his golden locks

I never had been so distracted by brown eyes that I couldn’t concentrate on the words that the person they belonged to were saying. An exception was made the first time he looked my way, his almost golden eyes locked on mine and I knew it felt different.

I never had been so distracted by someone’s hands that have touched and held so many before me, only to create an uneasy feeling in my stomach. An exception was made the first time I turned away, and he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I later forgot about every body he touched before mine, because he made up for the lost time.

I never had been so distracted by one person that my mind was overrun by thoughts of them. An exception was made the first night he said he loved me. Five years later, and I’m still thinking about his damn eyes and hands and wondering when my mind wasn’t my own.

—  I wasn’t supposed to become so attached. I’m afraid I’ve made a home of you.
Valentines Day: MC x Yoosung

“MC will you be my….valen…valentine?”

Yoosung practiced over and over again in front of the mirror.

He was going to get this right, he was finally going to show MC how he truly felt. Yoosung had planned a night time picnic next to the lake. He had never had a significant other before so he was nervous, would things go as planned?

Yes, Yes they would! Yoosung was determined to get this right 

He looked at the clock “4:50″, MC’s last afternoon class was about to ends. He scrambled to the mirror and ran his fingers through his golden locks. 

“Yoosung you got this !”he told himself in the mirror. 

Rushing out he grabbed the bouquet of dusty pink roses that he had picked up at the flower shop that day and ran out.


MC was just walking out of their last class when someone shoved a bouquet of roses tin their face. It was Yoosung! 

“M…M..MC, please be my valentine!”

MC was in shock, they knew that Yoosung was going to ask them but didn’t expect him to run all the way to their university to ask.

Yoosung’s face was flushed red, and he was panting from all the running, and MC had never felt more in love.

“OF COURSE YOOSUNG!…..But only if you’ll be mine,” said MC 

Confused Yoosung looked up and saw that MC also had roses in their hands,

“M..C….”

“So is that a yes?” asked MC

“It will always be yes..I want to always be with you MC”

MC ran into Yoosungs arms, cry-laughing, “ I love you Yoosung”

He couldn’t believe that he had finally heard what he had waited for since he met MC…

“I love you MC”

Sorry it’s so short!

Request are open!

crocus-procella  asked:

💋 + 8

:: Kiss my Muse! Send me 💋 + a Number!:: @crocus-procella:: 
💋 + 8 Kiss on the stomach

Sakura shivered softly s the playful kisses Naruto had been placing, her muscles tensed and relaxed under the butterfly like kisses. Giggling softly, “Naruto-kun` that tickles~” she mutters, running her slender fingers through his golden locks..

Hey I wrote a thing enjoy????

They were here again. How they kept getting here, neither would actually know. But it seemed ever since that first peck, every time they saw each other things turned a little… Heated.
“Princess, we really can’t be doing this anymore,” Chat said between rough kisses.
“I know,” Mari smirked against his mouth. She moved her hand to the back of his head and entangled her fingers in his golden locks.
A sound of approval escaped his throat and suddenly neither of them were thinking about ending the kiss.
Mari didn’t know what it was about being with Chat, but she never wanted to let him go. She wanted to kiss him until her lips fell off.
She let her tongue linger on his lips while she awaited entrance, which he gladly gave her, causing the kiss to deepen immensely. Suddenly, they couldn’t be close enough. More, more, more she wanted more of him.
He broke away abruptly, “Mari,” he said breathing heavily, “we can’t keep doing this to ourselves.”
“Doing what?” She panted, looking him dead in the eye.
But she knew what. They were setting themselves up for failure.
“Mari, I like Ladybug, we’ve been over this,” he said, gently brushing a strand of her hair out of her face.
“I know, Chat. And I like someone else too,” she still refused to tell him Adrien’s name as a tinge of jealousy struck her heart. She was jealous of herself and this was several levels of ridiculous.
“Then why are we doing this?” He asked, harsher than he’d meant to, but Marinette didn’t miss a beat.
“Do you enjoy kissing me?” She answered his question with one of her own.
“Yes,” Chat said tentatively.
“I enjoy kissing you too,” she stated, as if it were as simple as that.
“But Princess-”
“Does it have to be romantic, Kitty?” She challenged, “who’s to say we have any romantic feelings for each other?”
“Mari…”
“Who’s to say I even like you platonically? Who’s to say I don’t just tolerate you because you’re a good kisser?,” Marinette began rambling. Who was she kidding?
“Marinette, stop,” he surprised her by using her full name. Kitty was usually all about nicknames, “I’m to say it’s not just kissing. I’m to say there’s… Something… Between us that I can’t understand. I’m to say this isn’t platonic. I’m to say this stopped being friendly pecks on the cheek a long time ago.”
There was silence between them. What was he saying…
“I don’t understand…?” Mari awaited an explanation.
“Marinette… Mari… Princess, I like you,” he stated incredulously as he touched her face, “And I like Ladybug. I believe if I met you first, I wouldn’t like her. But the fact of the matter is that I didn’t meet you first and I do like her, and it isn’t fair to you.”
Marinette groaned in exasperation. She should just tell him. Everything would be so much fucking easier if she told him. Really, she’s making the problem worse by not telling him. Yet she doesn’t have the courage to actually do it.
“I understand,” is all she said, taking a step back and looking away from him.
Unbeknownst to the other, they both felt as if they had a knife in their heart.
“Mari,” a pained expression danced across his face and she couldn’t bear this any longer.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry…”
Fuck it. Fuck it. She had to do this.
“Chat?”
“Yes?”
“What if… Completely hypothetically. What if Ladybug and I were the same person?” She challenged, meeting his gaze.
“Well,” he eyed her curiously, “I’d be shocked, to say the least.”
“Shocked like a, ‘both girls I like are the same person, this is awesome,’ or shocked like a 'I don’t know who she is but she’s a liar,’?” She questioned. This was going to make or break everything.
“The first one,” he deadpanned. Nothing could make this situation easier than two girls being one.
Marinette took a deep breath.
“I’m her. I’m…Ladybug.”
“What about… the boy you like?” Chat asked, not needing her to prove who she was. He always thought they were exceedingly similar.
“The more I’m with you, the more I want to let him go. He doesn’t feel that way about me and I want to be with someone who does,” Her eyes wide and filled with hope.
Chat examined her. The worry lines in her forehead. Her disheveled hair. Her lips, God her lips. Red and swollen, pursed to one side, causing her cute little nose to follow in suit. His heart swelled, it was so hard to deny the urge to kiss her when she looked so… Kissable.
So he didn’t deny it. He reached for her and pressed his forehead to hers and leaned in. Their lips had just barely brushed when he whispered something she hadn’t expected.
“I want this; God knows I want this, but if this is going to happen I need… I need to know his name. Just his name, and I’ll never ask about him again.” He swore, close enough to count her eyelashes.
“Adrien,” she whispered immediately. Anything for this, “his name is Adrien Agreste.”
Chat froze. He retracted from her slightly. A small smile crept onto his face. He chuckled lightly to himself. The absolute irony of this whole situation was despicable. But, just his luck, he supposed.
“What?” Marinette demanded, a look of hurt sweeping over her face. Who was he to laugh at her?
Chat touched her face lightly, smiling down at her.
“Marinette, Ladybug, this whole time we thought we were in some big complicated situation. But it turns out, our only problem is that we fell for one another twice.” He grinned.
Suddenly, the last beep of his miraculous sounded off (great timing) and there was a flash of light that made Mari look away. When she looked back, who did she see but the other boy she liked? Of course. As her good luck would have it.
A huge smile broke out on her face as she threw her arms around him.
This was how it was supposed to be.
Adrien pressed his lips to her forehead, then to her cheeks, her eyelids, anywhere he could find that he felt needed kissing. Until there was but one spot left unkissed.
Marinette’s hands entangled themselves back into his hair as she pulled him down to crash his lips to hers. They skipped soft and tentative, heading straight for 'better than oxygen’.

Going Soft

Originally posted by xmendaily

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Going Soft

Author: Morgan

Prompt: Can I request a Warren Worthington (Angel) imagine where the reader and him are acting all cuddly and fluffy so Peter and Scott are making fun of him for going soft but he tries to act tough in front of them? Thank you, I’m having major feels.

Note: Awwwwwww my babyyyyy

Warnings: Swears and suggestions ;).

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon at the Mansion. You were cuddling with your boyfriend of three months, Warren. His strong arms were around you as you laid on his muscular chest. Your fingers traveled up through his curly golden locks. He smiled, kissing your temple.

“Babe,” he said suddenly. He sounded like something was troubling him.

“What?” you asked, looking up at his face. You smiled. God, he was so handsome.

“I’m not…going soft, am I?” he asked, definitely a little bit worried.

“Why?”

“Am I?”

“No. You’re still the badass I fell in love with.” you reassured him, resting your cheek on his chest. “Now tell me why?”

“The boys keep teasing me.” he admitted.

“Teasing you about us?”

“Yeah. They think I’m turning into a teddy bear.”

“Well you are pretty cuddly.” you poked his nose. He smirked, unamused by your little gesture. “Tell you what, Jean, Jubilee, Ororo, and I are going out tonight to catch a movie and go shopping. You can act tough in front of the guys and when I get home-”

“How about I’ll surprise you when you get home?” he suggested, an idea popping into his head. You nodded, a sly grin slowly creeping across your face. You had an idea of your own.

***

“You look hot,” Jubilee applauded as you walked out of the dressing room. Jean and Ororo nodded in agreement.

You were wearing a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a tight black Metallica t-shirt, one of Warren’s leather jackets, a pair of angel wing earrings, and heavy black ankle-boots. Your hair was tossed over one side of your head, your eyeliner was thick and dark, and your eyeshadow was red. Your nails had been painted black. God, you felt hot.

“I’ve never really tried the rocker look before, but…” you spun around, looking at yourself in the mirror. Warren had never seen you like this either.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” Jean smirked. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t melt into a puddle as soon as he sees you.”

“Agreed,” Ororo nodded. “His jaw will quite literally hit the floor.”

“I can’t wait,” you grinned, looking at your reflection and biting your lip.

***

“You guys are lightweights,” Warren scoffed, downing another shot of vodka. The Four Horsemen by Metallica blared loudly in the danger room. Luckily, it was soundproof.

“Dude, I’m the only one here legal to drink,” Peter chuckled.

“Actually, in Germany, zhe legal drinking age is sixteen,” Kurt piped up, still completely alcohol free. “I just don’t like alcohol. It’s sinful.”

“Bro, there are like three of you,” Scott chuckled, pointing hazily at Peter. Peter laughed.

“Dude.” Peter shook his head. Kurt laughed. He looked up at Warren, who fanned his wings and played air-guitar as the big guitar solo played. “Okay, maybe you aren’t going soft.”

“Damn right,” Warren nodded. “I mean, I did meet my girlfriend when I punched her in the face.”

“I forgot about that,” Peter chuckled. “And then she saved your life.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of a badass too,” Warren smirked. Peter’s eyes widened, looking behind Warren at the entrance to the danger room. It opened, revealing you in your rocker get-up.

“You have no clue,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. Warren turned around, raising an eyebrow. His jaw dropped as he took you in.

“Hey babe,” you greeted, walking up to him confidently in your clunky leather boots. He was frozen, staring at you. The girls watched from the doorway, smiling. You rested your hand on his chest, smirking. He swallowed thickly.

“You…” he couldn’t seem to get words to come out of his mouth. “Um, you look good. Like really good. Hot. You look hot.”

“That’s kinda what I was going for.”

“Is that my-”

“Jacket? Yeah. It is.” you nodded. “But…if you wanna come up to my room and help me take it off…”

“Bye guys,” Warren bid the others farewell. He lifted you off of the floor, literally carrying you all the way there. The girls high-fived. Peter looked around at the others.

“Yep. He’s going soft.” Peter rested his hands on his hips. “Oh, and Jean, your boyfriend’s drunk.”

Scott,” she sighed, walking over to help him off of the floor.

***

About an hour later, you and Warren were laying on your backs on your bed, breathing heavily. Warren had red lipstick marks all over. His hair was a mess and he was dressed only in his black boxers. You were down to a t-shirt and black short-shorts.

“I’m not going soft, am I?” Warren checked, smirking.

“Nope. Not at all.”

ch 13 excerpt bc fuck you i roll like this

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack! Finally out of the office for a change?” Ana Amari is just as radiant as always. Her long black hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, her coat stylishly thrown around her shoulders. She stands outside his office door, hand balanced on one of her hips. A smile is spread across her face.

“I finally managed to get on top of all that paperwork,” Jack sighs, unable to resist a smile of his own.

“I’m sure Gabriel would be delighted to help you.” Ana shoots him a wink and he laughs. It’s a private joke they share. “Come, now. We have coffee waiting for us, Reinhardt’s make.”

“He makes it good, if I can sneak some creamer behind his back.” Jack runs a hand through his golden locks. The two of them start down the hallway, and he strikes up a conversational tone. “You know Torbjörn is good at making it, too?”

“He makes his as runny as a child’s nose, Jack.” She chides gently. “I cannot believe the Strike Commander takes his coffee so weak.”

He laughs again. “Well, I’m tough in so many other ways… There’s got to be some kind of trade-off.”

“I’m surprised Gabriel can even stand that about you. He won’t take his coffee anything but black.”

“You can’t convince me he actually likes it like that. We both know black coffee is crap.” An amused shake of his head. “He only drinks it to maintain his whole ‘badass’ image.”

“He may not like it, but at least he can handle his drink without five sugar packets and three teaspoons of cream.” Ana teases.

Jack flushes slightly. “Life’s too short to not enjoy your coffee, Ana.”

A Chance Encounter | Phantom | Prologue | Open

It was to a gentle caress of the cheek and soft whispers of sweet nothings that he had gone to bed last night with, and neither were present when he woke up. His golden-blond locks trailed across his field of view, and there was something on one side of his face, but he didn’t think anything was wrong…What had happened last night though?

Those memories were there, and yet not there, and somehow he didn’t care, for he was everywhere and nowhere at once and his name, his name- what was his name?

To this thought, he blinked, before rising up from his bed- not his bed, and definitely not the bed of that adorable girl who had requested his company. He felt…calm. At peace. The rocking of the room did little to change his flow of thought, although he still pondered the peculiar circumstances he had woken up in. This room was clearly that of a state room - the rocking only exacerbated the fact that he was on a ship. The back of his mind argued that he had not gone to bed in any cruise, nor did he go to bed fully-clothed to begin with, and he agreed. Perhaps a look around would help?

Dearest Phantom, Thank you for choosing Higendou Cruise-lines. I do hope you enjoy your cruise, along with the rest of your co-passengers. There are…

Dully, his subconscious registered his apparent name. Phantom? He took another look in the mirror, and the pieces fell into place. Or as in place for him as things were honestly going to get.

The opera mask and elegant dress code felt familiar - very familiar to Phantom, in fact. He felt very much at home in the outfit of his namesake, though admittedly this was the first time he was unable to remove the mask. There was also the issue of his blinding bangs to consider, but as he reached up to brush them aside, a foreboding thought struck him and he dropped his hand.

…Well, maybe my co-passengers can shed some light on this.

He opened the door only to have a large anthropomorphic cat whack his face with one paw. He could tolerate that as an accident since it appeared it was trying to knock, but he didn’t appreciate Deadline knocking twice more. Muttering curses under his breath as he rubbed his nose, he listened to their spiel, before watching them move on to the next door down.

So they were on a cruise ship. Phantom considered the possible implications of this as he wandered around the floor. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of someone else, but they were either busy with their own awakenings, or having an existential crisis. As he turned a corner, however, he abruptly came to a halt as someone else had been turning the corner with him.

“Ah, my sincerest apologies.” He said, holding out a hand. “I am still attempting to grasp the situation we have found ourselves in, and did not mean to bump into you. Je m'appelle Phantom, bonjour. It’s a pleasure to meet you…if I may know what you refer to yourself as?”

And as he listened to their response, he couldn’t help shake the feeling that the masks that he, his new acquaintance, and everyone else had been wearing meant something. If only he could remember what.

@thoushallfadenothereis in need of some tlc - 

It is only when the tired blonde is seated that she is capable of reaching the top of his head – and so she takes advantage of this opportunity to gently pat his unruly golden locks. 

Slipping out of the room, she returns with the promised glass of warm milk, as well as an unmentioned plate of biscuits. Treats have a strange kind of power, she’s noticed. They can turn even the most sour of moods sweet, and she hopes that the same will be true here.

“You really should consider taking a break once in a while. All of this work…Not to mention the stress - it simply isn’t good for you.” 

“We will do anything you’d want to do. If you want a massage, you’ll get one. What ever you’d like to do or have.”

She smiled brightly, wondering what he’d like to do.

“Anything?” He teased, playing with his golden locks for a moment. “Hmm… I’m not sure if there’s anyhing I want, but a massage is always nice.”

@wiingeddetective

trapped - a dylann storm roof love story

~

i lean over to dylann and whisper in his ear, “i love you,” sending chills throughout his body, and goosebumps throughout his pasty white boy skin. although we are in the darkness of his bedroom, i can feel that our embrace is electric. i run my hands through his golden locks that make up a messy bowl cut and press my lips against his neck.

dylann swiftly zaps his head towards mine and our eyes lock. “who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you get into my cell?” he growls into my ear, instantly turning me on. he hovers over me with eyes dark and full of lust, and pushes me to the ground. “security!” he screams at the top of his lungs, asserting his white privilege over me.

prison guards rush into the room instantly, pulling and grabbing at my pale, smooth, glowing, dewey, flawless skin like predators attacking their prey in the african savannah. i try to fight against them to the best of my ability, but my model-like, skinny, gorgeous, chic body is no match for them. i am on the ground, helpless, being pushed around against my will, slowly losing consciousness as each moment goes by.

“wait!” dylann screams, leading the guards to let go. i regain the consciousness i had lost and make my way over to dylann. his lips crash against mine, slipping his venomous tongue into my mouth. at the height of our embrace dylann pulls away. “write about this on your blog you disgusting ass hoe,” he exclaims, before clenching his flawless hands into a fist and punching me in the face.

my vision becomes blurry and everything stops…

i don’t remember anything else from that night but i know that the bond that dylann and i shared was so beautiful that it would put karla homolka and paul bernardo to shame.

i love you dylann… and one day we will meet again.

~ the end ~

prince!luke

the neon lights that leaked through the hotel windows seemed to mingle with his smooth skin, the pink and blue patches bringing out the small freckles across his cheeks. god, he looked so peaceful sleeping, it almost made me forget how not-pretty this situation is.the same finger that traces patterns in to my bare shoulders while i sleep is donned with an engagement ring. given, it’s an arranged marriage that he needs to carry through with to honor his family name, but he comes in to the hotel room every night and starts to complain about how obnoxiously bitchy she is. “i can marry her, but i can’t love her.” he’d crack out, pulling at the roots of his clichéd golden locks. “should be a sin to survive yet not live fully, huh?” i don’t even know how this started. all it took was a tipsy hookup at a party he snuck in to undercover, and now it seems i cant take my hands off him and his lips need to be attached to my neck to function. no one warned me about falling in love with the famed blonde prince, though. “hi princess.” i jumped when i heard his familiar voice that’s been weighed down with sleep make it’s way in to the atmosphere. i winced at the signature nickname he’s christened me with, since i remind him of ‘a disney princess. you’re smart and brave and little girls will want to be you someday.’ i cant help but think about someone else is literally already his princess. “you’re staring.” "i’m just thinking.” i quickly responded, flopping back down on the bed. “we’re so fucked.” he wraps his arm around me, chuckling softly as he buries his nose in to my neck, rubbing it over the red patches he left earlier. “so you feel it too.” "yup.” i said, tears starting to cloud in my eyes. he turns on his stomach and looks at me, sincerity practically drowning in his blue eyes. "hey, princess, look at me.” he says softly, placing his large hand on the side of my cheek. “no matter what happens, i’ll never forget this. you’re the only splash of normalcy i will ever have in my life, yet in the time i have spent with you, there was never a dull moment. even if i decide not to go off with you, i’ll never forget you. you’ll always be my one true princess.” his voice cracked a bit. “and i think..i think i love you.” i bit my lip, thinking if i should respond with the honest truth but jesus christ, looking straight in to his eyes, i cant help it. “i love you too.” i kiss him and he puts his hand around my waist, rolling me over so im on top of him again. i know, sooner than later, this will all be gone. he’ll be married to her, ill probably live somewhere else, and our little glimpse of bliss will be shattered to the ground. but, you know, maybe under some other condition, we could have existed. maybe in some other life. maybe if the stars were aligned in perfect harmony with the galaxies in his beautiful eyes. or maybe on some short, rough pages, stuck in some fictional universe. maybe on the other side of normality, dazed and confused and bent but feeling completely okay because we were by each others side. maybe then, someday soon we’ll be together. all i know as he pulls me closer to him and i breathe in his expensive, yet subtle cologne is that i just don’t want to let this go.

crisscrossed and backwards

for @faeblossom​. “I want the K" 

21: Then there’s tongue

Rating: Teen



Her bedroom wall is freezing, the cold chill seeping through her thin t-shirt while he pins her against it. Marinette can all but cling to Chat Noir as he cradles her face in his hand, his chest pressing against hers and making her knees go weak. With his lips on hers, she might not remember the flavor of air, but right now, she only craves his taste–the mix of mint and sweet–to fill her lungs.

Keep reading

waking up before luke, watching the way his long lashes caught the sunlight as they fluttered against his cheek, the way his elfish nose would twitch, scrunch up, release air in a soft puff as he dreamt soundly. watching the way his lips, chapped and impossibly pink, would part, allowing air to go through them as his face was smooshed against your shoulder. how his fingers, even in his sleep, would twitch against your skin like there was a beat in his head. how his hair, soft and falling over his forehead, would slide through your fingers easily from the lack of product and settle back over the pillow and his face when you couldn’t help but pull your fingers through his golden locks. how his voice, not quite silent in the night as he had a habit of talking in his sleep, would be so raspy and slurred as broken sentences and song rhythms and tiny grunts and huffs would escape his lips. you would watch the rise and fall of his back as he breathed slowly, calmly, while you wondered how such a creation of the universe was embodied next to you. 

watching luke wake up, the way his breath hitched as he fought consciousness, the way his body arched and stretched before settling against you once again, his lips smacking against each other as he familiarized himself with the taste of his own mouth. you would watch as his eyes slowly opened, taking in his surroundings before taking in you, his once sleepy pout immedietly tipping up into a grin before he ducked his face into the crook of your arm and torso to hide from your love filled gaze. a silly little grumpy groan would break the silence before he would tilt his head to peek one blue- god, so blue. the embodiment of the sky on a summer afternoon- eye up at you. “G’morning m’love,” He would rasp, goosebumps erupting on your arms as his lips and prickly scruff would bump against your skin as he spoke. “sleep well?”

“slept perfect,” you responded, allowing him to tug you down the bed until his wide frame could envelope you. his breath would be hot in your hair and his hold on your body nearly suffocating but you never wanted to be anywhere else. not when the sky was mirrored in his eyes, when the sun had kissed his skin and left little reminders in the form of brown freckles across his back, when the air from his lips was more satisfying than any breeze. your world was right here in bed with you, and you knew you never needed to be anywhere else. 

Full House Part 3

“What happened to you, sugar?” the barber, Xena, queried, watching the patches of dark brown hair mixed in with the natural strawberry blonde of his roots.
He pointed to Amelia, “She did.”
“Your girlfriend do this to you?” Xena laughed, guiding Owen to a salon chair and wrapping a black cloak around his neck.
“Not my girlfriend,” Owen responded the same time Amelia said, “Not his girlfriend.”
“No girlfriend would do this to me,” he grumbled, flinching at the sound of the shaver turning on. He watched one of his locks fall off his head as the stylist passed with the shaver, silently trying to reprimand himself from crying.

He hadn’t felt cool breeze pass his head in a long time. It was somewhat soothing, except for the fact that all his glorious golden locks were gone, replaced with an army nostalgic, buzz cut. Amelia lay lazily on the couch, flipping mindlessly through a magazine when Owen approached her.
“Hey,” Amelia taunted, looking up from the magazine, “heading back to the army I see.”
“Oh please. You’d cry every day if I left,” he replied snakily, “now let’s go buy you something so I can get on with the rest of my day.”
“Preferably something that would make you go bankrupt, please,” Amelia said, following Owen out of the barber shop.

“Here,” Owen said, handing her the tiny, red lollipop, “your gift.”
“You’re kidding right?” she asked him, not even taking the pop from him. She took in her surroundings, eventually bounding for one of the sports and games stores, “Let’s go in here.” Leave it up to Amelia to go into a game store instead of Forever 21. He rolled his eyes and followed her, sucking on the lollipop instead of saying something worthy of getting kneed in the nuts.
“I didn’t know you played games,” Owen said instead as Amelia glazed her eyes over video games and game systems. She looked back at him, masking a smile when she saw the way the lollipop stick stuck out of his mouth like a happy child.
“Mark and Derek would play them a lot,” Amelia responded reminiscently, “I’d watch them play all day during summer. It was better than hanging out with my three devil sisters. I wonder which one is the most expensive.” He’d experienced it more than once, where Amelia would easily tell him something personal about her childhood and then change the topic quickly after doing so, covering it up with a joke or sly statement like what she’d said just now. He’d known by now not to prod for further details and just went along with it.
“Ha ha,” he said, “very funny.”
“Your tongue is red,” she noticed as he spoke, finally baring her smile. He stuck his tongue out, unbelievingly, so that he could see it.
“That,” Amelia said, looking over his shoulder, oblivious to what Owen was doing, and then walking over, “I. Want. That.”
“Um,” Owen began unnervingly, “are you sure?”
“Meredith said buy me whatever I want, right?” she asked rhetorically, “well I want this.”
She was going to be the death of him.

“Ready. Set. Go!” Meredith heard Amelia say from the kitchen, followed by the sound of plastic cups clanking.
“Done,” she heard Maggie say as she entered the living room.
“What,” Meredith whispered to herself as she noticed her living room was no longer just that. She entered the kitchen just in time to see Owen swallowing a shot.
“Oh, hi,” Amelia greeted her cheekily, a large grin on her face as she watched Owen’s face scrounge in disgust, “the kids are at Callie’s, Ellis included, in case you forgot. Maggie brought home some tequila, do you want?”
“Why is there a pool table in the middle of my living room?” Meredith asked in a spaced out manner.
“Owen bought it for me,” Amelia boasted, playfully elbowing a buzzed Owen.
“Yessir, I did,” he confirmed lazily, resting his arm on Amelia’s shoulder, “For the record, it was a good buy.”
“I thought you said you’d buy her a lollipop?!” Meredith stressed frustratedly.
“Relax, Mer,” Maggie said, refilling her and Owen’s three plastic shot cups with more tequila, “have some tequila.” She pulled out three new plastic shot cups for Meredith without stumbling which Amelia found impressive seeing as she’d taken the same amount of shots as Owen and he was already tipsy.
Meredith sighed and smiled, resting down her bag and taking off her jacket, “Only if you get the lime and salt.” Meredith pulled out three more shot cups, while Maggie retrieved the ingredients, and slid them Amelia’s way.
“You’re obviously already drunk,” Amelia noted as the cups taunted her.
“Grab the sparkling water,” Meredith added, still looking at Amelia, “Shepherd’s taking some lime salt shots too.” Amelia couldn’t help but give her a wide, cheesy grin as she filled her cups with the non-alcoholic liquid. They all counted to three and took one shot, with Owen messing it up and licking the salt after taking the shot instead of before, causing him to taste the full extent of the bitter tequila while everyone laughed at him. Amelia couldn’t help but feel more at home as she watched the three of them laugh and drink, taking another tequila shot with them even though her shots weren’t really alcohol.

With Owen dead in his bedroom, Meredith out cold on the couch and Maggie finally retiring to her bedroom after losing again to Amelia in a game of pool, Amelia made her way to her bedroom only to find Owen taking residence there.
“That’s weird,” she muttered to herself, deciding to sleep in his room for tonight instead of waking him. If that was possible, at least. He was probably too drunk to notice which room he was in, anyways. Things got even weirder as she noticed that Owen’s bedroom door wouldn’t budge. She sighed and went back into her bedroom, keeping as far away as possible from Owen, without falling off the bed.
“Do you like your new pool table?” murmured a very intoxicated Owen, amidst the silence.
“It’s nice, I guess,” she said, smiling in the darkness. More silence loomed before she broke it again by asking, “I don’t really mind but why are you in my bed?”
“I…accidentally locked myself…out of my bedroom,” he slurred, shuffling around the bed and causing it to shake a little. As if it were the most normal thing, he slung his arm over her stomach and pulled her in, causing Amelia to immediately tense up and relax at the same time. She didn’t even know how much she missed being his little spoon until then. She could feel his warmth radiating through her clothes and, knowing she’d probably regret her actions tomorrow, she flipped over to face him. His eyes were closed, a soft snore escaping his lips rhythmically. It was funny how, in this moment, she wanted to stroke his hair, knowing that it was her fault that she’d have to settle for running her fingers across the spiky fur of his buzzed haircut. He smelled like a perfect mix of sweat and cologne with no trace of alcohol she could smell.
“You showered,” she stated as a fact.
The moonlight, coming from the window, illuminated Owen’s ocean eyes when he opened them and Amelia could see the tiny outline of the moon itself in them. She watched as his dilated eyes analysed her, her eyes doing the same.
“I did,” he responded, edging his face closer to hers, “although I don’t know if you count falling in the shower five times as bathing.” The sound of her laughter filled the room and he relished in the beautifully chilling noise.
Her grin remained, “Yeah, we can count it, I guess.” He smiled then closed his eyes, shifting his face even closer to Amelia’s so that their noses were almost touching now.
“Are you tired?” she asked, not sure if she’d be happy or sad if he said yes.
“90% wasted, 10% tired,” he whispered.
“I miss him. A lot. But especially when we were hanging out today. Derek would’ve loved the pool table and tequila. It’s why I bought it,” she confessed sadly, looking at his closed eyelids.
“Yeah, I figured,” he declared.
“Really?”
“No, actually,” he confesses, chuckling, “it’s the alcohol speaking. Ignore it.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I missed ‘the other’ Dr. Shepherd when we were hanging out today,” Owen continued.
“That’s the alcohol speaking,” Amelia tried to joke, even though she was becoming a nervous wreck at his description of her.
“Maybe. Or that’s the alcohol giving me liquid courage,” he commented, giving her an Eskimo kiss. Her eyes fluttered close as his nose nuzzled hers and she attempted to refrain from sighing audibly.
“Owen,” she began, too mesmerised by his soft nose kisses to pull away, “you’re drunk.”
“You’re the one who flipped over. Are you trying to take advantage of me, Dr. Shepherd?”
His lips came after, softly touching hers, so softly that she questioned if it had actually happened. She felt his hand cup her back and pull her closer as his lips pressed more firmly against hers this time, his tongue passing across her bottom lip, and she couldn’t help but kiss him back. He pulled her body on top of him and ran his hands up her thighs to her ass as they kissed, squeezing it forcefully as he guided it to grind against him. She felt him moan into her mouth as one of his hands slid under the back of her shirt, fighting to unclasp her bra.
“I don’t recall this being so hard to do,” he murmured, fiddling with the clasp.
She looked down at him and grinned, whispering, “Maybe it’s because you’re drunk?” His eyes opened wide as he made the realisation.
“We probably shouldn’t do this,” she added, wanting so badly to do the opposite of what she said, “I don’t want to 'take advantage’ of you.”
“You’re probably right,” Owen confirmed, letting Amelia fall to the side of him.
“It’s a good thing, though,” he said after a few seconds.
“Why?” she asked him.
“My condoms are in my bedroom.”

He Lays You Down [Thor Imagine]

            You’d always had a thing for the god, his golden locks and muscles an easy attraction to most women who even set their eyes on him. Being a SHIELD agent, you were assigned to go on a stakeout with the God of Asgard and as the two of you made your way to your hotel room and headquarters, you couldn’t help but giggle at him in his outfit, a simple hoodie and some Levis.

            “What is so funny?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion at your giggles. You shake your head and bite your lip.

            “You just look so good in civilian clothing,” you told him playful as you moved to your desktop to check in on some files for the case but he steps infront of your path.

            “You always look lovely, Agent 21,” he tells you before pulling you close and kissing you passionately on the lips. Before you knew it, you were both down to your undergarments and man, did his abs look delicious, you thought to yourself as he lightly laid you down on the bed and crawled slowly on top of you before attaching your lips again.

His Golden Locks

by George Peele

His golden locks time hath to silver turned;
O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ‘gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And, lovers’ sonnets turned to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are now age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He’ll teach his swains this carol for a song-
“Blessed be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong.”
Goddess, allow this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.