how does her dress work anyway

anonymous asked:

No but cuan descarado tienes que ser for you to check out a girl in front of her girlfriend and just nod at her tan tranquilamente when u get caught

when @toomuchducky and I happen to dress on the masculine side at the same time people don’t think we’re together. that was day 1 of Miami Pride and people kept giving us question mark looks like “how does that work” which like you’d think wouldn’t be a thing and yet

anyway, in the elevator this chick didn’t know we were together i’m gonna assume, until she caught eyes w ducky and ducky was like “👀…but i feel you fam she hot”

roket107  asked:

Prompt eh? How about where twi wants to ask rarity out but keeps chickening out at the last second and asking for a dress instead. Does that work for a prompt or is it supposed to be more general?

“I’m telling you, Shy,” Rainbow said, kicking back and lying on the pegasus’s couch. “It was, like, the weirdest thing!”

“You hiding in Rarity’s closet?” Fluttershy asked, giving her friend a stern look.

“Hey, listen, I was just gonna play a trick on her, okay?! Scaring ponies is, like, super fun! But anyway!” She crossed her forelegs and frowned. “Twilight came in because she always finds a way to ruin my best scares, and then she started telling Rarity how she was a good friend, and so strong and brave and all this mushy garbage, and then she just like went red in the face and started just like going on and on about Rarity’s dresses?”

“Oh, well, Twilight’s always appreciated Rarity’s designs?”

Rainbow sat up. “No, Shy, you don’t get it! She was like practically writing a love letter to them! I mean, I guess Rarity’s good at them and whatever, but geez, I almost wanted to come out and tell her to just get married to Rarity’s dresses already.”

(( art by @lilfunkman))

we’re still taking a few more

ktwesterna  asked:

10 or 19 for ladynior? Or Adrienette? Just something cute. I love your writing!

Thank you so much!!  Eep!  Here’s your LadyNoir with a side of implied Adrienette.  :)


“Hey, some of us have places to be, so let’s make this quick, huh?”  He called, dropping in front of the akuma.

“Got a hot date, kitty?” Ladybug asked, landing behind him with her yoyo already whirring in her grasp.

“Something like that, my lady.”  

“I am le Saboteur, and I have come for your Miraculous!”

“Yeah, you and every other schmuck Hawkmoth has roped into doing his dirty work,” Chat grumbled.  He dodged a spray of—is that icing?—that shot from her bouquet.  “What’s your problem anyway?  Shouldn’t you be dancing with your groom right about now?”

“Dance?  Dance??”  The white-garbed akuma stopped and turned, pointing to a long drape of fabric that had torn from the waist of her over-the-top gown.  “How can I dance when my cretin of a father stepped on my dress and ripped it?”

Ladybug cringed.  “Ok, that does suck, but why let it ruin your day?”

“I didn’t!” She shrieked, blasting them with more frosting.  “I didn’t even let it ruin my day when the frosting melted off of my wedding cake!”

Chat dove, panting.  “Then what are we doing here?”

“Daddy sent the photographer home!”  Le Saboteur wailed, stamping her booted foot.  “The reception was not over, but he let the photographer go! He sabotaged my whole day!  Everything went wrong and my day was ruined and now I will sabotage everything else!”

“Right now, you’re not sabotaging anything but my evening.  Can we get on with it?”

“Chat!”  Ladybug grabbed her partner and yanked him down behind a car.  “She’s had a rough day, cut her some slack.”

Chat gaped at her.  “Don’t tell me you think she’s justified?”  

“No, but I sympathize.”  She waved her hand dismissively.  “But, whatever.  Let’s just defeat her, so we can all get back to what we were doing. It’s probably in the bouquet, right?”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

“Okay.  Lucky Charm!”  A bottle of bright red fruit punch fell into Ladybug’s expectant hands, and she grinned. It wasn’t often that she got a straight-forward charm, but this was definitely one of those times.  “Cover me, Chat!  I have a dress to ruin!”

He nodded, and leapt out of hiding to draw Le Saboteur’s attention.  His taunts were so successful that Ladybug calmly walked toward her, uncapped the bottle, and tossed the contents onto the still-pristine gown before Le Saboteur even knew that Ladybug had rejoined the fight.

The poor girl took one look at the giant red stain on her gown and burst into tears. Ladybug took the bouquet from her limp fingers with an apologetic grimace and easily tore it apart.  As expected, a violent purple butterfly fluttered from the scattered flowers.  Ladybug cleansed it with a sigh of relief, and turned back to the bewildered bride standing in the middle of the street.

The girl’s dress was a more understated version of her costume, and thanks to the Miraculous Cure, was as snowy white now as it had been at the beginning of the day.  Even better, Tikki’s magic had fixed the tear at the waist! The only other time she could remember Tikki fixing something like that was Alix’s heirloom watch.  Ladybug silently promised her kwami an extra special treat later as a thank you, but for now—BEEP!  

“Chat!  I’ve got to bug out, can you make sure she’s ok?”

“But—my date—”

“So you are on a hot date!” Ladybug laughed, and flicked the bell at his throat. “Sorry, Chaton, but I’m on a timer and you’re not.  I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as she prepared to swing away.  “I’m just lucky that Marinette is so forgiving—”

Ladybug froze mid-swing, and her yoyo clattered to the ground, momentarily forgotten.  “What did you say?!”

“Er, nothing?”  He stepped to the girl and swept her off her feet, bridal-style, without so much as a by-your-leave.  “Gotta get this bride back to her groom.  Bye!”

Ladybug watched him go with wide, suddenly knowing eyes, and only the beeping of her Miraculous recalled her to herself.  She managed to make it back to the uptown restaurant before losing her transformation, and returned to her table to wait for Adrien.  

That sneaky cat, she thought, smiling happily.  I guess I was the hot date.

Oil and Sugar - Chapter 7 - Pretending

Read on A03


Jughead never showed up to ‘help’ on Monday or Wednesday.  He sent a text simply saying he was dealing with bar stuff.  Betty missed him.  The shop was quiet and lonely and she wondered how she had gotten by before he got there.  When life had been simple.

On Wednesday evening, Veronica dragged her to a fancy boutique to get her a gown for the benefit that she insisted Betty attend.  She hadn’t wanted to and especially not if some guy was coming with Archie that planned on meeting her.  She didn’t want any guy around her unless it was Jughead.  

“Stop being such a grump about it,” Veronica said with a frown as she pulled another dress from the bunch of samples the store clerk had brought.  “I think you need to get out more anyway.  All you do is work in that dirty shop and apparently sleep with Jughead.  How’s that going by the way?  Either of you come to your senses yet?”

“Come to our senses how?” Betty said, taking the new gown from her to try on.  

“Like, as in, stop fucking and either date, or just walk away.”

“I don’t even know how Jughead and I would date.  How does one date after you’ve been sleeping together for a month?”

“Jesus, Betty, really?  You go to dinner for God’s sake.  You go to a movie.  A walk in the park.  Go somewhere, where there isn’t a bed,” Veronica said with a laugh.  Betty smirked.

“We don’t need a bed, honey,” she said.  Veronica rolled her eyes.

“You know I saw him the other day, he looks good.  I can see why you have the hots for him,” she said laughing.  Betty stared at her.

“You saw Jughead?  Where?”

“I can’t remember exactly.  Some place in town,” Veronica lied, biting back a smile.  Jughead had never actually said he was coming to the benefit but she was certain he would show up.  If he didn’t, she’d personally kick his ass.  Betty finally managed to get into the gown that Veronica had handed her and turned around to face her.  

“Oh my God, B.  You look absolutely stunning.  That’s it, that’s the one.”  Betty looked in the mirror and was surprised.  It was beautiful.  The price tag was not.

“V, I can’t afford this.  I can barely afford to give a donation,” she said sadly.  

“You don’t need to buy it Betty, the store will loan you the dress.  It’s my treat.”  

“God, what if I spill something on it.  I’ll ruin it.”

“Then we’ll fix it, but this is definitely the one,” Veronica said in excitement.  Betty got back out of the dress and Veronica had it packaged up.  “Come to the hotel around noon on Saturday.  My glam squad will be ready.  It’s time you dressed up girl and wore makeup instead of oil stains.”

“I wear makeup,” Betty muttered.  They finished up in the store and Betty headed home.  She was tired and wanted to just curl up on the couch or in bed with a book and go to sleep.  Oh, who was she kidding.  She wanted to curl up with Jughead.  

She had spent the whole day with him on Saturday and since then, she remembered almost all the drunken fun they had had and she was right, she was mortified.  The only thing that made her feel better was that Jughead had enjoyed every second of it.  They had been wild and fun and there were no barriers up with them.  She remembered some of her other confessions to Jughead and she sighed.  He basically now knew that she had never really gotten over him.  She was starting to think that he hadn’t gotten over her either.  He still hadn’t explained the tattoo on his chest and when she had prodded him about it, he had told her he wasn’t telling her anything until she told him what had made her change herself so drastically.  

Betty let herself into her apartment and grabbed some water from the fridge.  It was 8:00 PM already and she stood and debated a while and then grabbed her phone.  She sent him a text.  

B: I miss you.

Jughead never replied.  She spent half an hour checking her phone every single minute and then threw it on the table and sighed.  He was busy.  He had a life that didn’t involve taking her to bed.  He owned a bar for God’s sake.  She was still shocked by that.  That and the fact that he had slaved away in her shop for a month and still refused to cash the paycheck.  At 9:00 she decided to be an old person and just go to bed.  As she went to lock the door there was a knock.  She was so startled she almost let out a scream.  She opened it and there he was.  

“I miss you too.”  

Betty smiled and pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close.  Jughead’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist and he held her against him.  

“Wow, you really did miss me,” he chuckled against her ear.  Betty stepped back and shrugged.

“Maybe,” she teased.  Jughead lifted her chin and dropped a quick kiss on her mouth.  

“You having a good week?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket and kicking his boots off.  He walked to the kitchen and grabbed an apple out of her fruit bowl and bit into it.  He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms across his chest.  He looked so relaxed and at home that she was stunned for a second.  Apart from the evening they had spent on the couch eating pizza, all other times had been spent in the bedroom.  “Earth to Betty,” Jughead said with a grin.

“What?” she asked, confused.  Jughead put the apple down and uncurled from the counter and walked over to her.  He grabbed her hips and pulled her close and her hands rested on his chest.

“I asked how your week was,” he said, his mouth caressing her ear.  “But you’re too busy staring at me to answer.”

“Sorry,” she said with a sigh.  “I just….”  She stopped talking and he pulled back and looked at her.  

“What?”

“Nevermind,” she said with a smile.  He shook his head.

“No, not nevermind, tell me what you were going to say,” he insisted.

“It was just weird seeing you relaxing in my kitchen.  I’m more used to seeing you in my bedroom,” she said with a laugh.

“Is that right?” he asked softly, his hands moving over her backside and pulling her up against him.  “Maybe we should change it so you always see me in your kitchen,” he said with a smile, backing up into it.  

“What did you have in mind,” she asked with a smile of her own.  His hands went to the waist band of her shorts and pushed them slowly down her hips, her panties going with them, his fingers caressing the skin.  In a quick move he lifted her onto the counter, her back settling against the cupboards.

“I prepare food here,” she said laughing, even as she pulled his shirt over his head.  

“Do you eat here?”

“Not……usually,” she gasped out as his hand moved up the inside of her thighs and brushed over her.  

“I’m going to,” he murmured against her mouth before settling over it in a thorough kiss.  He knelt suddenly, his mouth kissing from her knee, up the inside of her thigh.  He pulled her to the edge, parting her legs and then his tongue licked over her.

“Oh fuck,” she groaned, her head falling back and hitting the cupboard.  He stroked her lazily for a while and then added his fingers, sliding them inside her and in only minutes she was coming on his tongue.  “Fuck, Juggie,” she moaned, pressing against him as she shuddered against his mouth.  He came up, and her hands fumbled, trying to get his jeans undone.  

“How much did you miss me?” he asked gruffly, his hand tangling in her hair.  

“So much,” she breathed, when she managed to pull him free.  She whimpered as he slid inside her, his hands pulling her shirt off.  They were desperate for each other and he didn’t move slowly, his thrusts hard and fast.  He had one hand on her thigh, pushing it wide and the other braced on the cupboard behind her and his mouth ravaged hers.  He pulled away when he realized he wasn’t going to last long.  

“Touch yourself,” he said gruffly and she reached down between them and stroked her fingers over herself, even while brushing her fingers against him as he moved in and out.  “Fuck,” he groaned, looking down and watching her fingers touch him and herself, watching himself disappear inside her.  He pulled his eyes back to hers and she held his gaze.  “Do you think about me when you do that, Betty?” he asked, his lips brushing hers.

“Always,” she moaned and he growled into her mouth and when he felt her tighten around him, her cry getting lost on his tongue he let go and came with her.  He moved through their shaking and slowed to a stop when she relaxed and wilted against him.  Her arms were around his neck and she wasn’t letting go and he slowly pulled back and reached for a towel and wiped them and she sighed against his neck.

“That’s for doing dishes,” she muttered.  He chuckled and threw it on the floor.  

“Wash it,” he suggested.  She leaned back, her hands brushing through his hair.

“Stay the night with me,” she said softly.  

“And do what?” he teased.

“Hold me,” she whispered.  Jughead touched her cheek and smiled.

“I can do that,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her mouth.  He helped her off the counter and they collected their clothes and headed to the bedroom.  Betty pulled on some panties and climbed into bed while he stripped down to his boxers.  Under the covers he pulled her close and she curled into him.  She smiled at him and he kissed her again.  A long slow kiss that made her all warm inside.  He kept his hand on her waist and made no move to further things and she just wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close and kissed him back. They kissed for endless minutes and when he finally pulled back, her lips felt swollen and tender and their breathing was hitched.

“Sorry, I just love your mouth,” he said with a smile as he stared at her.  She kissed him again by the time they pulled apart they could barely breathe.  “If you want me to just hold you we should stop,” he said with a chuckle.  She smiled and snuggled in and he held her tightly.  

“What are you doing on Saturday?” he asked her, a smile on his face that she couldn’t see from her position.

“I have a thing,” she said with a sigh.  “Some benefit Veronica wants me to go to and I’m dreading it.  Have to wear a freaking dress and everything,” Betty said sounding rather disgruntled.  “I can cancel if you have something better in mind,’ she said hopefully.  Jughead laughed and gave her a squeeze.  

“No, you should go,” he said softly, making a mental note to find himself something nice to wear.  He said nothing about going as well and fell asleep with her with a small smile on his face.



By 8:00pm Saturday night, Betty felt like she was someone else.  The woman looking back at her from the mirror in the hotel room was a vision that she didn’t recognize.   Veronica had left her in the hands of her helpful little minions and she was all done up now and all alone.  Her hair was pinned back slightly on one side but otherwise flowed in waves around her.  Her makeup was contoured and beautiful, natural but noticeable and she still looked like herself but everything intensified and more pronounced.  The makeup artist had insisted on extra lashes and they opened her eyes more and her green eyes sparkled.  Her white gown was strapless and something she could barely describe.  It hugged her body all the way down and gave the illusion of being see through, with a deep V between her breasts and stayed up with the help of being attached to sleeves that started off the shoulder.  Her entire back was bare.  Betty felt completely covered and completely naked at the same time and it was the oddest feeling.  It was beautiful and she felt amazing.  

She stood and looked at herself and felt an ache start in her stomach.  She wished Jughead could see her.  She should have invited him.  Would he have come?  This wasn’t exactly his scene and they weren’t exactly dating, but he would have been a very handsome plus one.  She hadn’t seen him since Thursday morning when he had woken her to kiss her and say bye as he headed back home.  He never showed for work on Friday either and Betty hated it.  She wanted him to come back but it was silly of him to do so.  Yes he had text all three days that he was busy and he would come by next week but she really missed him.

Betty sighed and found the shoes that V had loaned her.  Some sparkling silver strappy sandals and when she put them on she felt like a tall beautiful princess.  She grabbed the little silver clutch V had also left her and dropped her cellphone, ID, some cash and lip gloss in and took a deep breath.  She headed down to the second floor of the hotel where the benefit was taking place.  There was already a crowd of beautiful people milling around and she felt out of place and overwhelmed.  She headed towards the entrance and was greeted by Veronica, who was wearing her own beautiful pale blue gown accompanied by a headset that she was yelling into.  She hurried over to Betty and gasped.

“Oh my God!! You look incredible.  I afraid to touch you, you might break,” she said in a rush.  Betty flushed and patted her hair.

“Thank you for all this, V.  I sure couldn’t have pulled it off myself.”

“You’re welcome.  Now, this is really fancy and donors are being announced as they arrive, so when you walk inside, you have to pause and they say your name.”

“Jesus, Ron, I didn’t sign up for that.  I don’t want a room full of people staring at me.”

“Betty, everyone is already staring at you,” she insisted.  “Because you look fucking beautiful and I picked that gown so you would stand out because I want people to see that you aren’t just a grease monkey, but you’re a stunning woman.”

“Why do you care how people see me?  I am a grease monkey and I love it.”

“I know, but ok, maybe I wanted someone else to see this,” she said biting her lip.  Betty sighed.

“Veronica, I’m not meeting any guy!” Betty fumed.  

“It’s not like that.  He will just escort you inside.  I told him that  if you leave him standing by the door and walk off by yourself then he needs to back off, but please, you need to be on someone’s arm when you walk in, so please just humor me!”  Betty shook her head firmly.  She was mortified when she felt tears sting her eyes.  She blinked rapidly so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup.

“I don’t want to be on anyone’s arm,” she said quietly.  

“Then just stand beside him,” Veronica said with a smile.  “He’s waiting on the terrace over there and I swear Betty if you see him and really don’t care to walk in with him then go by yourself, but please do me this one small favor and go out there.”  

“Fine!” Betty said, almost stomping her foot.  She gave herself a small shake and turned and walked over to the large French doors leading to the terrace.  She stepped outside and noticed it was mostly empty.  She saw a few couples standing around and then saw a single man standing at the end, looking out over the railing at the town.  She walked slowly over to him.  He must have sensed her coming because he turned slowly and she froze, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Jughead?” she whispered.  Jesus, he was beautiful.  She had never seen him so dressed up and she didn’t know where to look first and she just let her eyes travel from bottom to top, as slowly as was considered proper.  Jughead in a fancy tux was something she would remember for the rest of her life.  He was gorgeous.  He somehow had managed to get his unruly hair to behave but she knew at some point, his curl would fall across his forehead.

Jughead was in much the same condition.  He honestly forgot to breathe.  He had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.  He took his time and he didn’t give a shit if it looked like he was eye fucking her, because he was.  The illusion that the gown was sort of see through because of the swirls of lace made his body clench and he just wanted to carry her to bed and get her out of it.  Everything about her was stunning, the dress, her curves, her face, her hair, he even thought her manicure and pedicure were sexy.  

“You are stunning,” he said, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice.  His heart hammered when he suddenly had an image of her walking down an isle, rose petals under her feet, him waiting for her at the end of it.  He hoped he was able to keep his emotions from showing in his eyes, because if he couldn’t, she would be able to see just how fucking in love with her he was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “So are you.”  He smiled and stepped closer, working hard to shove his feelings to a safe place where they wouldn’t be seen.  “Veronica did this, didn’t she,” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah, she twisted my arm,” Jughead said with a wink.  Betty raised an eyebrow and bit her lip.

“How did she get you here?” she asked laughing.

“She might have mentioned something about a sexy gown and some guy wanting to meet you, and since I wasn’t about to let any guy near you, I had to come, of course,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Is that right?  So, if anyone asks me to dance tonight?”  she said with a grin.  Jughead lifted his hand and ran the back of his fingers along her cheek.

“You belong to me, remember?  Nobody touches you,” he murmured.  Betty felt her breath hitch.  The way he said it wasn’t at all like he had said it in bed, when he was angry and jealous.  This was a firm statement that seemed concrete.  She belonged to him.  She searched his eyes and saw nothing but teasing glints and warmth.  

“So, what do you say, Jones,” she said, stepping back.  “Shall we go make some heads turn?  I’d kind of like to watch my mother’s spin right off.”  Jughead laughed and held out his arm to her and she placed her delicate hand around it and she had never felt more proud to be on someone’s arm.

“You’re terrible,” he said as he laughed.

“So is she,” Betty replied with a grin.  They walked back into the lobby and Veronica stood there with a proud grin on her face.  Betty rolled her eyes but smiled at her.  They headed to the entrance to the ball room and were stopped just inside the door.  From what Betty could see, it was filled with the towns prominent business people and business owners and she suddenly felt out of place.  Her and Jughead both weren’t exactly the duo people would think of when thinking of Riverdale business people.  She suddenly felt anxious and her grip on his arm tightened.

“Relax,” Jughead whispered in her ear.  “Let’s knock the socks off of these pretentious fuckers.”  Betty giggled in spite of herself and sighed and relaxed.  She stopped worrying and leaned slightly into him.  He would keep her safe among the wolves, of that she had no doubt.

“Jughead Jones, Whyte Wyrm Bar and Betty Cooper, Cooper Mechanics,” the host announced and Betty swore the room came to a stand still.  Jughead placed his hand over hers on his arm and they walked into the room.  An usher came up to them and told them what table they were seated at and they walked around slowly, taking in the party and looking for where they were sitting.  Betty was thankful to see Archie and Veronica’s names on the other name tags at the table.  The other 2 she didn’t recognize.  

Jughead held the chair for Betty and she was happy the dress wasn’t so tight that she couldn’t sit comfortably.  It didn’t take long and most everyone was announced and Archie and Veronica were seated at their table and another couple who owned a deli of some sort.  She didn’t really look at her mother when she got up and made her speech about the hospital and all the wonderful people who donated.  To everyone in the room she was an angel to have taken charge of this benefit but Betty knew the real Alice Cooper.  Mean, self-centered, and hurtful.  She hadn’t talked to her in months and she had no desire to.  She hoped she would be able to avoid her for the evening.  

The dinner was amazing.  Surf and turf that tasted better than any she had ever remembered eating.  They chatted about this and that throughout the meal, mostly listening to Archie and Jughead share work stories that had them laughing more than was proper at such a fancy affair and Betty sat back and smiled.  It almost felt like old times.  Almost.  Jughead had his arm on the back of her chair and had pulled her closer to him half way through dessert, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Veronica.  He sat now, his legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles, laughing with Archie, as his hand brushed up and down at the top of her arm from where it sat on the back of her chair.

“So,” Veronica said suddenly with a bright smile.  “Archie and I were wondering if you two would like to come over for dinner some time.”  Archie seemed surprised and Betty narrowed her eyes.  She knew what her friend was doing.  

“No thank you,” Betty said just as brightly.  Jughead said nothing but his hand stopped its movement on her arm.

“Why not?  It would be fun, just like old times,” V said with a smirk.  Betty sighed and pushed back from the table.

“Excuse me, I’m going to freshen my lip gloss,” she said stiffly and walked away from the table.

“What are you doing?” Jughead growled at Veronica.  Archie sighed and rubbed his forehead.  

“What?” she asked innocently.  Archie shot her a look that she ignored.

“Stop fucking meddling.  You got me here, leave it alone,” Jughead snapped.

“Jughead, my girl B might be the most amazingly oblivious person on the planet at the moment but I can see it all over your face when you look at her.  You’re in love with her.  Again.  Still.  I’m not sure which, but you’re definitely in love.”  Jughead said nothing and poured back the rest of his champagne.  He pushed his chair back and got up.

“I need another drink,” he grumbled and walked to the bar.  Archie looked at Veronica.

“Can’t you just let them figure this out themselves?” he asked with a sigh.  “You need to learn to leave shit alone.”

“When have you ever known me to do that?” she asked with a laugh.  “Those two look ready to combust with the eye fucking and love I see between them and he may know it but she doesn’t and I know for her, it’s fear.  Fear that this will all end again and I just want them to be happy.”

“Please just leave it alone,” Archie begged.  Veronica made no promise as she watched Jughead walk toward the donation table with a drink in his hand.  


Betty freshened up in the washroom and walked slowly around the room, taking in the lovely gowns and beautiful women in them.  The men were all dashing and handsome and she had never been in a room full of so many beautiful people.  She found herself out on a second terrace and looked out over Riverdale.  The evening was beautiful with a nice cooling breeze that didn’t make wearing a gown a sticky affair.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Betty gritted her teeth and turned slowly as Alice Cooper walked up to her.  She said nothing and stood waiting for her to talk.

“You look quite beautiful, dear,” Alice said, taking in her gown.  

“Thank you,” Betty said.

“And you showed up with Jughead Jones of all people,” Alice said with a laugh.  “The owners of a bar and a car shop.  Not exactly the businesses we were expecting, but every tiny amount helps, I suppose,” she said snidely.  Betty said nothing, having learned long ago not to give Alice Cooper any ammunition by replying in anger.  “I guess it all worked out for you then, with your whole get up.”

“What exactly are you talking about?” Betty asked with a roll of her eyes.

“Showing your tits and ass for the last couple years helped you snag back your snake.”  

Betty gasped in shock.  She took a step back and felt tears sting her eyes.  She couldn’t help it and before she realized what she was doing, she slapped her mother across the face.  She would have done it again but a firm hand caught her wrist and Jughead appeared beside her, pulling her back.  Alice stumbled and her eyes spit fire.  

“Neither of your donations are excepted by this foundation.  You need to leave this benefit immediately!”  she said furiously.  Jughead stepped between her and Betty and he looked furious enough to throw her over the terrace railing.  

“We’re going nowhere and I strongly suggest you get the hell away from Betty before I start telling people what Alice Cooper is really like,” he threatened.  Alice glared at him and turned and hurried back inside.  Jughead turned to Betty who was taking deep breaths to calm herself.  

“You ok?” he asked, pulling her close and touching her face.  She nodded and leaned against him, letting him calm her down.  After a while he spoke again.  “What did she mean by snagging back your snake?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Betty said quietly, pulling away and smoothing her hands over her front.  “Shall we got back in?” she asked.

“Betty…” he said with a sigh.

“Please Juggie, not right now, ok?” she pleaded.  “I don’t want to get into this tonight.”  He nodded and instead of giving her his arm, he simply threaded his fingers through hers and held her hand as they walked back in.  The tables were starting to be moved aside and a dance floor took shape.  Jughead walked with her to a corner with some couches and helped her sit and went to get her a drink.  He came back with champagne and sat beside her.  The dancing got underway and a good looking gentleman walked up to them, his eyes fixed on Betty.  He was about to open his mouth and Jughead gave him a look.

“Walk away,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.  The man hurried to do what he said.  Betty rolled her eyes and laughed.

“Really?”  Jughead shrugged and leaned back on the couch, pulling her into his side.  Any other men who even looked at her, quickly looked away at his fierce glare.  “Stop scaring everyone,” Betty said laughing.  She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees and his hand went to the bare skin of her back, slowly stroking along it.  He saw her shiver and he let his fingers dance over her skin and when she looked back at him, he saw the heat in her eyes.  Jughead stood and helped her up.  

“What are we doing?” she asked as he led her to the back of the room.  There was a few dark alcoves that were hidden by dark curtains and he ducked behind one, pulling her with him.  He hauled her up against him and took her mouth in a heated, sensual kiss.  Her arms immediately went around his neck and she returned his kiss eagerly.  He kissed down her neck and then back up to her mouth, his tongue stroking across her lips, back inside, curling around hers.  He groaned, his hands sliding over her backside, pulling her up against his wakening arousal.  He pulled away, his breathing in her ears harsh.

“Tell me you have a room here,” he said gruffly, moving against her.

“Yes,” she gasped, kissing him again.  “But I want to dance first,” she said with a giggle.

“Ugh, you’re killing me,” he groaned.  She ran her hand over his arousal and bit his lip, tugging on it.  “Fuck, stop,” he growled.  “Now I have to stand back here until this shit goes down.”  She giggled and let go, stepping back, her eyes filled with mirth, her lip pulled between her teeth.

“Stop sucking on your lip, it’s driving me fucking crazy,” he said with a sigh.  She moved against him again and ran her tongue over his ear lobe.  

“I’ll suck on something else later,” she whispered and then she was gone, back around the curtain.

“Fucking hell,” she heard him gasp behind her and she bit back her giggle and headed back to the crowd to mingle a little.  

When Jughead finally managed to get himself under control and came back to the party, he found her wandering around and talking to people and he just stood and watched her.  She was so beautiful.  Her body in the dress making her movements look sensual without even trying.  He wanted the dress on the floor and his hands on her body.  The way she smiled at people, her light laughter at jokes, her delicate touches when she talked to people.  She glanced over at him then and her smile took his breath away.  She belonged to him.  That’s the only thought that ran through his mind.  She had always belonged to him.  He walked up to her slowly and held out his hand.  

“May I have this dance Miss Cooper,” he said with a slight bow.  She bit her lip and smiled shyly at him, as if she hadn’t just promised to suck things later.  He led her to the dance floor and gave her a small twirl before putting his hand on her waist and pulling her close, the other hand holding tightly to hers.

“You know how to dance, Juggie?” she asked with a smile.  

“I may have learned a move or two,” he said with a wink.  They swayed to the music and she tucked closer, resting her cheek on his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her.  He let his arm go around her waist and pulled her closer.  

“I’m glad V twisted my arm,” he teased.  

Betty leaned against him, absorbing his warmth as the evening was starting to turn chilly and the breeze was blowing in the French doors.  He smelled amazing and she wanted to feel his arms around her without a bunch of people around.  His hand was rubbing up and down her bare back and she shivered, more from that then the cold.  

“You getting cold?” he asked softly and she nodded.  Jughead stepped back and took off his jacket and helped her into it and she grinned at him, knowing she probably looked ridiculous but he was being such a sweetheart, she didn’t care.  “Stop it,” he said laughing.

“What am I doing?”

“Grinning at me for no damn reason and it’s making me want to drag you to wherever the hell your room is.”

“Then why don’t you,” she asked in a breathless whisper.  His gaze got heated and they headed back to find their table, which was no easy feat since it had been moved and thankfully Betty’s clutch was still sitting there but Veronica and Archie were nowhere to be found and they just decided to leave.  Nobody cared either way whether they were there or not and they didn’t either.  Jughead took her hand and they left the ballroom.  They took the elevator to her floor and she opened her clutch for her room key and handed it to him and he opened the door.  Betty walked into the room and froze.

“What the hell?” she muttered.  Jughead looked around and bit back a smile.  Veronica was at it again.  The room was lit with candles and there was rose petals all over the bed.  A bottle of champagne was chilling next to a bowl of strawberries and chocolate.  “Can she be any more obvious?” Betty asked with a small laugh.  She turned and looked at Jughead and he was looking at her with a look of heat and need.  She felt her heart start to pound and for some strange reason, she was suddenly nervous.

“Looks like she’s working on getting us to fall in love,” he teased, even as he swallowed while his eyes moved over her.  Betty dropped her clutch and his jacket and walked slowly over to him, her fingers playing with the edge of the vest he wore.

“This whole night has been like a fantasy that doesn’t seem real.  We’re dressed up in clothes we would never wear, and mingling with people we normally don’t even acknowledge.  Maybe….we could just….” Her voice trailed off.

“Maybe we could just what?” he asked softly, his hand brushing over her shoulder.

“Pretend,” she whispered.  She looked up at her, her eyes looking at him with a longing that shook him.  “Pretend we’re falling in love,” she whispered again and then she dropped her forehead on his chest, unable to look at him anymore.  Jughead lifted his hands to her face and slowly lifted her head.  All she could see in his eyes was need and desperation and he lowered his head and rested his forehead on hers.

“I pretend I love you,” he whispered.  Betty clutched his shirt in her hands and drew a shaky breath.

“I pretend I love you too,” she whispered back.  His mouth covered hers and he kissed her with a desperation that matched her own.  Her hands pushed his vest off and fumbled with his tie, managing to get it undone and dropping it to the floor.  His hands still held her face as her fingers moved down his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, her hands running over his warm skin.  He pulled back and turned her around and then turned her again.

“I have no fucking idea how to take this dress off,” he said hoarsely.  She lifted her arms and unhooked something under them and peeled off the sleeves and then she slowly peeled the dress down and it fell to the floor.  All she wore was a thin scrap of lace for panties and her shoes and his mouth watered.  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lifting a hand and trailing the back of it down between her breasts to her stomach.  Her hands went to his belt and she got it undone and pulled it off and he didn’t let her go further, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed.  He lay her down gently on the rose petals and settled beside her.  

Betty lay trembling as his eyes moved over her, his gaze caressing every inch of her body.  His hand followed his eyes and as he ran it back up her leg he lowered his head and kissed her again.  A slow, gentle kiss that made her whimper for more as he teased her mouth, his tongue dipping in and out.  When it properly settled over hers she groaned around his tongue as it sank inside, tasting her, branding her.  Her hands pushed his shirt off his back and he shifted enough to shrug out of it and then he was kissing her again.  His hands teased her skin, roaming over her just enough to drive her crazy and she moaned and gasped, needing more.

“Please Juggie,” she pleaded.  He lifted his head and let his mouth trail down her neck.

“What do you want, Betts,” he murmured against her skin and she shivered when his tongue dragged down to her chest.  

“I want you to make love to me,” she breathed.  Jughead’s fingers dug into her hip at her words.  

“How, Betty?” he whispered, his mouth moving over the swell of her breast, his tongue trailing along the crease underneath.

“With your hands and your mouth,” she moaned.  

“Where do you want my hands and mouth?”

“Everywhere,” she shuddered.  His hand moved up the inside of her thigh and gently brushed over the lace between her legs.  His tongue swirled around her pebbled nipple and she gasped and arched into him, needing more.  He took her in his mouth and suckled as his hand slipped inside her lace and he groaned against her skin.

“You’re so wet baby,” he murmured, his mouth moving across to the other breast.  Betty clutched the sheets as his fingers found her clit, circling gently and then moving down and slowly slipping inside her.  

“Oh my god, Juggie, I’m….” she suddenly cried out and he lifted his head and looked at her as she suddenly tightened around his fingers.  She had never come quite that fast and it was the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen.  Her face glazed with surprise and ecstasy.  Jughead gave her nipple another tug and moved till he was kneeling between her thighs.  He smiled down at her and she was flushed and dazed and he slowly pulled her panties off and tossed them on the floor.  He lifted her foot and undid the sandal that was still strapped to her foot and kissed her ankle as he slipped it off.  He did the same to the other and then kissed his way up her leg.

His hands were slowly parting her thighs, pushing her legs up and apart until she lay open to him and she had no idea why she was suddenly embarrassed.  He had seen her in even dirtier positions but for whatever reason, she felt like she was 16 again and he was discovering her for the first time. Her breathing was still heavy from her quick release and when he slowly bent down to her, she was gasping for breath.  Jughead didn’t tease, he just raked his tongue heavily over her and she bucked against him, a sob falling from her mouth.  He did it again and she bucked again and he held her still with his hands, his tongue swirling around her swollen nub.  

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned and she arched her body, her whole body tensing like a bow at his tongue and words.  He moved lower and pushed inside her, his tongue swirling, tasting, pressing deep and she clenched her hand in his hair, trying to press closer.  He moved back up to her clit and he thrust two fingers inside her and she cried out, her legs starting to shake.  His tongue moved over her again and again and when his teeth raked her clit lightly she dug her foot into his back, pressing closer.  “Come for me baby,” he groaned, and latching his mouth to her, sucking hard and she fell apart, his name echoing around the room.  

“Oh my god,” she groaned, her thighs clenching on his head.  Jughead laughed against her, his tongue and mouth not letting up.  “Juggie, stop, I can’t….” she moaned, even as she pressed closer.  

“For me baby, do it for me….” He moved his fingers faster and his tongue flicked even as he sucked and again she fell apart, her body boneless and shaking as she rode her orgasm once again.  He slowly worked her through it and then lifted his head and smiled down at her as he wiped a hand over his face.

“Jesus,” she gasped.  He gave her a moment to catch her breath as he settled beside her, his mouth pressing soft kisses and licks across her chest again.  She moved suddenly, pushing him back and climbed on top of him.  She was still breathing heavy and was looking at him with such desire that he hardened even more than he already was.  She kissed him, her tongue wild and wet and he groaned, moving against her.  She pulled back and kissed her way down his chest and stomach.  She spent a while running her tongue along the grooves and planes of muscle and then moved lower, her hands undoing his pants and hurriedly pushing them down his legs.  

He laughed at the quick work she made of his shoes and socks and when she pulled his boxers down and he sprang free, she looked at him with a hungry look that made him twitch and a slow sexy smile crossed her face when she noticed.  She held his gaze as her hand wrapped around him. She kept holding it as she lowered her head and her tongue darted out, licking up the drop that was forming, and the one that quickly took it’s place.  He took a shuddering breath and watched as she dragged her tongue from base to tip and moved against her when she slowly took him in her mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling her tongue wrap around him, her mouth tugging and sucking.  Her hand joined in and she moved over him slowly, until his hips moved in time with her mouth.  He quickly found himself in much the same condition as her, his release wanting to rush up on him.  He desperately worked to hold it off, not wanting the feel of her mouth on him to end.  After a few more moments he suddenly sat up and pulled her up.

“I wasn’t done,” she protested, gasping as he hauled her onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

‘I need to be inside you,” He growled.  “Fucking now.”  He adjusted her and she slowly slid down on him, her head falling back, her arms around his shoulders.  The feel of him, huge and hard inside her, stretching her, going deeper than she remembered he could go made her shudder and gasp against his mouth.  She held his gaze, watching his eyes glaze with passion as she moved slowly on him.

“You feel so good, Juggie,” she breathed.  

You feel good,” he replied, groaning as her slick heat rose and fell on him.  He kissed her passionately, his arms holding her steady, helping her move.  She locked her eyes on his, the blue storm in his making her body tremble and shake.  She felt her body begin to tighten again and she whimpered, closing her eyes.  “Look at me,” he whispered.  She opened them again and held his gaze.

“I pretend I love you,” she whimpered, her body starting to unravel.  “I pretend…..I love you……I love you….” She had no control over her mouth as she fell apart, clenching on him once again and her words and body pushed him over the edge and he came hard and deep inside her, his groan vibrating against her neck as he fell back on the bed, taking her with him.  Jughead held her close, as if trying to absorb her as she lay on top of him, shaking and crying into his neck.  He held her close, trying to gain control of himself, his heart hammering in his chest for more reasons than just an orgasm.  After a long while she slid off of him and curled into his side, keeping her face hidden.  Jughead rolled her gently and leaned over her.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing a sweaty curl off her forehead.  She nodded and closed her eyes under his searching gaze.  “Did you need to go freshen up, or are you good?” asked after a moment.

“I probably should,” she said softly, opening her eyes and looking at him again.  “You want to take a shower with me?  Wash all this makeup and sweat off?”  He smiled and dropped a kiss on her mouth.  

“Sounds like a great idea,” he said, kissing her again.  “We have champagne and strawberries to finish yet,” he mentioned.  They got up and went to the bathroom, which was pretty spectacular and got cleaned up, with some heated kisses and touches while they did it.  The pretending continued as they acted as if nothing special had just happened between them.  Betty took the memory and buried it deep in her heart, shutting it away safely like she did with all her feelings.  Jughead’s mind was going a mile a minute.  He kept studying her, looking for any sign of the woman that had been in his arms, falling apart as she whispered that she loved him.  He left it alone, waiting once again for her to acknowledge what was happening without his prodding.

He spent the night making love to her, reaching for her again and again and she eagerly responded, falling apart under his hands and mouth, over and over.  They fell asleep in each other’s arms, Betty wishing he wasn’t pretending that he loved her and Jughead wishing he had the courage to tell her that he wasn’t pretending at all.


the morning after will be in the next chapter as this one ran away from me

anonymous asked:

Six senses prompt: Robin helps Regina grocery shop and organize everything and she ends up spilling her guts to him about her fears and sadness and he shows her that he wants to be there for her through it all no matter what.

Sort of not exactly the prompt, but here you go. Kind of M rated:

Of all the things that she thought would send her over the edge, she never expected a bag of lettuce to be the culprit. She has her fridge sectioned out by date of purchase, and the lettuce should have held on until the weekend at least, but she reaches in to grab a handful for a sandwich…it’s wet and slimy and reeks of rot.

Dammit. She paid eight bucks for the organic spring greens, and that eight bucks is turning into a science project in her fridge. She tosses the bag in the general direction of the trash and slams the door to the refrigerator shut. Another day of takeout in her office for lunch. If her medical bills don’t bankrupt her, her grocery bills are definitely going to do the trick.

She has several cans of soup and a stack of leftovers, but she wanted a salad today. She’s given up enough over the last few years…she at least deserves an organic salad when the mood strikes, with some goat cheese and that extra-fancy balsamic vinegar Emma brought back for her from her week in wine country.

Just a fucking salad…is that too much to ask?

***

She’s digging through her vegetable drawers, tossing zucchini that’s just a little too soft and red peppers that give at the slightest pressure, when Robin makes his way downstairs. Good thing he’s finally awake – she needs someone to read the expiration dates for the condiments in the refrigerator door.

She doesn’t bother to reply to his good morning, just holds out a tub of what she thinks is Greek yogurt for his examination. “Is this still good?”

“The morning or the butter?” he asks. Butter. Dammit. Where the hell is the yogurt? She tosses it on the counter and resumes digging through the fridge.

“I guess that’s a no for the morning. The butter, yes. Still good. Unopened, actually.”

“Great. Now where the hell is the yogurt?” She has her head and more than half her upper body buried in the fridge, until his hands come to rest on her hips and pull her back.

“The yogurt is on the floor next to the trash can. Why it’s there, I’m not sure, but I’m guessing you have a reason?”

She turns and slumps against the counter, using her shoulder to nudge the door to the fridge shut. Just because she’s having a meltdown doesn’t mean she needs to defrost her entire kitchen in the process. “My lettuce is dead,” she says.

“My deepest condolences.”

“It’s not funny,” she snaps. It’s not funny to her, anyway, but she can tell by the way he’s holding his breath that he’s trying to keep from laughing at her. “I just wanted a salad,” she sighs.

“So why the butter? Is that an American thing?”

“No, it’s a blind thing. I wanted a salad, but the lettuce is rotten, and I figured I should see what else in the fridge is expired and just waiting to poison me.”

“Ah,” he says. She can hear the faint whoosh of the refrigerator door breaking its seal and the chilly air makes the hair on her arms stand on end. “Well, let’s take a look.” He starts going through her fridge with the same precision he treated her macular dystrophy, considering each item carefully before putting it back in its place or setting it on the counter to be tossed.

“I don’t need you to do this for me,” she says. She’s being more than a little petulant, since she absolutely does need him to do this for her, but she resents like hell needing anyone to do anything for her as simple as making sure she doesn’t get botulism from the contents of her very carefully ordered refrigerator.

“I’m here,” he says, “and I don’t want to be poisoned by expired lunchmeat either.” He’s always so reasonable. Most of the time, she appreciates it, but today, it’s irritating the fuck out of her. She’s tempted to make him a sandwich with the lunchmeat that she’s 100% certain is perfectly fine and then throw some organic lettuce sludge on top.

And, since he’s always so damn reasonable, he probably won’t even be mad at her.

The kitchen has gone quiet while she stood sulking and plotting sending her boyfriend through a round of what would most likely wind up being painful diarrhea and possibly more than a little vomiting. “What?” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“You’re mad at me.”

“I told you I don’t need help, and you’re helping me anyway.” This might be the most ridiculous line she’s ever used to provoke a fight in her life, but it comes out anyway. Yes, how dare he stoop so low as to help her? She should kick him out now before he does something really evil, like tell her he loves her.

He huffs, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Of all the sounds she’s ever heard him make, and over the past several months, she’s heard a lot, she’s never heard him make that one. It sounds just a little too much like her mother for her comfort. “Fine,” he spits. “If you don’t want my help, then I’ll go get dressed. I have to get to work anyway.”

Shit. She bangs her head against the side of the fridge, muttering apologies that he can’t hear as he stomps up the stairs.

“There’s another tub of yogurt behind the eggs,” he shouts down from the landing.

She digs around until she finds it and pops the lid. A quick sniff tells her that it’s still good. She may  not be able to have a salad, but at least she can make something resembling a healthy breakfast.

After she apologizes. Out loud.

***

He’s still in the shower, so she settles herself on the closed lid of the toilet and tucks his towel into her lap. The steam from the shower will be hell on her hair, but she figures that he might be more willing to hear her apology if he’s naked.

She can hear him muttering to himself as he slams the bottle of bodywash back into the shower caddy. On to plan B – she’s already showered this morning, but maybe he really needs to hear her apology when she’s naked. She hangs his towel back on the hook and strips down, tossing her robe and underwear somewhere in the vicinity of the hamper.

He doesn’t make a sound when she pulls the curtain back, but she can see him well enough to catch him turning his back to her. She steps in behind him and rests her hands on the smooth planes of his back.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Again, no response, and she can feel his muscles tighten as he tries to ignore her presence. She’s going to have to work a little harder for this apology. Fair enough, he’s certainly put up with more than he deserves from her over the last few months. Her arms slide around him to wrap around his waist, and she presses her body more fully against him. “I’m really sorry,” she whispers again, this time into the smooth skin of his shoulder.

He lets loose a sigh and relaxes, just a fraction of a bit, against her. “I know it’s hard, Regina, but I’m not your enemy.”

She lets her hands drift lazily up and down his chest. “No, you’re not. You’re my best friend in this, and I’m grateful. It’s just…Robin, it’s hard. It’s hard, and I’m scared, and I’m taking it out on you. And I really am sorry.” She kisses him, just where his neck meets his shoulder, one of her favorite parts of the body she’s come to know so well.

He still doesn’t turn to face her, but his fingers come up to tangle with hers and press them against his chest. “You really hate admitting that, don’t you?” he asks, and she can hear the humor creep back into his voice.

“I really do,” she agrees, before stopping to consider his words. “Wait, what? That I’m sorry, or that it’s hard?”

“Both,” he says without missing a beat, and she can’t help but laugh because he’s right. He finally turns around and pulls her close, and the water is beating right into her face, but she’s not going to complain because he’s got his face nuzzled into her neck, and when he’s kissing her neck like that, she suddenly can’t remember why a damn salad seemed like the end of the world to her.

“I’m sorry that it’s hard for you,” he says. “But I’m not sorry I’m trying to make it easier. And I’m not sorry that I’m going to keep trying to make it easier.”

She shivers again, despite the water that’s just a little too hot for her taste. “You do make it easier. I’m just…not used to people doing that for me.”

He pulls away just a little bit, and a second later, she can feel the temperature of the water drop to something a little less scalding. Again, taking care of her. “Maybe I just wish there were something I could do to take care of you for a change.”

Robin laughs. “You’re naked in the shower with me. Sweetheart, I’m a simple man. That’s really all I need.”

“Really? Me, naked in the shower is all you need?”

“Well,” he says, his hands starting to drift from her waist to other, more enticing parts of her body. “It’s not all I need. But it’s a start.”

“Thank God,” she whispers before she captures his mouth with her own.

Now or Never (Bias x Reader) Pt.8

At the concert in Japan, B/N performs with a clear mind. He doesn’t let his thoughts get in the line of work until the music stops and he’s off stage. 

At the fansigning event, he puts on a smile. Signing everything being shoved his way. He holds basic conversation, amused at many of the fans behavior and messages to him. But he can’t help but think of Y/N. Would she act like this if they hadn’t met the way they did? Would she be screaming and jumping up and down? Would she be neutral and calm? 

By the time it’s over and they get back to the hotel, B/N is more exhausted than usual, all this thinking taking a toll on him. 

“What am I doing?” B/N asks himself.

“I told you so,” his members ruthlessly chastise him.

Was he way over his head here? What was he doing moving so fast with a girl he just met? He was someone always on guard with his feelings, not giving in so quickly. Why this sudden change? He can’t imagine the mess he would be in if his manager found out. 

He checks his phone and sees the few messages of encouragement Y/N left him. He feels the tug of a smile forming on his lips but sighs instead. He tosses his phone but it misses the bed, falling on the floor.

She didn’t bother him as he worked, already grasping his hectic schedule. But why was she so understanding? Call his phone endlessly, be clingy and psycho. Give him a reason to do what he’s about to do.

He falls on the bed covering his face with his hands, “I can’t believe I did this,” he’s mumbling to himself aloud, but of course everyone else hears him. 

“Was she that much of a bad kisser?” 

“Far from it,” 

They’re yelling now and jumping on the bed around him, teasing him endlessly, “So you did kiss her!”

“She couldn’t possibly be a bad kisser. You saw her lips, imagine how they felt,” 

“You always move so fast,” 

“Is she no longer interested? Were you a bad kisser? That’s a huge turn off for some people,” 

“Shut up,” 

B/N covers his face with the pillow, his mind drifting back to her again. She had a normalcy about her that he didn’t know he craved. Someone that didn’t jump at every opportunity to be with him. Someone who actually questioned why he was interested in her. Majority of the girls he spoke to either attempted to use him for their own gain, or were so caught up in the stage version of him that they didn’t bother to actually get to know him

He groans into the pillow, trying not to think of those brief moments with her. He wants to think rationally, something he’s supposedly good at. 

“Just call it off, say our manager found out,” 

“That’s cold,” 

He thought about that option. Many idols have done that, taken the easy way out. They pay off the girls figuring that’s exactly what they want and they’re on their way, relationship forgotten. But remembering how she spoke to him, the sincerity in her words and the look of affection in her eyes… Could he do that to her?

“Do you not like her anymore?” 

He exhales sharply, getting more annoyed by the minute, “I do but-”

“You’re scared,” B/N says nothing because they’re right. They know him so well.

If he wasn’t a celebrity, if he was unknown like before, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d flaunt their relationship and wouldn’t be afraid of displaying his affection towards her. 

But he has to be careful with the life he has. Careful of the people he wants to get close to, wary of them stabbing him in the back. He couldn’t trust just anyone. Even people like Y/N. 

“What are you going to do?” 

B/N sits up, “Something only a coward would do,”

None of his members tell him if it’s a good idea, but they don’t stop him either. 


In a few days B/N returns and you’re more than excited to see him. You know he’ll be tired but he insisted on seeing you anyway. 

“Look at you,” Kara puts her magazine down as she watches you get ready. You’re wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater, but you’re makeup and hair is what will draw the attention. Casual tire, flawless face, “You’re even wearing perfume, God must be coming,” 

You can’t help but smile. Kara is dressed as well, but she’s going on a date with another man you haven’t met yet. A new date this time.

“My date is hotter than yours though,” she teases. 

“How well does he kiss?” 

“He needs a bit of work but-” she suddenly gasps, “You kissed him?” 

“Well, he kissed me,” you glance at her, “Twice,” 

She slaps the magazine on the table, “How was it?” 

You feel shy at the thought of it, your face heating up, “You know that thing they do with your bottom lip when the kiss is about to end?” 

Kara sinks into her chair with a satisfied sigh, “No he didn’t,” 

You fan your fake tears dramatically, “He did,”

She suddenly yells in frustration, frightening you, “This guy better not disappoint me!” 

Your phone goes off then and you see the text from B/N saying that he’s here. You jump up and grab your bag, waving Kara bye. 

B/N is parked farther away this time. You get in, bashfully greeting him. He’s prepared food for a picnic this time, since going to an actual restaurant is out of the question. 

“How was the concert?” you ask him as he drives. The sky is bright and blue, not a cloud in sight. 

“It was great. Crowd was lively too,” you watch him as he drives, realizing his hands are gripping the steering wheel too tight and that he’s barely looking at you. 

When you arrive, there’s barely anyone. You sit on the blanket by the lake, B/N setting the food out. You’re curious about what has his mind so occupied, so you take his hand, “Are you okay? If you were busy or even stressed out, we could’ve put this off for another day,” 

He shakes his head with a smile, “No. I had to see you today,” 

You almost don’t like the way he said that. He sits beside you with a smile, “I hope you like it,” 

He starts to eat but you’re stomach is uneasy, remembering the way he looked at you a few days back to the way he’s behaving now. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asks, still stuffing his face with food. 

“Why can’t you look at me?”

He pauses mid-chew, waits until the food is down before turning to you, “My manager found out,” 

Your heart sinks, “About us?” 

He nods, “He told me to call it off,” He sounds too casual about this.

“And you complied, just like that?” 

He puts his food down, “I didn’t have a choice,” 

You’re quiet for a moment, “When you looked at me the last time, you looked as if you were ready to say goodbye. So right now I think you’re lying. Am I wrong?” by his silence you know you’re not.

He sighs, “Y/N we both saw this coming. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

You feel so stupid, “Wow. Was any of this genuine? You were the one pouring your heart out to me before and now you’re stone cold? I think you’re a scared little bitch who couldn’t come to me and explain that you’re terrified. How many girls have you done this to?” 

He turns his face, the muscle in his jaw moving. You hate that your eyes are flooding. You hate that you’re feeling so betrayed.

“I understand if you hate me,” he says softly. What you hated was the fact that he’s not fighting for you. Fighting for someone he barely knows…

“I would’ve understood if you had just explained to me. I have to leave in about a month, I know how this will end.”

He bows his head, “I’m sorry,” 

You’re infuriated, but you know it’s because you’re hurt. You’re still holding the food he made for you and it’s the only thing you can throw at him without it actually hurting him. The food stains his clothes. He finally looks at you and you can’t stand the softness in them.

“I wish I could hate you. You were just the last person I expected to do this to me,” 

anonymous asked:

No offense but why do you draw fem jack so hypersexualized and thin? It's really problematic and kind of sexist to take a cis guy who is chubby and masculine and hairy and decide that the only possible "fem" version of him HAS to be a thin, busty, long haired girl. She legit looks like Meg Turney. I'm not trying to hate I'm just like.. making sure you realize how harmful of a mindset that is, man. He's a really laughy and deep guy and in your comic the first joke with her is "boobs" like..dude.

none taken at all that’s a good point my dude, but honestly

how jack looks now and how she looks when michael’s chapter will be up are two completely different looks. i want to show how jack at this moment is not dressing for herself, but rather for her clients since right now she does a lot of freelance work and almost all of her clients are grody dudes in LS.. they want to see hypersexualized, jack gives them this, she doesn’t particularly like it but it puts bread on the table. they want her to dress and act a certain way, and jack does because she’s trying to make her way up in the crime world and she doesn’t have a crew but she cant fucking stand any of the clients before geoff anyway so there’s that.

geoff will be the first hire to let jack be jack, let jack dress like jack, let jack eat like jack, and not expect anything but what jack wants for herself from jack. just total utter acceptance

but i gotta get past the first couple of heists and get gavin into the story to get jack to where jack is gonna be for the majority of the story. so, if this is still sexist then im sorry but eyyy it wont be like this for forever

and as for the boobs thing, i meant for that to be Geoff thinking that this random chick is trying to seduce and then kill him, bc he’s had that happen to him before quite recently. a few days ago in fact. hence why he quick jerks back expecting a knife in his ribs. and why hes so hostile to jack afterwards.

so yea dude i know its kinda cringe and also quite sexist right now but i have a lot of this story to get through, dont you worry it’ll be a lot less cringe as it goes on

I got so uncomfortable at work today. This straight girl talked about how she went to a gay bar for her birthday, and how uncomfortable she was with drag queens and gay men. Like if that makes you uncomfortable DON’T GO TO A GAY BAR. And then this guy started talking about “men in dresses” and I was severely outnumbered so I had to just sit there and keep wrapping cookies.

anonymous asked:

Chris Janson's wife also tweeted how their daughter loves gwen, they met at one of B's concerts. Anyone remembers that? The lil girl was trying to put on make up or dress like gwen, IIRC. Anyway I'm not into this trying to justify why B tweeted about chris and not about gwen. I think its great B supports fellow artists and I'm sure he's 1000% supportive of Gwen whether or not he tweets about it.

Awww about Chris’s daughter. And Gwen is so happy I think whatever Blake is doing is working. He does post about her just not as much as she does about him. They are different people.

- B

2

Arya hadn’t intended to like Margaery or any of the Tyrells when they first arrived in King’s Landing. Their House sided with the Lannisters and she would be Joffrey’s queen. That made them her enemies.

But Margaery had been nothing but kind.

The older girl included Arya in her little court of Reach ladies and girls, bringing her along when they gave their patronage to merchants and helped the poor. Even when they left the city to hawk or sail on a pleasure barge up and down the Blackwater, Arya was allowed to come too. And Margaery  would tell her funny stories about Highgarden. 

Though Arya refused to trust Margaery, she couldn’t help but like her. 

So when the Tyrell girl asked that Arya allow her and her maid to curl and dress her hair, Arya agreed after some gentle pressing. 

“We’ll make you look even prettier,” Margaery vowed, making Arya distrust and like her all the more.

As they worked, Arya couldn’t help thinking  painfully of the Lady Catelyn.

“You could be pretty,"  her mother always told her, "if you would just wash and brush your hair and take more care with your dress, the way your sister does.”

But Arya never bothered. She always had something else she would rather do, and never believed it anyway. Not really. Her sister and Jeyne told her she was ugly and called her Horseface, so Arya thought they must be right.

“See, look how pretty you are,” Margaery said when they had finished.

Only then did Arya realize she had kept her gaze purposefully away from the mirror the entire time. She looked up to see an eerily familiar stranger looking back with her grey eyes. The sight of the reflection made Arya’s teeth sink into her bottom lip.

Seeing herself primped up like Margaery and her cousins gave Arya a queer feeling of embarrassment and curiosity. But more than that, she wondered what her mother would say if she saw her like this.  Would she say she looked nearly as nice as her sister? Or would she not compare her to anyone at all?

It is a really small world.....!

Okay, so I am in my favourite dress shop on Oxford street, London standing in the queue to pay for my purchases and simultaneously mulling the mysteries of life ie why did n’t Cait and Sam attend the PCAs last night; maybe Cait is pregnant and she is hiding away to keep her bump secret; maybe Sam is gay and SamCait is just PR… So many questions and all too much time to think about such conundrums. Anyway the shop assistant, who is also Scottish, is now free and I notice that she is sporting an attractive shift dress, which does not help disguise a very obvious bump. I innocently enquire whether she is expecting and she is. How far? 25 weeks. This lady is slim and at least 5'10’’ in height, so very similar to Cait. I share with her that I am perplexed trying to work out whether an actress is pregnant. The assistant shares with me that she only started showing obviously in the 5th month and being so tall she could get away with baggy t-shirts and jumpers and no one knew any different. She also shares with me that she is expecting a boy, so apparently all the weight is in the front and it is quite a neat bump. The assistant asks me who the actress is and what the show is and she shrieks, ‘oh my friend has just got a part in that!’ 'What is his name?’ 'Richard Rankin!’ Not only is this Scottish lady friends with the future Roger Wakefield, another friend of hers father is one of the producers on Outlander! Most importantly when she was a young girl studying in Glasgow her friends were friends with Sam Heughan, and Scottish assistant lady would regularly see him at parties! I then had to ask the obvious question - is Sam gay, to which she replied, 'Och! He was about as heterosexual as they come for an attractive, butch, red blooded Scottish twenty something male!’ 😆

Trans socialization

Okay, so, I keep seeing radical feminists talk about how ultimately trans women are “socialized male” which means that, even if we opt out of situational privileges (such as being respected by others or assumed to be correct when speaking about a situation our listener is not involved directly in) by transitioning, we still retain ingrained privileges (such as higher levels of confidence, the belief that our words matter and we should be listened to, academic advantages from having our needs better looked after as children, etc. etc.) They believe that because men often get these things, and people thought we were men, we got them too. Ergo we are more privileged than our cis woman counterparts and must be treated as sociologically male. 

I have a few things to say in response to this.

To save some time, for those who are inclined towards radical feminism, let me start with this assumption:

Gender is innate, and while sometimes fluid or evolving, it is a cornerstone of a person’s identity - even if their gender is “I don’t like gender and want it to go away.” It is self-recursive like that, a foundational bedrock of how our society works, a sub-unit of the family which is a sub-unit of the culture, a set of pretexts so fundamental that to attempt to deny its importance to individuals is completely, 100% fruitless. Moreover, gender is more than the socialization we are given externally, but how we respond to it internally and the identity into which we naturally settle as a result. In short, trans women are women in innate gender, and this is an important fact to our well being. We can argue later about sex/biology, and the following is an argument extending from the assumption that trans women are women in gender, to say that we are also not men in socialization (i.e. external gender behaviors) either, at least not in any meaningful way, particularly not after we come out. Because this premise is assumed for all following arguments, if you disagree with the premise, you may wish to return another time.

1. I propose we stop talking about “male socialization” and “female socialization” as the be-all and end-all when referring to trans people, because it implies that literally all acts of socialization, and the effects they have on a developing mind, are entirely determined by how the socializer perceives you - and not you yourself. That is complete rubbish. I propose we consider something called “trans socialization,” the particular between-worlds experience that one gets from having one gender, while being treated like another. The experience of receiving certain socializations is different when the socialization is explicitly gendered against your own gender. What I mean is, someone who is female, being socialized explicitly in a male way, internalizes that socialization very differently from someone who is actually male, particularly because we are also /passively/ internalizing messages about womanhood as self-referential. As a result, these explicit “male socializations” do not give us the same kind of benefits or power that they give to men - they create a sense of confusion and anxiety. At “worst,” it gives us a diminished sort of ego-boost, complicated by the mixed messages we’re receiving; at actual worst it turns into powerful, debilitating self-loathing. 

2. Another part of trans socialization is devastating insecurities and confusion, a crippling sense of inadequacy that we are always trying to make up for. This is not a privilege, it is a burden. While trans women may get more inexplicitly gendered support in our youth (such as an intrinsic belief in our ability to succeed at anything, or even being held more as a baby because people care more about men), we also get more cripplingly destructive messages about who and what we actually are - deep inside, our gender still exists, pre-eminent in many cases, which means somewhere we know we’re trans. And, as trans people, we are bombarded with socialization that tells us that as trans people we are the worst of the worst, the absolute scum of the earth. People HATE us and only in the last few years have any major media begun to treat us with any level of respect. When current trans women were growing up, none of that existed. Our socialization is complex and cannot easily be equated to the socialization of a male, because it is rife with unique socializations that apply only to trans people, and with almost universally devastating results - there is no good way to be trans except not to be trans. 

3. When we come out, we lose all situational male privilege. That is reality. It just fucking disappears. At which point, two things happen - we don’t pass, and suffer from transmisogyny (arguments about why transmisogyny is real, which apparently I have to make, will have to come another time) - or we do pass, and suffer from cismisogyny. They are unique, but related, forms of oppression. Both are terrible. I won’t try to make the claim that one is worse than the other in terms of the kinds of oppression they inflict. It is enough to say they are both truly horrific, and whether we pass or not in any given situation, we experience at least one of them (sometimes both, if the person knows we’re trans, gets that we’re a woman, and internally codes us both cis and trans). 

4. If we develop and retain any intrinsic “male” privilege - arguable, considering points 1 and 2, but for sake of argument suppose that we do - what does that really give us? Women everywhere know there is a glass ceiling. No matter how confident, assertive, or war-like you are in the corporate ladder, if you pass as female, you won’t be taken seriously in the vast majority of cases. And in order to pass successfully, many trans women have to deliberately give up our more assertive tendencies anyway, crippling our sense of self-worth to fit into a perceived mold of who we are supposed to be. And if we don’t pass, we won’t be given any big-up opportunities anyway (again barring rare exceptions), so the issue is totally moot. How, exactly, do we stand a better chance of resisting the daily oppressions leveled against us (such as being denied housing, work, access to life-saving medical care, bathroom rights, etc.) in this case? Where does the privilege come in; what, exactly, does it do? And how does that make us somehow less worthy of protection or consideration than cis women? I literally can’t see it.

5. It has been argued a trans woman early in her transition could still “dress as male” and be taken seriously, and some of us can - and those of us who do, well, perhaps that is a form of privilege, but it is a twisted, complex one. Because it is also a form of psychological torture. Having to live as a gender you are not has been proven to destroy people’s sense of self worth - just look at the suicide rate for the trans community and you can see bloody, brutal proof of what I’m saying. 

6. In short, if we have any situational privileges, we lose them in coming out; not coming out is a form of prolonged psychological torture; and our intrinsic privileges are more or less meaningless in terms of avoiding oppression, both internal and external. Not all of the “being hugged more as a baby” in the universe can fix that. Ergo it would be wonderful if we could start talking about the unique experience of “trans socialization,” breaking it down into male, female and non-binary perhaps (and while we’re at it, re-dubbing “male” and “female” as “cis male” and “cis female.”) And if we could stop suggesting that because of “male socialization,” trans women are somehow permanently tainted by maleness in a way that makes us irredeemably privileged compared to cis women, that would be just perfect. 

7. It’s hilarious that while in the general populace, the world thinks trans women are an odd commodity at best (to be seen and not heard, of course), and a collection of freaks who deserve to die at worst, there are still some radical feminists who think we have anything resembling privilege. When most states won’t even recognize us as a class to be protected from employment discrimination; when we can be sued by the state for going to the damn bathroom; when in 49 states in the union, it is still legal to use the panic defense to try to justify murdering us. Yes, do go on about how we have so much privilege.
-The privilege to be denied an authentic expression of our true selves for years and years (or our entire lives), and an almost constant refusal on the part of others to accept that authentic expression;
-the privilege to have to constantly and vociferously justify our very existence to everyone around us;
-the privilege to have our identity be defined in the minds of most people as nothing more than a fetish,
-not helped by the fact that we also have the privilege to be unable to work most jobs in early states of transition,
-which grants our less-networked and less-wealthy individuals the privilege of their most reliable source of income being prostitution or other sex work which is unreliable and dangerous;
-the privilege to lose most of our family or have to lie to them for our entire life, just because we exist;
-seriously, /what privilege?/
The preceding points were meant to be a logical rebuff but now I’m just riled up. 

8. This argument about socialization/privilege is often a precursor to why trans women should be excluded from certain “women-only” spaces. I can’t get into that here, but I might do it soon.

9. Thanks for reading!

Essay partially for m00nbat

Oh gods…. OH GODS. What was Thor going to do- die of relief, yes, but after that, what? To hear his mother chastizing them for being out in the rain was so refreshing. But Heimdall…. Thor would need a word with the gate keeper.
He stayed behind a moment, looking at their mother, hoping she couldnt hear his heart pounding out his relief. “I’ll study with Loki but we need quiet, absolute quiet. The librarian kept shushing us and then, god, if Egil comes in like Loki’s pet and interrupts I am going to fail this test, mother.” He frowned, steadying himself. He could be quite the actor when he wanted. “Loki said he’d help me after riding anyway, I just need for us to stay focused. Both of us.’ Thor was not and never had been the ony one to get distracted. Loki got bored too, but he was bored because he wasnt being challenged enough.
"Yes, yes, go, wel’ll not bother you and we’ll tel the servants not to come in and dress you for bed.” She sighed. “How does that sound?”
“Boring and lke torture but it will work. Thank you mother.” He bowed low to her and she smiled and he was dismissed. He took off after Loki and heard that … death sentence before Loki disappeared into the shadows like the evil beast he was and Thor was left heading to his own room. Like Loki he was soaked and cold and he wanted a hot bath but settled for sitting next to fire once he got back to his room. He stripped and lay down on the fur rug for a while, towelling out his hair on a dressing robe he had draped over a chair close by. God… and Loki would be here soon and Thor knew they were not going to study at all.
Loki was going to try everything in his power to tempt Thor into kissing him again. Everything. The problem was that Loki would end up tempting him to other things as well. Did Loki want other things too? Brotherhood aside Thor would gladly fuck Loki into the sheets and make him scream and shake and come all over himself. His mind lingered on that too long and he felt a heat pool in his stomach.
That caused him to jump up. Thor ran to his closet pulling on pants and a long shirt to cover up any evidence he might have of wanting Loki and tried to prepare himself for whaat was to come.

7

People say Cinderella is just feminist because all she does is housework. But remember she was forced to do this because she had no-where else to go. Even if it was a guy, they’d still be forced to cook and clean anyway.

People say that the prince didn’t fall In love with her because she worked so hard but because she had a beautiful dress. But how did she get this wonderful dress? Through hard work and not giving up!

People say that Cinderella is crap. But that’s because they’re not watching the film properly.

churchoftheshinji  asked:

Firefly/Mistborn

So basically this turned into “what allomantic/feruchemic powers would the crew of Serenity have?” and I mean, we know we’re gonna get mistborn-in-space eventually, so, why not? Actually, we know we’re gonna get Allomantic FTL eventually, but for this crossover, we’re not quite there yet (for the sake of this crossover, I’m gonna say that there are planets/moons worth traveling to and colonizing that are close enough to Scadrial not to require FTL. This might contradict something Brandon’s said but whatever.) Also at the time of this crossover, Mistborn are known to exist but are very rare, and Hemalurgy is … like an urban legend, or a ghost story.

So!

Serenity crew and passengers

Mal has no skill in the Metallic Arts. It speaks to his personality and leadership that he’s able to hold a crew together without any “special” ability—people tend to put a lot of stock into magical ability, think they’re worth less if they don’t have any, and Mal just casually puts those notions to rest. He’s got no time for religion but those who know him consider him the truest type of Survivorist.

Zoe is a Seeker (bronze misting). But it’s her toughness, reliability, and fighting skills that Mal really relies on. Allomancy might help show her what she’s up against, but training and discipline is what gets her through it.

Wash is a Nicroburst (nicrosil misting) as well as being the actual pilot of the ship. On most ships, a Nicroburst’s main duty would be to support the ship’s Pulser, but well, Kaylee’s got that covered herself with duralumin. Wash is happy to lend his support to whoever might need it (Zoe gets first dibs).

Kaylee is a Mistborn! But she doesn’t care about that flying-through-cities-at-night thing, preferring instead to put her powers towards making the ship run and figuring out neat mechanical tricks. There’s this idea she has, using Cadmium and Bendalloy bubbles together, and if the captain ever gives them any downtime maybe she’ll actually figure out how to make it work. People outside the crew have said this is a waste of her skills—that there are dozens of Cadmium mistings who could do what she does for the ship and that she should leave the research to the scholars, but the scholars—they can’t feel the mechanics of it all working together the way she does. Anyway, she just wouldn’t feel right trying to fit into everyone’s idea of what a Mistborn should be—for one thing, she likes balls and pretty dresses way too much to be a proper heir of the Warrior Ascendant.

Jayne is Twinborn, Thug (pewter misting) and Spinner (chromium ferring). However … he’s not always the best at predicting when he should be storing his luck, and when he should be tapping it, which has led to some … interesting … incidents.

Inara is also a Twinborn. Being both a Soother (brass misting) and a Connector (duralumin ferring) makes her an excellent Companion, however, she doesn’t use either of these abilities with the crew, preferring instead what she considers “real” relationships. Mal accuses her of manipulating him all the time, though.

Book follows the Path of Harmony, but he’s dropped hints that the face he shows isn’t who he’s always been (hint hint he’s a Kandra)

Simon is an Archivist (copper ferring), an ability that helped him immensely on his path to becoming a doctor. Now, though, he’s learning just how many things there are that he never learned in the first place.

River was a Sparker, (zinc ferring) before the Academy took her. Remember what I said about Hemalurgy being an urban legend? Yeah, someone’s trying to make that legend a reality again. River is the only one who knows what was done to make her what she is now and … yeah. Who can blame her for suppressing that? Since no one really knows anything about how Hemalurgy works, no one actually knows what River can and can’t do.

other characters

Badger also doesn’t have any Allomantic or Feruchemic abilities. He’s, shall we say, a bit more self-conscious about this fact than Mal is.

Saffron is a Trueself (aluminum ferring). I know we don’t really know how storing/tapping identity works, but she’s so good at wearing different identities that I thought it might fit.

Reavers are Space Koloss, okay. (Harmony supposedly changed Koloss so that they’re a true-breeding race, but Final Empire-era Koloss map better onto Reavers, I think.)

Atherton Wingis a Rioter (zinc misting) and is reputed to be very good with a dueling cane. Since he’s a Rioter and Inara’s a Soother, he’s been known to utter absolutely terrible lines like “we were made for each other” and “you complete me.”

Adelai Niska’s abilities, if he has any, are unknown. Everyone assumes it must be something quite powerful, but he keeps that information to himself. Because reputation, that is sometimes worth more than fact, yes?

The Operative is a Leecher (chromium misting), a skill that proves to be completely useless against Mal. After seeing how devoted he was to his cause, Mal suspects he might have been a Pinnacle (electrum ferring) as well.