh, am I the thing that’s wrong?” you guessed, and he instantly released the embrace and stared at you confused.

“What? No, absolutely not,” he shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then please explain,” you begged.

“Eat an Oreo,” he ignored your request and shoved another cookie in your face.

“Oreos aren’t always going to fix the problem,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “But hey, a guy can try, right?”

“Sure,” you smiled.

Somehow, between doing your homework and eating Oreos, you had ended up leaning on his lap with the television on, both of you watching The X-Files and sharing a Red Bull. You weren’t sure how it had magically happened, but it did, and you weren’t going to take this moment for granted. You also were unsure what had caused Josh to say that to you, to act that way, to tell you those things, but you decided maybe it was just a little bit of luck or something. You had Josh’s arms wrapped around you, several episodes watched by now, and all the Oreos gone and empty Red Bull can on the ground, when you both slowly drifted off into sleep.

When you woke up, it was because of Josh, and he was laughing. “Come on y/n,” he shook you in his arms. “Someone is at the door and I’m pretty sure it’s your dad. I don’t know how he’d take to walking in seeing us like this.”

“Huh?” you wondered, still half asleep.

“Your dad is home,” he explained. “If you didn’t hear me the first time.”

“What?” you leapt up from where you were sitting and Josh chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he smirked. “Now come on. I’ll throw away the can and you go open the door for your dad.”

“What about my mom?” you hissed. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I didn’t see her walk in.”

“Huh. That’s odd,” you commented before walking to the door and opening it up for your dad.

“Hey,” he grinned. “How’d your day go?”

“Fine,” you responded.

“Did Josh get dropped off from school?” he inquired.

“Yeah, he did. We both finished our homework,” you told him.

“Okay. Your mom’s with your siblings at a dentist appointment. She’ll be home to cook dinner soon,” he informed. “You guys go wash up and then help set the table.”

“Got it,” you nodded and walked in, glancing at Josh who was sitting on the couch as if nothing ever happened.

You walked to the bathroom, Josh following, and turned on the sink, reaching for the soap. “So…” Josh drew out the word slowly.

“So?” you raised an eyebrow. There was a pause two beats too long.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Okay,” you eyed him strangely, washing your hands and then going out to the kitchen, him following you still. You noticed your mom and siblings already home and went to the cabinet to get the plates and showed Josh where to get the silverware.

When you all sat down at the table, Josh sat right beside you, and your mom put the food out and the meal began. At first, you couldn’t help but feel like Josh was looking at you. It was in between bites of his food or just staring, but his eyes were constantly on you. You weren’t sure why. You weren’t the prettiest, or the best looking, and you started to think maybe you had something on your face, but you pushed away the thoughts in your head and decided it was just your brain making things up again.

After dinner, your mom assigned you to wash the dishes and asked Josh to take out the trash. Your parents and siblings went to bed, and you were in the middle of scrubbing some forks when you felt two arms wrap around your waist from behind and you jumped. “Hey,” he whispered in your ear. Of course it was Josh.

“What are you doing?” you inquired, tilting your head up and looking at him. He had awfully gorgeous eyes.

“Are you tired?” he wondered.

“Nope,” you shook your head, rinsing off some spoons as Josh picked up a towel and started to help drying off silverware. “How about you?”

“I’m wide awake,” he grinned. “I want to show you something later, if that’s okay with you.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” you replied.

“Cool,” he smiled, drying off a plate. You were still washing dishes. “Meet me in my room after you’re done.”

“Okay,” you answered. What did he want? You had no clue.

You watched him walk away and quickly finished up your chores, drying off your hands with a towel and then walking down the hallway and knocking on his door. “Come in,” he called, and you did. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his phone, earbuds in.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“Ever heard of a band called The Killers?” he inquired.

“Absolutely,” you rolled your eyes. “Who hasn’t?”

“I want you to hear this song,” he insisted. He plucked out an earbud from his ear and you sat beside him, putting it in and waiting for him to play the song. The intro played and you recognized the song immediately.

“Mr. Brightside,” you smiled. “I know this one.”

“Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I like it,” you told him. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Do you listen to them a lot?” he wondered.

“Sometimes,” you shrugged. “Can I show you another one by them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s called Human,” you explained as the song began to play. He glanced at you with a smile as the first verse began. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head.

“You like it?” you asked.

“It’s good,” he told you.

“So you said you liked Panic! At The Disco?” you inquired. “Remember? When we first met?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I remember. You had that super cool t-shirt.”

“Have you heard of Northern Downpour?” you asked.

“I think so,” he nodded. “Hold on. Let me play it.”

“Okay,” you smiled. He searched for the song and when he played it, you instantly felt the wave of nostalgia wash over you. It was one of those songs. The slow, bittersweet, favorite ones you always loved to listen to when you fell asleep. You caught him staring at you again. “What? You want to dance or something?”

“Sure,” he smiled. Wait, what? You were joking.

“Really?” you raised an eyebrow, serious this time.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s dance.”

You got up off the bed, both of you, one earbud for the both of you as the slow guitar began to play, the sweet slow melody of the chorus making you smile, and you found one of his hands on your hip and the other in your hand, leaning on his shoulder, swaying back and forth. “Do you do this often?” you whispered.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Only for you.”

“Well that’s nice,” you blushed.

“I don’t usually dance,” he informed. “So you’re lucky.”

“Am I now?” you looked up at him, his eyes meeting yours. He kissed your forehead lightly, pulling away, leaving you sort of happy but sort of shocked. Did he just-

“I’m starting to think I’m the lucky one though,” he smiled.

You stared up into his eyes, your heart fluttering as you rested your head against his shoulder again, taking a deep breath and swaying back and forth again. You didn’t want this to end. You felt safe here, you felt comfortable, and you felt loved. It was a strange feeling, almost fuzzy and warm, and it was unfamiliar to you. Hell, you’d take it while you could. The song began to fade out, and you wondered if you’d still keep dancing, but as soon as the extremely loud intro to Memories began and startled you both, backing away from each other, the earbud falling out of your ear and both of you laughing, you heard a knock on the door. You both stared, your dad opening up the door and looking at you both, a certain look of confusion on his face. “Um, I believe it’s bedtime,” he stated uncomfortably. “Y/n should go to her room now.”

“Okay, sorry,” Josh apologized.

“It’s fine,” your dad shook his head. “It’s just late. You both have school tomorrow. You should get some rest.”

“Yeah,” Josh nodded.

You gave Josh a quick glance, sort of embarrassed but also sad that it had to come to an end, and followed your dad out the door. “Goodnight,” you whispered before you left his room.

“Sweet dreams,” he winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You went to your room, getting dressed in your pajamas and brushing your teeth, staring in the mirror. Could you believe it? He had kissed your forehead. He had danced with you. What the fuck? You couldn’t stop grinning, going to your bed and pulling up the sheets, and surprisingly, for the first time in forever, you were able to go to sleep as soon as you shut your eyes.

You woke up and walked outside, yawning and getting ready to get to school. When you walked into the kitchen, Josh was already there, eating his usual cereal and looking at you. “Hi,” you smiled.

“Hey,” he grinned. “Good morning.”

“Are you going to force me to eat breakfast?” you groaned.

“You bet,” he laughed.

“Should I bother arguing or would I just be wasting my time?” you sighed, sitting beside him.

“Unless you want to get tickled again,” he joked.

“Fine. Hand me the cereal,” you rolled your eyes and set a bowl in front of you.

“That’s what I like to see,” he chuckled, handing you the box. You poured yourself a bowl and thought how peculiar it was to eat breakfast. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you did. It had to have been several years now. And to think, that all of a sudden, one boy that you’ve only known for probably two or three days had already changed your ways. “What are you smiling about?”

“Huh?” you looked up, not realizing you were smiling at all.

“You were grinning like an idiot,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” you shrugged.

“What were you thinking about?” he inquired again.

“I don’t know,” you smirked.

“Don’t make me tickle you,” he threatened.

“Goddammit Josh,” you groaned, taking a bite of your cereal and trying not to laugh.

The bus arrived in no time, and before you knew it, you were back at school, counting down the hours until you could see his face again. It felt like a million years. Every time you thought about so much as just seeing him, you couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it distracted you from your schoolwork, and your tests, and every single conversation you had that day, but somehow, you didn’t care. It was worth it. Your mind was constantly replaying memories of yesterday, the way he had showed you those songs, how you had danced, how he kissed your forehead. It was all surreal. You had never experienced anything like it before.

When you got home and saw Josh sitting on the couch, you instantly picked up the remote and sat beside him, his arm finding its way around your shoulder naturally. “X-Files?” you wondered.

“Hell yeah,” he grinned.

“How did I know?” you joked.

“Great minds think alike,” he replied, you easing into his touch and leaning on him as the episode played. You didn’t even bother trying to finish your homework tonight, seeing as it was useless, and Josh didn’t even bother opening up his book bag either. Well, you took that back. He did open his book bag once, but that was so he could take out his new bag of Oreos, saved just for you. You were both almost finished with season one, and you were about to start the second season when he plucked the remote out of your hand and tossed it on the floor.

“Fuck, this isn’t a game of fetch,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Shut up,” he laughed. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Then what were you doing?” you gave a sly smile.

“Well…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“You have?” you inquired.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “For a while now. I know we just met, and this might come out a little awkward or strange, but uh, I like you. I like you a lot y/n.”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat. “You do?” you asked in disbelief.

“I know,” he looked away. “It’s going too fast and we just met and-”

“No,” you interrupted. “I like you too.”

“What?” he widened his eyes. “Really?”

“Why do you think I’d dance with you if I didn’t like you?” you rolled your eyes. “Why would I eat your Oreos or watch X-Files or cuddle with you on the couch?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you felt obligated,” he shrugged. “I thought maybe you just did that with every friend that comes to your house.”

“My friends and I don’t do that,” you chuckled.

“So I’m not your friend?” he frowned.

“Well-” you began but he cut in.

“Am I your boyfriend?” he smiled.

“If you want to be,” you suggested.

“I’d like that a lot,” he grinned. “I’d love that.”

“More than X-Files?” you teased. “More than Oreos and Red Bull and Northern Downpour?”

“More than anything in the world,” he sighed. “Nothing could replace you.”

The doorbell rang and you both jumped away from each other, falling off the couch. You stared at each other for a second before bursting out laughing, and then you raced to the door and opened it for your mom and siblings. “You look happy,” your mom commented. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you tried not to blush. “I’m great.”

“Well that’s different,” she raised her eyebrows before entering, your siblings giving you a strange look. Josh was in the kitchen throwing away the empty Oreo bag and your mom started to cook dinner, and you went to your room, laying down on the bed and pretending to do your homework so your parents wouldn’t get suspicious.

You watched the door open slightly, Josh walking in and sitting on the edge of your bed, looking around. “You have a nice room,” he commented. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” you laughed.

“You’re doing your homework?” he wondered. “Surprising.”

“Not really,” you confessed. “It just looks like it. I’m actually just thinking.”

“About what?” he asked.

“You,” you admitted, not even embarrassed or denying it anymore.

“What about me?” he grinned.

“You like me back,” you stated. “Nobody’s ever liked me back.”

“Well they must all be blind,” he told you. “Cause if they couldn’t see this gem in front of them, then they didn’t deserve it.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

“Really,” he insisted. “You’re beautiful. You’re amazing. And if others can’t see that, I wish you at least would.”

“Why?” you sighed. “Why are you wasting your time with me?”

“What do you mean?” he frowned, a sad look on his face.

“I’m broken,” you explained. “I’m full of problems and I’m a burden and I don’t understand why you like me. You don’t deserve someone like me. You deserve a princess or something.”

“Maybe I don’t want a princess,” he shrugged, taking a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “Maybe I want you instead.”

“Why would anyone want me?” you groaned. “I don’t even want me.”

“Because you are the best person I’ve ever met in my life,” he told you.

“No I’m not,” you shook your head.

“Yes you are,” he argued.

“No,” you insisted.

“Yes,” he narrowed his eyes. “You are.”

“No I’m-” you began to say, but he kissed you midsentence, his lips on yours, and your eyes widening and when he pulled away, you staring at him, speechless, unable to even think.

“Yes you are,” he stated confidently. “And no matter how hard you might want to try, you can’t change my mind y/n.”

“Josh,” you whispered his name, looking at him confused and relieved and excited and nervous all at the same time.

“I think I might love you,” he murmured.

You pulled him closer to you, kissing him again, his lips soft and warm and sweet, and when it was over, you took a breath and looked into his eyes. “Me too,” you nodded.

“Josh!” you heard your mom’s voice echo in the house. “Can you help me with something?”

“Uh,” he ran a hand through his hair, blushing. “I guess that’s my cue.”

“I’ll see you later,” you smiled, and he left, you sighing and easing into your pillows, trying to remember what the fuck just happened.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on your door, and your dad was calling for you to come down for dinner. Again, you sat beside Josh, eating silently, and it didn’t take but a couple minutes before you felt his hand rest on your knee. Cute. He was your boyfriend now, wasn’t he? He was allowed to do that. The idea of having a boyfriend amused you. You had never had a boyfriend before. You stifled a giggle and your dad glanced at you, confused, before dismissing the suspicion and taking a bite of his food again.

After dinner, Josh took out the trash like usual and you washed dishes, receiving clear demands to go straight to bed after you had finished your chores. You guessed your parents didn’t appreciate you both staying up yesterday, in the same room, without supervision. You had given Josh a goodnight hug and a kiss on the cheek before going to your room for the night. You took a deep breath, combing your hair, brushing your teeth, taking a shower, and getting dressed in a tank top and pajama pants, slipping underneath the covers, turning off the lights and closing your eyes.

You heard a noise, and you opened up your eyes, curious, then closed them again. It was probably nothing. That’s when you heard the soft creak of your door opening, and you opened your eyes and sat up, the door closing, and when you felt a dip in the bed from someone sitting down beside you that’s when you came to the realization. “Josh?” you wondered.

“Yeah?” he whispered, slipping underneath the sheets beside you.

“What the hell are you doing?” you hissed with wide eyes, absolutely shocked to hear a reply. “You’re supposed to be in the guest room!”

“I am,” he laughed. “I’m the guest in the room right now, aren’t I?”

“We’re going to get in trouble,” you argued, his arms wrapping around you and him snuggling up to your body, placing you in his lap, his back leaning against the headboard and your chest pressed up to his.

“Not if we don’t get caught,” he reminded.

“Fine,” you sighed, pulling his head closer to you and wrapping your legs around his waist, kicking off the blankets in the process, the sheets falling off the bed and onto the floor. “Come here.” He looked up at you, eyes twinkling within the darkness of your room, and you kissed him, the familiar taste of his lips on yours. You liked this a lot, you didn’t want it to end. You pulled away, catching your breath, and he stared into your eyes.

“It’s kind of hot in here,” he commented. “Mind if I take my shirt off?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” you admitted. “How about I help you?”

Your hands found the bottom hem of his shirt and helped slip it off, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, kissing him again, his lips trailing down your neck, the hot sensation making you gasp. You pulled your hips closer to his, your heels pressing into his bare back with your legs wrapped around his waist, head tilted up. “Shhh you’ve got to be quiet baby,” he hushed you, still sucking at your neck. “We don’t want to wake anyone up now, do we?”

“No,” you barely were able to answer.

“Good girl,” he nodded, hands finding the bottom of your tank top and slipping it up over your arms. You suddenly felt conscious. He was staring. Probably at your protruding ribs, the way you didn’t have the perfect chest, how you looked like a fucking skeleton. He hated you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What?” his eyes turned soft, worried, concerned.

“I’m not-” your voice caught.

“No,” he shook his head. “You’re beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful.” He took his fingers and traced the outline of your ribs, down to your stomach, holding your hips and pressing his thumbs into your skin softly. He kissed your mouth gently, pulling away and staring into your eyes. “You’re perfect, y/n.” Somehow, you couldn’t believe it. How could he love you? All skin and bones and horrible, terrible, ugly all over. “You’re amazing.” He reached behind you, rubbing small circles on your back, before unclasping your bra, tossing that off and looking up at you. “You’re gorgeous y/n.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, earning a soft laugh, kissing him again, your hands trailing from his shoulders to his stomach and down to his waist, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, tugging them down and throwing them aside. “Did you lock the door at least?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I’m not stupid.”

“Sure,” you rolled your eyes with sarcasm. You pulled him close, kissing him and tugging down his boxers, lips trailing from his mouth to his chest and down, lower and lower, and you heard him moan when you held his dick in your hands.

“Damn y/n,” he moaned as you positioned yourself and began to suck him off, your lips moving down his shaft, taking each inch of him into you. He steadied himself, clutching onto the mattress, his taste sweet and salty on your tongue. He was so hard, just for you. You felt him start to shake, and you got nervous. It was your first time doing this, how were you supposed to- but you felt him latch onto your hair, his fingers tugging on your locks. “I’m so fucking close to cumming, you need to stop.” Guess that meant no. You slowly pulled away, knowing he was on the edge, careful, and you looked at him, sitting up.

“Why?” you wondered, licking your lips.

“Because we’re not even close to done yet, babygirl,” he smiled. He pulled you close, kissing you and pressing you onto the bed, rearranging you so that you were laying down, back on the mattress, facing up with him on top of you, lips traveling from your mouth to your breasts. He sucked at one, teeth grazing your nipple, while his hand massaged and squeezed the other, then alternating.

“Holy fuck,” you gasped as he began to move lower, pressing light kisses to your stomach and moving lower and lower, starting to feel yourself become wet.

“Just wait,” he chuckled. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“What do-” you were about to ask a question but his tongue met your clit and you gasped immediately, tilting your head back and absolute bliss filling your core as he began to eat you out.

“You like that?” he whispered, hot breath on your folds as he inserted his tongue, your fingers tugging on his hair.

“Josh,” a moan escaped your mouth as he inserted a finger, pumping it in and out of you. He added another one and you thought you just might orgasm right then and there. “Shit, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Don’t die yet,” he chuckled, pulling his fingers out and sucking your juices off, grinning. “I still need to fuck your delicious pussy, babe.”

“Fuck,” you caught your breath when you felt him leave, sliding off the bed and searching the pockets of his jeans for a condom, closing your eyes and regaining composure. You were so close, you ached for his touch. You heard the sound of foil tearing, opening your eyes and watching as he pulled the condom over his length, laying on top of you again, the head of his cock at your entrance.

“You sure?” he teased.

“Yes,” you begged. “Please I fucking need this, Josh.”

“Really?” he wondered, teasing you even more.

“Goddammit Joshua,” you muttered, pulling at his shoulders violently as he thrusted into you, and you both gasped, taking a moment to adjust to his size. Holy shit, he felt so good.

“Y/n,” he murmured, picking up a steady pace and thrusting faster and faster, each inch sinking deeper inside of you. “You feel so absolutely amazing baby.”

“Harder,” you insisted, legs wrapping around his waist and arms linked around his shoulders as he slammed you into the mattress, both of you barely able to breathe. Absolute waves of euphoria crashed into you, the feeling absolutely intoxicating, almost losing consciousness. Damn, how was he so good at this?

“I’m gonna cum, babe,” he gasped. “Fuck-” his orgasm triggered yours, and you both moaned loudly, unable to control the feeling, and collapsed onto each other in a mix of sweat and hot breath, him pulling out and wrapping you in his arms.

“Holy fucking shit,” you sighed, laying your head on his chest.

“You probably woke up everyone in the house, screaming my name like that,” he smiled. He ran a hand through your hair. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Dammit,” you whispered, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Please don’t ever go.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “You’re so gorgeous y/n. So perfect. You’re so beautiful.”

“Please don’t leave,” you mumbled into his bare chest. “Not after this.”

“We’ll have many more nights, babe,” he pressed a kiss on your head. “I won’t ever leave.”

You felt him get up again, probably throwing away the condom, before picking up the blankets on the floor and rejoining you, wrapping you in his arms and covering you with the sheets. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you for loving me.”

“Don’t thank me,” he shook his head. “I’ll love you always, y/n. I will love you today and tomorrow and as long as I live. The reason why I told you I love you, even after this short amount of time, is because I care about you. So much. And I’ve never ever met anyone like you before. You’re special. You’re wonderful. And I’ll love you forever. You are loved. Understand?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, drifting off to sleep in his arms. “I understand.” And for the first time in your life, you actually did.

Eating your two cups of veggies per lunch and supper everyday can get boring fast, but not when you have recipes like these yummy cauliflower tortillas! (Don’t forget to add your eggs in for protein count: 2 eggs= approx. 3oz)
SOURCE: (lightly adapted with permission from The Slim Palate Cookbook by Joshua Weissman- Copyright 2014, Victory Belt Publishing, Inc.)
Yield: 6 small tortillas
Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
• Small head of cauliflower
• 2 large eggs
• ¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
• juice from ½ lime (add the zest too if you want more of a lime flavor)
• salt and pepper, to taste
1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
2. Trim the cauliflower, cut it into small, uniform pieces, and pulse in a food processor in batches until you get a couscous-like consistency. The finely riced cauliflower should make about 2 cups packed.
3. Place the cauliflower in a microwave-safe bowl and microwave for 2 minutes, then stir and microwave again for another 2 minutes. Place the cauliflower in a fine cheesecloth or thin dishtowel and squeeze out as much liquid as possible, being careful not to burn yourself. Dishwashing gloves are suggested as it is very hot.
4. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs. Add in cauliflower, cilantro, lime, salt and pepper. Mix until well combined. Use your hands to shape 6 small “tortillas” on the parchment paper.
5. Bake for 10 minutes, carefully flip each tortilla, and return to the oven for an additional 5 to 7 minutes, or until completely set. Place tortillas on a wire rack to cool slightly.
6. Heat a medium-sized skillet on medium. Place a baked tortilla in the pan, pressing down slightly, and brown for 1 to 2 minutes on each side. Repeat with remaining tortillas.
• You can munch these by themselves or add some taco filling and fold it like a taco to get your full supper meal.

Nutritional Information per serving (using 1/8th teaspoon salt and pepper) -Serving size: 1 tortilla- Calories: 42.9, Fat: 1.8g, Saturated Fat: .6g, Sugar: .1g, Sodium: 95.7mg, Fiber: 1.8g, Protein: 3.6g, Cholesterol: 62mg, Carbohydrates: 4.2g

Manhattan Mistress part 2


Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve x reader, Tony x reader and OC!Casey (daughter of Y/N and Tony)

Summary: Another conversation with Natasha. Steve’s got a very fucked up way of showing his love for his wife.

Italics are flashbacks.

Word count: 2.910

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), bad language, talk of violence, death and abuse. If anything of the forementioned is not your cup of tea, please do not read below the cut.

A/N: Dedicated to my favourite mob AU writer @caplanbuckybarnes.

Part 1: the background story

Keep reading

She has sad eyes
And her hair is a little messy.
Her voice cracks when she gets too excited
And she has a habit of talking too much.
There are tiny, tiny freckles on her cheeks
You can only see if you’re too close.
Her touch is soft, almost silky,
But her hands are callused.
She’s short, but just fine,
Thin but healing.
She bites her fingernails
Even when she isn’t nervous.
She smiles brightly and laughs loudly.
She sings when she’s feeling too much
Or not enough and
She dances like no one is watching.
When she cries, she does so quietly
So not do bother the others.
Her mind is complex and constantly moving,
But her thoughts are organized.
Kissing her is strange,
Because she bites her lips
And she has the smallest of scars there.
She deals with sadness quite a bit,
But she looks forward.
She keeps looking forward.
the past is the past

Carry On Countdown Day 6: Early/Next Gen

Lucy/Natasha (it sounds weird, but just trust me here)

The worst thing about seeing Natasha with Malcolm was how hard she always looked.

She had her dark hair pulled into a tight topknot and her mouth pressed into a harsh line, and she stood there, stiff as a statue, in her uniform. He towered over her, but she still didn’t look small. Lucy wasn’t sure if Natasha could look small. She was so tall and elegant, streamlined from her head to her feet. She commanded the attention in a room without a word. People listened to her. People respected her. But they weren’t afraid of her- when she smiled at you, it was impossible to be afraid of anything.

It was astonishing to Lucy how many people told her they were a “cute couple”. She didn’t see it at all. What she saw was her beautiful best friend, condensed into a lesser version of herself, standing next to a man that didn’t love her nearly as much as she deserved to be loved. And it drove her insane.

The worst thing about seeing Lucy with Davy was how happy she always looked.

Of course, Lucy was a happy-go-lucky person, with her crazy bronze curls springing out in all directions from her head and her lively blue eyes sparkling. She would lean into his shoulder and say something quietly, and he would furrow his eyebrows like he was angry, and then as if by magic, they would burst out laughing at what seemed to be the funniest thing in the world.

Not that there was anything wrong with Malcolm. He was a handsome guy, sturdy and serious about his studies. He treated her like a princess. And he was powerful.

But power wasn’t what Natasha wanted.

She wanted wild golden hair and sloping hips and crinkles at the edges of baby blues that seemed to dance and twirl and glow- eyes that held the universe inside of them. She wanted soft, pink lips and straight, white teeth and a crooked nose dotted with freckles. But that was what Davy had, and Malcolm was what Natasha had, and that was the way it was.

Well, not always.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Natasha breathed into the delicate skin of Lucy’s neck as Lucy tugged her hair free from its hair tie. It tumbled down and spilled around her shoulders.

“You look better with your hair down,” Lucy replied, ignoring Natasha’s statement. She was standing and Natasha sat on the bed. Lucy eased her way into the other girl’s lap, hooking one finger into the breast pocket of Natasha’s jacket. She wrapped her legs around Natasha’s middle and leaned in, pressing a feverish kiss just below the other girl’s ear.

“Really, Lucy, we can’t-”

“I know,” Lucy cooed, stroking Natasha’s hair and leaning in. The tips of their noses just brushed, and Natasha’s eyes looked like melting ice. “But we’re going to anyway.” She trailed her fingers down the sides of Natasha’s face and to her neck, then leaned in closer and kissed her. Natasha melted into her embrace, all protests long gone.

She deserved to be happy sometimes, didn’t she?

Her body answered for her as her hands began playing with the hem of Lucy’s pajama shirt. Lucy’s hair was still damp from showering and when it fell in her face and onto Natasha, it send a chill down Natasha’s spine. “How come you were back so late?” Lucy asked, breaking the kiss.

“I was helping Malcolm with his Elocution homework,” Natasha said, nuzzling into the crook of Lucy’s shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him right now.” She slipped her hand further up into the hem of Lucy’s shirt.

“What do you want to talk about?” Lucy teased, leaning into Natasha. They tumbled backward onto the bed, laughing. Lucy wiggled her legs out from underneath Natasha.

“I don’t want to talk at all,” Natasha murmured, flipping Lucy over and tugging the shirt over her head. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

“We have to get up,” Natasha said reluctantly, pushing Lucy off her. She peeled herself out of the sheets and went towards the bathroom to run a shower.

“Don’t leave yet,” Lucy whined. She bunched the covers up around her chin. Natasha smiled.

“You look adorable,” she teased, but didn’t stop moving for the shower.

“Adorable enough for you to come back to bed for ten more minutes?”

“Not even close.”

When Lucy sat with Davy alone in the cafeteria, huddled into a corner, it felt wrong. She was with one of the few people she felt safe with, and they were having a good time, and eating good food, and it felt wrong.

When Natasha sat with Malcolm and his friends at a crowded, loud table, it felt wrong. Everyone was laughing and telling stories and she had a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. And it just felt wrong.

What felt right was stolen moments in their room, holding hands under the guise of “best friends”, sneaking away into supply closets during dances.

What felt right was exactly what everyone else said wasn’t.

“Lucy, you know that I have no control over it! I have to marry him. It’s not my decision!”

“Of course it’s your decision!” Lucy cried, shoving Natasha away from her. She stood up off the bed so quickly she got dizzy. “You can do whatever you bloody well want!”

“Lucy, you don’t understand. I have to carry on the Pitch name. I have to marry one of the Grimms to secure family ties. It’s not a choice that I get to make, it’s been made for me for a long time.”

“I understand perfectly,” Lucy snarled, snatching her discarded skirt from the foot of the bed and pulling it up over her legs. “I’m not good enough for you or your stupid family, because I’m a girl. Because I’m not high status. I under-fucking-stand alright.”

“Don’t make this difficult,” Natasha started, standing up and walking towards her. Lucy lashed out, smacking her hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” Lucy sobbed. “You already made it difficult. It’s always been difficult.”

“That’s why we can’t do it anymore,” Natasha sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I love you, Lucy, you know that…”

“If you loved me,” Lucy whispered. “Then you would show me.”

“How do you expect me to do that? I’m risking everything for you already!”

“Show me by telling Malcolm that it isn’t going to work out.” She spat the name like poison on her tongue. “Show me by telling your parents that Fiona can pass on the bloody Pitch name.”

Natasha sat back down. “Lucy,” she tried, but it sounded wrong. It sounded strangled and choked, like a dying thought.

“I just want you to love me like I deserve, Tasha. I love you that way.”

“That’s why I have to stop. Because you deserve so much that I can’t give,” They were both crying now, the tears running hot down Natasha’s face. “I love you, but I love Malcolm, too, and I love my family.”

“Since when do you love him? Last I heard, you thought he had the personality of a piece of stale bread.”

“He’s different once you get to know him, I swear. He’s gentle and kind and… And he’s what I’m meant to have.” The last word broke, and with it went Lucy’s last straw.

“Alright. You’ve made yourself clear. I’ll leave. I’ll never talk about it again.” She paused, gauging Natasha’s reaction, but the other girl didn’t move a muscle. She just stared down at her knees in shame. “But don’t expect us to be friends. I never wanted to be ‘just friends’ with you, Tasha. I’m never going to want that.”

She went to the door and opened it, lingering for a second, hoping, praying to be called back. But she knew it was done. Natasha had made up her mind, and she’d probably made the right choice. Malcolm was the easier way, the one that made the most sense.

Lucy had always been a fluke.

Two boys kissed, sprawled out on a couch with a fire roaring quiet and steady in the old-fashioned fireplace. One was tall, with dark hair that fell over his face in waves. His jaw was sharp, his bones as thin and finely shaped as the stems of goblets. The other was rougher, with tumbling golden curls and smiling blue eyes. His t-shirt had a spaghetti stain on the front of it. Both looked just like their mothers.