i have no pictures of her and i plan to keep it that way

Story 215: Cultural Exchange

The human steps onto the station from her shuttle, and walks into the scanner.  It flashes - no weapons.  I pity her, though there’s nothing I can do for her.  By tomorrow she will be a slave the same as me; the Gaunvans collect ambassadors like trophies.
“Hello there!  Amanda Thorn, ambassador for the Empire of Humanity.  You’re a Ixian, correct?”
Mimicking human body language, I nod my head.  "That’s correct.  Ix Malasan.  It is an honor to meet you.“
She smiles, reminding me again that she has somehow modified herself to breathe atmosphere suited to the Gaunvans rather than wear a respirator like myself.  Other than that she appears to be a standard human, something I am led to believe is less and less common as they pursue the bizarre compulsion humans have to alter their bodies.  Changing hair color, adding pigments to their skins in patterns and pictures, growing long tails or ears that mimic other species from their planet.  No other known species tampers with their bodies like this.
“Not to be undiplomatic, she says, "but the Gaunvans enslaved your people.  Why are you here?”
“We… reached a mutually beneficial agreement.  We would have lost in combat and been eliminated, so we chose to preserve what we could of our culture.  The Gaunvans are not naturally skilled at diplomacy, so they bring me along to assist and to show that peace can be made.”
She nods.  "Understood.  I can respect that choice.  How much freedom do you have, personally?“
Smart of her, to start planning for her future. "A fair amount.  I have free reign on the ship when we are in transit.  At the homeworld I have reasonably comfortable quarters.”
“Have you ever met the Empress, or…?”
“Oh, no.  No, while on the homeworld I am confined to my chambers - but they’re quite spacious.”
“Shame.  Okay, plan ‘A’ then.  Let’s get this over with.”

Despite my attempt at encouraging diplomacy, the Gaunvan commander starts with threats.  I don’t know why I bother.  He looms over the human, chitinous plates almost black in the dim light.  His pod of six is posted around the room, for show more than for actual security since she followed orders and came alone and unarmed.  "Failure to surrender will bring the full wrath of our army upon you.  Humanity will be crushed, and wiped from the universe.“
To her credit, she looks very calm.  "We live in a post-scarcity society.  Bloody conquest just seems silly, doesn’t it?”
“It is for the glory of Gaun!”
“Well, I’m not prepared to get into a religious debate with you,” she says, “since I doubt there’s anything I can do to change your mind.  Since you’re committed to this course of action, what are you willing to offer if we surrender?”
Now he goes back on script.  Maybe I am getting through to him a little?  He talks about the benefits of being enslaved, mainly the protections for up to twelve designated culturally historical sites.  They’ve been mostly good on their word on my homeworld, though they did use the area just outside of the Hahhn Memorial as a waste dump.

She nods as she listens.  There was a part of me that was worried she would argue, because the humans are somewhat childlike.  They don’t understand the horrors of war.  Certainly they fought in the past, but the last time they had to battle was more than two of their generations ago, so these ones have all grown up coddled and soft.  They play games with each other instead, silly competitions.  They make art, and play pretend, and alter their bodies for fun.  They don’t have weapons anymore, and wouldn’t know how to use them if they did.
“Well then,” ambassador Thorn says, “this is about what I expected.  On behalf of humanity, I would like to formally reject this offer.”
Oh no.  Foolish humans.  The galaxy will miss your innocence.  The commander makes an excited clicking noise, looking forward to combat.  He reaches a blade-tipped hand towards ambassador Thorn, but hesitates as every device in the room bleats out an alert - we’ve all lost communications with the outside.

Like one of the dances humans do, she gracefully pivots around while taking his hand.  She ends up close to him and places her other arm against his thorax, then… oh gods. Gods, what… she’s ripped his arm off.  It’s not possible.  The commander is clearly thinking the same thing, staring in mute shock at his dripping limb.
“I’d like to extend a counter-offer,” she says, and flips the arm around before jamming the bladed end into his neck.  The warriors around the room are fidgeting, uncertain.  They haven’t been told to attack, and don’t want to dishonor their commander by intervening in a fight with such a small creature.  She’s still holding the commander’s severed arm in his neck, but she rotates and heaves, lifting him off the ground with it for a moment… and then his head pops off, landing squarely on the conference table.  She allows the corpse to slide to the ground, and straightens her clothes as if they aren’t covered in ichor.

I don’t understand.

The warriors, now with no orders at all, finally act.  She smiles as they come for her, I suppose because she has done her duty to send this powerful message of resistance.  She can die in peace.  Or… no… She’s killing them.  She’s smiling because this is fun for her.  Though they’re partly killing themselves; if there had been two of them, prepared, strategic, they might have prevailed.  Watching six panicked fighters get in each other’s way while trying to stop a smaller, faster, and somehow impossibly stronger foe is almost hypnotic.  At least one is killed by the stab of a friendly lance due to pure confusion.  It’s over faster than I would have thought possible, severed limbs strewn across the room.  I’ve got some fluids splashed across my clothing.  Only one yet lives, and he is retreating.  She seems to be allowing it.

She follows behind, holding a lance.  The wounded and scared warrior scurries down the hallway towards his ship, looking back behind him as he goes.  She’s just… walking.  Calm.  And for some reason I’m following.  The last Gaunvan reaches the airlock and the second he enters his code she throws the lance - throws it! - and spears him.
“Come on, we’re stealing their ship.”  She says it like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“There are thousands more on board!  Thousands!  Almost all warrior caste!”
She smiles again, and keeps walking.  I see errors on the screens that we pass, messages indicating communications have been lost.  They can’t tell anyone what is happening here.  Even the communicators within the ship are on nodes rather than being wired, so the warriors at one end of the vessel won’t be able to coordinate with the other end.  Do they even know they’ve been boarded?
“How?”

We enter the bridge after she kills a handful of other guards with ease.  They’re too shocked by her presence to act in time.  Once the door are sealed and she is working on the control systems she starts talking to me again.
“Well, you know, we do like to be prepared.”
“But you… you ripped his arm off.”
“Yeah, that was super satisfying.”  She looks at me appraisingly.  "Oh, come on.  Is it really that surprising?  You knew we were into changing ourselves, right?  Being strong enough to pop an overgrown bug’s forelimb off isn’t rocket science.“
"Your people are so peaceful…”
“Oh, sure, most of them.  But we did that, too.  Tweaked ourselves over the years to decrease aggression and some of our tribalistic tendencies, increase empathy… all stuff that can be undone if needed.  Though for a good cause even the nicest of us can squish a bug or two.”
“You bond with Ry'ling devourers!”
“Those are the big fuzzy guys that look like cats, yeah?  Those guys are adorable!  But… look, liking some things that could kill us doesn’t mean we’ll sit back and get enslaved.  We didn’t put up with it well when we enslaved each other, and we certainly aren’t going to go for it now that we’re… finally… on the same page about slavery being unacceptable.  It was, uh, a longer time than we like to admit before the last hold-outs were convinced of that one.”

I can feel the ship un-dock.  We’re moving.  "What about all the warriors on board?  They’ll break through the doors eventually!“
"Not according to this control panel here.  Take a look.”
It says there’s no atmosphere in the rest of the ship.  Life signs are negative on all but two of the warriors, presumably the only ones that got to their suits in time.  She disabled all the safety measures, somehow.  She just killed… I check the life signs readout again to confirm the number… three thousand, six hundred, and fourteen soldiers.  Wait, how is it tracking that unless… “Are communications back up?”
“Yeah, I’m calling some friends.  The military is right around the corner, so to speak.”
“But Earth doesn’t have a standing military.”
She laughs.  Not just a little bit.  She’s actually doubled over for a moment, unable to catch her breath.  "Sweet Jeebus, you guys actually fell for that?  No standing military.  Have you read about us at all?“

Three ships appear seemingly out of nowhere, and one docks with the Gaunvan vessel.  Once the atmosphere is restored we head to the airlock to meet them, and I’m surprised by an entire platoon of Gaunvan warriors.  Speaking English.
"Okay boys, send your last goodbyes!  This is in all likelihood a one way mission.  Commander Thorn!  It is an honor to see you again, and might I say you look exquisite drenched in the blood of your enemies!”
She bows to him, blushing, and then salutes the Gaunvans.  Or… humans?  Can they change themselves this drastically?
“You’ve got two holed up in here somewhere.  Bridge is clear, have the techs bring the new brain on board.”
“New brain?”
She looks at me like she’s forgotten that I’m here, and then turns back to the others.  "Men, this is our new friend Ix Malasan who has just been liberated from his captivity.  He’s going to be helping with our intel.  Malasan, yeah, a new brain for the ship.  Once this vessel is cleaned up and back in service with a new crew we’ll be able to take it over whenever we want even if all of our boys get killed.  We cooked up a really sadistic AI for it.“
"But how do you know the protocols?  This was your first contact with the Gaunvans, they’ve never lost a ship anywhere near here!”
“No?  There wasn’t a mining colony disaster two years ago?”
“But that was just an accident… and you weren’t even involved in the war yet… and…”

The faux-Gaunvans have finished boarding.  The one that was talking to them before puts a bladed claw on ambassador - commander - Thorn’s shoulder.  "You coming with?“
"Naw.  Orders said I could only come if they allow ambassadors near extremely high value targets.  Malasan here says they don’t, so I need to wait for my next mission back on Earth.”
“It would have been nice having you with us, Thorn.  Well, maybe we’ll see each other again.  Suicide mission or not, I think I’ve decided to live through it.”
“Bold choice,” she says, and kisses him next to his lower mandibles.
He nods at me, then turns back to his men. “Okay everyone, we are now officially on the job.  And what is that job?”
In unison, they start chanting.

“FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!”

For a moment I nearly feel pity for the Gaunvans.  Nearly.  Commander Thorn leads me off of the ship, and I start thinking about what useful information I can provide the ‘harmless’ humans.  Fuck shit up, indeed.

✿ ———— beauty and the beast sentence starters.

’ How can you read this? There’s no pictures! ’
’ Well, some people use their imagination… ’
’ This is the day your dreams come true. ’
’ I’m-I’m speechless. I really don’t know what to say. ’
’ Say you’ll marry me! ’
’ I just don’t deserve you! ’
’ I want to do something for him/her… but what? ’
’ No, no! It’s got to be more something more special than that! ’
’ This is yet another example of the late neoclassic Baroque period. ’
’ If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had feelings for this monster. ’
’ I thought I told you to come down to dinner! ’
’ I’m not hungry! ’
’ You’ll come out, or I’ll-I’ll-I’ll break down the door! ’
’ Will you come down to dinner? ’
’ It would give me great pleasure… ’
’ We say please. ’
’ You can’t stay in there forever! ’
’ Fine! Then go ahead and starve! ’
’ Oh dear. That didn’t go very well at all, did it? ’
’ If she/he doesn’t eat with me, then she/he doesn’t eat at all! ’
’ Who said anything about the castle being enchanted? ’
’ It was you, wasn’t it? ’
’ Oh, you look so… so… ’
’ Not quite the word I was looking for, but perhaps a - little more off the top. ’
’ Maybe some other time… ’
’ _______, you are positively primeval! ’
’ Why did you come here? ’
’ Do you realize what you could have done? ’
’ I didn’t mean any harm. ’
’ Please… stop… ’
’ Who’s there? Who are you? ’
’ I’ve come for my father. Please, let him out! Can’t you see, he’s sick? ’
’ Please, I’ll do anything! ’
’ Oh, there must be some way I can… ’
’ Then he/she shouldn’t have trespassed here! ’
’ The master of this castle… ’
’ Wait! Take me instead. ’
’ You don’t know what you’re doing! ’
’ Yes. But… you must promise to stay here forever! ’
’ Come into the light… ’
’ You have my word… ’
’ For who could ever learn to love a beast? ’
’ Do I still have to sleep in the cupboard? ’
’ That’s not a request! ’
’ I’ve been burnt by you before! ’
’ I’m afraid I’ve been thinking… ’
’ If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much! ’
’ Well, if you hadn’t have run away, this wouldn’t have happened! ’
’ If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away! ’
’ Well you shouldn’t have been in the west wing! ’
’ Well, you should learn to control your temper! ’
’ Now, hold still. This might sting a little. ’
’ By the way, thank you… for saving my life. ’
’ Couldn’t keep quiet, could we? ’
’ Just had to invite him/her to stay, didn’t we? ’
’ I was trying to be hospitable. ’
’ I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. ’
’ I want so much more than they’ve got planned… ’
’ Well, Your Highness, I must say everything is going just swimmingly. ’
’ I knew you had it in you, ha ha! ’
’ You what? How could you do that? ’
’ I use antlers in all of my decorating! ’
’ I-I-I was lost in the woods, and-and… ’
’ Please, I meant no harm. I-I just need a place to stay. ’
’ What’re you staring at? ’
’ I’ll give you a place to stay. ’
’ No, no! Please! Don’t, no! ’
’ I’d like to thank you all for coming to my wedding. ’
’ Sir, close that at once! Do you mind? ’
’ It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. ’
’ Oh, must help her/him to see past all that. ’
’ Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable. ’
’ Oh, it’s no use. ’
’ I don’t know how. ’
’ Come, come, show me the smile. ’
’ There’s a stranger here! ’
’ Pardon me, Master… ’
’ Leave me in peace. ’
’ It doesn’t matter now. Just let them come. ’
’ I’ll show you to your room. ’
’ Do you wanna stay in the tower? ’
’ You must control your temper! ’
’ Of course I came back. I couldn’t let them… oh, this is all my fault! ’
’ You… you came back. ’
’ If only I had gotten here sooner. ’
’ Maybe… maybe… it’s better… it’s better this way. ’
’ Don’t talk like that! You’ll be alright. ’
’ We’re together now; everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see… ’
’ And at least… at least I got to see you… one last time. ’
’ Please. Please… Please don’t leave me. ’
’ Well, perhaps there’s something there that wasn’t there before. ’
’ There may be something there that wasn’t there before. ’
’ Shh. I’ll tell you when you’re older. ’
’ I’ll not have you making up such wild stories. ’
’ Let me go! Let me go, please! Don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything! Anything! ’
’ I’m… I’m about ready to give up on this hunk of junk. ’
’ This castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like, except the West Wing. ’
’ I mean it this time! I’ll never get this boneheaded contraption to work! ’
’ Well, what are we waiting for? ’
’ I’ll have this thing fixed in no time! ’
’ You really believe that? ’
’ Be our guest. ’
’ Is it dangerous? ’
’ Oh no, he’d/she’d never hurt anyone. ’
’ Hmmm. Could you read it again? ’
’ Why don’t you read it to me? ’
’ You mean, you never learned? ’
’ I learned… a little. It’s just been… so long. ’
’ Well, here, I’ll help you. ’
’ What would you say if you and I took a walk over to the tavern and took a look at my trophies? ’
Laurel’s Guide to Grimoires

A while back I made a post about how I organize my Grimoire/Book of Shadows and for a long time since then I’ve wanted to a sort of 101 for creating a Grimoire/Book of Shadows. Be warned, this will be a long post! As always, this is merely my opinion, my word is not law.

(UPDATED 4/24/17; All updates are marked)

Originally posted by ephemeralsyzygy

-The Grimoire Basics-

What is a Grimoire?

As my own personal definition, a Grimoire is simply any book used by a witch in his/her/their own personal practice. There is no limit as to what a Grimoire can or cannot be, as each one is as unique as the witch who wrote it.

How do I use a Grimoire?

A grimoire is used to document, or keep track of, any magickal information that is relevant to the practitioner.It serves to log everything you need to know in your own personal craft. 

-Types of Grimoires-

These are my own personal “styles” of grimoires that I have made over the years. These are not the only “kinds” of grimoires, merely suggestions.

- “Textbook” Grimoire: This is a grimoire that is set up to serve as a reference book, a book strictly for spiritual or magickal information. 

- “Practical” Grimoire: This is a grimoire that can serve a practical purpose, such as a recipe or spell book. Often more portable than a standard grimoire.

- “Inspirational” Grimoire: These are often called inspiration journals. They are filled with spiritual images, quotes and writings to serve as a sort of “bible.”

- “Memory Keeping” or “Journal” Grimoire: This is a grimoire that serves to be a personal record of thoughts and feelings pertaining to spiritual activity in your life. 

-Grimoire Keeping Methods-

- Blank bound or spiral bound Notebooks
    - I’ve actually seen someone tape composition notebooks together to get             a “thick” book.
- Recycled or used hard/soft cover books
- Binders
- OneNote/Tumblr/Internet
- Computer Folder/Flash Drive/Memory Card

-How to make a Grimoire-

I recommend that if you are starting a grimoire or are a relatively new witch, don’t even bother buying a nice, expensive, fancy journal. Most of the time (unless you’ve already done one or two grimoires before and you know exactly what you’ll be putting in this grimoire), that book will sit on a shelf and collect dust. Many new witches get excited to have a “fancy” grimoire and then become terrified of “messing up” in it which results in that book never being used. We’ve all been there, done that.

That being said, here are the basic steps I followed when making my “permanent” grimoire.

- Decide on your Grimoire Keeping Method
 - Gather the information that you would like to put into your grimoire (this can sometimes take a very long time, it took me years), although if the “write as you go” method is more comfortable for you, then go ahead.
- Organize your information. If you’re a perfectionist like me, this might take a bit. It’s also completely natural to change up your organization style later on.
- Protect/Consecrate your Grimoire. This is completely optional, but it can also be a fun “witchy” way to bond with your grimoire.
- Put all your information in your book in anyway that you desire. I found it useful to “plan” out the book before I started writing in all the information. This way I knew exactly what pages were going where.
- Decorate your Grimoire. Also, completely optional. Some people like decorating with flowers and ribbons and pictures and stickers. Other people prefer straight to the point text. Either way works perfectly fine.

A quick note for those who suffer from the perfectionist complex: don’t sweat it. We all want our books to be “perfect” but after writing about six grimoires I’ve learned that grimoires really don’t ever become “permanent” because our preferences change as we grow. If you’re worried about it being perfect, starting “planning” pages in a cheap journal. Take note of any mistakes or things you want to change. You can always create another grimoire later. Don’t let that pesky perfectionism hold you back. And if you make mistakes, try to work with them and turn them into something else instead of scrapping your book to start over.

I used to dream of having a huge, Charmed-like Grimoire, and now I prefer the small, sloppy, scrap book, messy-writing kind of grimoire. Don’t sweat it.

Things to put in your Grimoire

- Correspondences
- Sabbats, Esbats and any Holidays you celebrate
- How to cast spells
- Spells and Rituals
- Divination
- Astrology
- Herbs and Recipes
- Crystals
- Topics you’d like to learn about later.

@cosmic-witch has a HUGE list of topics here

How to organize your Grimoire

This post details my own personal Grimoire Index. However the best way to organize your grimoire would be whatever works best for you. I personally like having everything divided into matching sections. However, if you write spells a lot, you may want spell writing notes in the front, while correspondences would be better in the back. It’s all up to personal preference. 

 Witchy-Woman’s Grimoire Organization

TripleVirgo’s Grimoire Index

 My Tips on Grimoire Organization

(UPDATED 4/24/17)

Other Grimoire Tips

- Intention Cheat Sheets. When you want to write a spell, nothing sucks more than having to flip back and forth all over your grimoire to find the information you need. My advice is to make “cheat sheets” for each of your intentions. Pick an intention, such as Money, and write down anything that corresponds to that (colors, herbs, moon phases or zodiac signs, crystals, incense, etc) this way the next time you want to do a spell for Money, you can just flip to your cheat sheet and be done. (UPDATED 4/24/17)

- Incognito Grimoire: Find a generic book that you like at a Goodwill or second hand shop. Write your witchcraft notes/correspondences in the margins and spacing. Use markers or crayons to draw pictures and symbols. You can also glue blank pages into the book so you have more space to write anything you want. This way your Grimoire can sit in plain sight on your bookshelf when you have company over and no one will be the wiser.

- So You Don’t Think You Can Grimoire: Tips and ideas for witches who struggle with the “My handwriting is terrible and I can’t draw” complex. (UPDATED 4/24/17)

- Scrapbook Altars

- Create a Magickal Memories Folder

This post will probably be a “masterpost” of sorts that I’ll continue to add to as the inspiration strikes. If anyone has any ideas or grimoire-related topics they’d like to see, feel free to share!

~L

PROPOSALS

▹ pairing: Jeongguk x reader
▹ words: 18,102 I’m so sorry 
▹ genre: smut, fluff, light angst, friends to lovers

You and Jeongguk propose at restaurants to get free food, but somewhere along the way you start to fall for him.


You never thought Jeongguk would actually take you up on the whole fake proposals thing. When you had suggested the idea to him, he’d just laughed and said “yeah”, then continued playing Fallout 4. You hadn’t actually meant it; the idea was one of those you vaguely imagine it happening, but not really, which is why when he brought it up weeks later suggesting you try it out, you thought he was kidding. 

He wasn’t, and this is how you end up in one of the city’s nicer restaurants on a fake date with your best friend. 

Keep reading

poedamerom  asked:

"I work as a florist and every day you walk in , buy one flower and give it to me" AU because yesterday I realised you were one of my favorite stucky writers!

Steve meets Bucky Barnes on Valentine’s Day, because God has a particularly cruel sense of humor.

— —

“You’re charging /how much/ for roses?” the man — later revealed as Bucky Barnes — asks.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Steve says as an explanation, then sighs as he rings the man up on the cash register. “Don’t worry, your sweetheart will like them anyway.”

The man snorts.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Not for my sweetheart, for my sister. She’s in high school, and this asshole guy’d been leading her on for months, and all we could do was watch while she pined after this little fuck. Meanwhile, this guy’s having her edit his essays, drive him places… You know, the shit that asshole high school guys do when they’re going on a power trip. Anyhow, yesterday he asks out this girl right in front of my sister, asks her if she’s happy for him, which of course she’s not. She gets home, my mom calls me, and we hang out and watch rom coms together, and that’s when we come up with the plan.”

“The plan?” Steve asks, leaning in a little closer.

The guy smiles, almost sheepishly. “Her math teacher is a friend of mine from undergrad, so I call him up. These flowers, a few cards, and a big ol’ box of chocolates are gonna be on her desk.”

“Lemme guess, the asshole sits next to her?”

He grins. “Indeed, he does.”

“She’s in on it, right?”

He nods. “‘Course, it’d be weird if she wasn’t. She’s gonna tell everyone that they’re from her overnight camp boyfriend or something, who has been begging to get back together with her. I dunno, she’s got the whole thing set up, but she promises me that it’s gonna make this jack ass jealous, and that’s the important thing.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “Bet your girlfriend is jealous, too,” Steve asks, and okay. He’s fishing a bit.

The guy raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m single right now,” he says. “I’ve got all these grand romantic gestures stored up with no outlet. It’s a real problem.”

“What a problem to have,” Steve says. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten flowers on Valentine’s Day, in any context. And that’ll be $42.88.”

“Ouch,” the guy says as he inserts his debit card into the chip reader. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve,” Steve says, then adds, “but you probably could’ve gathered that from the name tag.”

Bucky chuckles. “Thanks Steve,” he says as he takes his card out and puts it in his wallet.

“No problem,” Steve says, handing the flowers over to Bucky. “And good luck with your grand gesture.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the flowers. He pauses, and pulls a rose out of the bunch. “Here,” he says, handing it to Steve.

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky moves it a little closer to Steve. “A flower. Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”

“Oh, uh…” Steve says, taking it. “Thanks,” he says, a little lost for words.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says. “Though it’s not quite a grand romantic gesture.”

Steve shrugs, trying not to blush. “It’s sweet,” he says.

Bucky just smiles and leaves the store.

— —

He comes back in the next day. “One tulip,” he says, bringing a yellow tulip up to the counter.

“Sure thing,” Steve says, then asks, “How’d the gesture go?”

“Perfectly,” Bucky says. “By the end of the day, he was telling her that he regretted everything, and she was telling him that she’s too good for him.”

Steve can’t help but smile. “Good to know, and that’s $4.21.”

Bucky pays with his debit card. “Yeah, gotta focus my energies elsewhere now,” he says.

“Good luck with that,” Steve says, handing him the flower.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, then hands the tulip back to Steve. “Enjoy the flower!” he says, before leaving the store.

Steve stands there, eyebrows furrowed, looking at the flower in his hand. “What?” he mutters to himself.

— —

It keeps happening.

Bucky comes in, he buys a flower — a different one every day — and hands it to Steve. If he doesn’t come in, he orders one online with the direction “give to Steve, please.”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve says after a month.

“I’m supporting a local, independently-run business,” Bucky responds as he hands Steve an amaryllis. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve amends, but he takes the flower anyway.

— —

He’s started keeping them in his apartment as a mismatched, ever-changing arrangement. When a flower starts to wilt, he presses one of the petals and keeps it in a little book.

He sort of loves it.

He also sort of loves Bucky, but that’s a different story.

— —

They get to know each other, even though they just talk for a few minutes a day. Bucky is an architect who lives a few blocks away and passes by the flower shop on the way to work. He spends a lot of time with his mom and his sister (his dad isn’t in the picture), and he likes cheesy movies but not cheese — he’s lactose intolerant.

“We have that in common,” Steve says.

“Then it’s a good thing that I’m giving you flowers and not chocolates,” Bucky says as he hands him a peony.

Steve takes it and gives it a sniff. He really does like the smell of peonies. “What’s your endgame here?” Steve asks. “It’s been four months.”

Bucky shrugs, smiling. “Dunno,” he says. “I honestly don’t. I just wanted you to have fun.” He pauses and shoves his hands in his pockets. “If it gets annoying—“

“It’s not,” Steve says, too quickly. “It’s not annoying,” he says.

Bucky looks up, smiling. “Alright then,” he says.

“See you tomorrow?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “See you tomorrow.”

— —

When Bucky walks into the shop on Valentine’s Day, his face lights up.

“Steve?” he asks, looking at the flower arrangement in the middle of the shop and the accompanying valentine, made from the dried petals of 365 flowers.

“I thought you could use a gesture,” Steve says. “And a date for tonight?” he adds on, hopeful.

“Are these…?” Bucky asks.

“The flowers, I saved a petal from each one.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky says, looking down and biting his bottom lip. “I’m gonna have to step up my game if we’re gonna start going out,” he says.

“So that’s a yes?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s a yes.”

All For Show

Valentine’s Day Special #2

Pair : Steve Rogers x Reader

8. You ask your best friend to pretend to be your boyfriend for your sisters couples dinner party. Requested by anon. 

Warning : Language

Word Count : 2,434

Three knocks, that’s all it took before Steve opened the door. He stood there, wearing a tank top and sweats, and his hair damped from sweat, which only meant he just came back from the gym.

“Hey, didn’t expect you here today.” He smiled, waving you in.

“I know, but I needed to talk to you.”

You walked in to his apartment, and plopped down onto his couch. His place was like your second home. You were always there, and if you weren’t, then you two were at your place.

“Beer?” He asked, walking to the kitchen.

“Nah, just water.”

Steve tossed you a water bottle, as he started back toward the living room where you waited.

You took a big swig of the water and felt the cold liquid trickle down your throat. Making you feel somewhat at ease.

“So what did you need to talk to me about?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall across from you.

For some reason you were feeling nervous. Which was strange. Steve was your best friend. You two were so close, you were able to talk to him about anything. He’s seen you in sweats with no makeup on. He’s helped you when you were a drunken mess. And yet, you were somehow nervous about this topic.

“Y/N.” he snapped his fingers, catching your attention. “You okay?”

You slowly nodded, running your hand through your hair. Something you did when you were nervous.

“So my sister is throwing a couples party tomorrow night, and when I RSVP’d a month ago, I was dating Jared-”

“The asshole.” He cut you off.

“Woah, language.” You teased.

He dramatically rolled his eyes and huffed. “Anyways, go on.”

“As I was saying, I told her I’d go and now she’s expecting me to be there.”

“So?” He drawled out.

You swallowed hard, meeting your best friends gaze.

“I was wondering if you can go as my fake boyfriend.” You slightly winced as the words finally fell from your lips.

Keep reading

i need me some jealous kara in my life, so of course i did what any person would’ve done and came with a bunch of headcanons to satisfy my own needs because that’s what self care is all about.

  • it all starts one afternoon, they’re downtown in one of lena’s favorite restaurants and kara’s talking excitedly about the new article she’s writing when lena’s phone goes off. usually when they’re together lena ignores it, she always says it’s business associates and insists they can wait but this time lena sees the name on the screen and smiles widely, “oh it’ll be just a minute kara, sorry” kara nods, motions her to go ahead and tries to focus on her pasta until she hears lena giggling “i can’t wait to see you! it’s been, what? six years?” something inside kara twitches. who is she talking to? most importantly who is making her smile like that?! that’s usually her thing. lena keeps talking to whoever is at the other end of the line as if she’s not there, beaming, chuckling… kara’s always believed herself to be someone non violent (for most the time) but she’s now wishing she could grab lena’s phone, throw it to the ground and break it.
  • turns out, lena says to her when they’re on the car ride back to l–corp, that one of her dearest friends from boarding school is planning a visit to national city and called her to see if they could get together, “her name is molly, we were together on science club and we hit it off right away,” kara knows it’s irrational to feel so… heated at the thought of lena hanging out with someone else because damn, she’s her own person and she’s allowed to have as many friends as she’d like but… it makes her extremely uncomfortable to think about lena laughing with someone that is not her. “i have to admit i had a little bit of a crush on her when we were younger,” and kara doesn’t know molly, has never seen her and certainly has no interest in doing it so but she already hates her.
  • “and then she said,” it’s game night, james and winn have paused mortal kombat to listen to her angry rant and alex is staring at her with wide eyes, beer in hand. “oh i used to have a crush on her, as if it’s the most trivial thing on the universe, did you know she was supposed to come tonight? i promised i would let her win at mario kart, but no! molly’s plane lands today and she called to say—i’m so sorry kara, i can’t make it, i’m gonna go pick her up, maybe some other time? can’t molly call herself an uber? does she really need to have lena’s attention all to herself? gosh it makes me so upset someone would be so selfish.” winn opens and closes his mouth a few times, not sure if he should say anything about the whole situation, james and alex are looking at each other, silently deciding on who should be the first to talk until finally alex breaks the silence. “kara… you don’t even know this molly person, didn’t you also say her and lena hand’t seen each other for years? it’s normal that they want to spend time with each other, catch up with what’s been going on in their lives.” kara crosses her arms over her chest and angrily stares out the window, she wants to bury her face on ice cream because though she knows alex is right she still wants to deck molly in the face.
  • lena is never late, if anything she’s always early to arrive to their lunch dates, but for the first time in months, lena luthor is fifteen minutes late and kara’s getting impatient, maybe she got caught up on work and didn’t see the hour, maybe she had to sign some contracts before leaving, maybe… maybe… she tries and call her twice but she doesn’t answer and that’s when kara gets worried, what if something happened to her? what if while she was on her way someone stopped her and hurt her? she’s tempted to alert the deo, tell them to search for lena’s location when she enters the restaurant a little breathless and with her hair disheveled. “kara i am sorry!” she sits down across from her and takes out her coat, “molly came over to my office and we started to talk, i didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” kara’s face goes dark. it’s wednesday, this is supposed to be their day, their afternoon, their time to be with one another without people interrupting and of course molly had to come and ruin it. “did you know molly has a motorbike? she dropped me off!” oh amazing, molly owes a motorbike, so does half the population of national city, she’s nothing especial. kara doesn’t feel like eating anymore and ends up leaving early. 
  • she’s punching one of the walls at the deo repeatedly, each punch harsher than the last. her knuckles feel on fire but it’s working wonders to get her mind off lena and her new best friend molly whom today decided to invite her to the beach. “what is wrong with her?” winn whispers to alex almost scared of kara’s sudden display of anger, alex shrugs and tell him she has no idea since kara refuses to talk with anyone about it. “she’s jealous,” j’onn says without looking up from the file he’s holding and both of them open their mouths in surprise. “psychic, remember?” 
  • “have i done something to upset you?” lena asks with her cheeks red in embarrassement and her voice breaking, “you’ve been avoiding me for weeks, yesterday you cancelled our lunch date because you said you had a lot of stuff to do but then you uploaded a picture on instagram with james in your pajamas eating popcorn. look kara, i know we all need our space sometimes but i’d rather hear the truth than finding out via social media that you’re lying to me.” she sounds so hurt and she’s almost on the verge of tears, kara feels awful she didn’t mean to make her feel bad, she was just tired of hearing her talk about molly and how amazing she was every single time they got together. “you want the truth?” lena nods eagerly and kara tries, she does, to keep her composure when she catches the necklace lena’s wearing… gold with rose pendant. “that is pretty,” she points to it and lena grabs it between her hands, “thank you! molly gave it to me yesterday.” kara feels her fist tighten. 
  • “well the truth is that molly is annoying,” she says standing up from her place and lena’s eyes widen. “yes, she’s annoying and she’s keeping you all to herself. it’s almost as she’s holding you captive! she’s taking you to the beach and to that art gallery i was going to take you, you are eating potstickers with her, lena, that’s our thing!” there’s no going back now… “and she’s… she’ probably ugly too—oh she has a motorcycle, how original! you know what lena, i can fly! i could fly you from here to paris in less than an hour, i bet molly can’t do that. you know what else i can do? lift you up, with one finger probably, can molly lift you up? no i don’t think she can. does she let you win at mario kart?! she doesn’t, huh, does she even know how to play mario kart, does she?!” 
  • lena looks at her in disbelief before she bursts out laughing and kara lets out a groan, “it’s not funny lena! i am much more interesting that molly will ever be and i’m—mphm!” lena’s kissing her, her cold hands are tangling themselves in her hair and she’s pulling her impossibly close and kara feels like she’s floating. for the first three seconds she doesn’t respond, but as soon as lena slips a warm tongue into her mouth her body reacts and she’s grabbing her everywhere. her face, her neck, her waist, her ass, lena gasps and they break apart. “sorry, i didn’t mean to… i just wanted to… you see this wasn’t what i had planned,” kara looks to the ground but it’s not for long because lena is grabbing her chin, making her look into her eyes and she melts. 
  • “love… i can’t believe you were jealous of molly.” kara clicks her tongue almost offended, she was not jealous of molly, she’s about to say it, to assure lena she doesn’t feel such childish emotion when lena gives her a small peck on the lips and her train of thought is stopped. “she’s married… and has two kids!” kara wants to hide under lena’s desk for the rest of the evening.
accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

Keep reading

Trouble in Canada

Request: “I’m your husband, it’s my job.”

a/n: I hope you enjoy this itty bitty 10 page writing that I’ve been working on for a few days now ! 😉 ALSO @whitechocolateperfection wanted some angst so I wrote some angst and I hope y’all enjoy and I’d love to know your thoughts!!!

Your name: submit What is this?

“I’ll see you at the next session?”

            You picked your head up from rummaging in your bag and smiled at Ethan, your cooking class instructor, “My husband might be back in town, but I’ll see,”

           Ethan nodded his head steadily.  After a while of looking at each other, you diverted your gaze down towards the wooden table.  You saw his tapping fingers slowly make their way towards your hand that was rested on the table.

           Quickly, you moved your hand, and placed your engagement and wedding ring back on your left hand.  You did’t like cooking with your rings on in fear that they could fall down the drain if you were washing your hands, “Uh, Thanks for the lesson, I’ll see you later.”

           You heard an audible sigh escape his lips, “See you next week, Mrs. Mendes.” 

           As fast as you could, you scurried out the door and saw your friend, Jessie, waiting for you outside.  She saw your flustered expression and smirked, “Looks like the teacher has a crush on the student.” 

Keep reading

The Kissing Booth

A SnowBaz fanfiction


Simon

Once a year, usually in the spring, Watford stages a carnival for the students.  It’s usually quite humble, mainly consisting of booths selling small magic trinkets, or snacks like cotton candy, sweets and other classic carnival fare.  There’s always the tiny petting zoo over near the Cloisters, and some years Watford even scrapes enough together to bring in a carousel.  Most of the booths are run by student volunteers, and though everything is by donation, all proceeds go to whichever charity the student body has voted on.

           I go every year, mostly for the caramel apples and sweet cider, but this is the first year I’ve been behind the scenes of the carnival and helped at a booth.

           In truth, I didn’t even sign up for it, but Agatha hadn’t had a break all day and needed some cotton candy of her own.

           I should have told her to find Penny, or Trixie or even Minty.  Anyone but me.

           It doesn’t take long for the word to spread that Simon Snow has taken over the Kissing Booth, and mortifyingly the line has doubled in length.  Mostly first or second-year girls, blushing and stammering or swaggering up to the counter with a pronounced sway in their step, with the odd boy interspersed through the line.

           It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me – that honour goes to the time in second year that Baz stumbled upon a spell that made my clothes slowly dissipate, garment by garment, in the middle of the dining hall – and after the first two or three quick, cold kisses I start to calm down, but I’m counting the minutes until Agatha comes back.  How she endured hours of this, I cannot comprehend.  That’s just Agatha, I guess.

           A redhead drops her donation into the tin and her eyes flit around, meeting me for only a split second at a time, her cheeks aflame.  I try to look as non-threatening as I can and lean forward enough that she can close the rest of the space.  She darts in with a kiss that’s no more than a peck before running over to a giggling pair of who must be her friends, a triumphant grin on her face. She must have been dared.  Poor girl.  I hope I wasn’t her first.

           “Well, well, well.”

           My stomach lurches at the cold drawl I know only too well.

           “What are you doing here, Baz?” I say in as civilized a tone as I can manage.

           He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth in a twist that’s a bit too amused to be a sneer.  “When I heard that the Chosen One had taken over the Snogging Booth, I simply had to see it for myself.”

           “Well, now you’ve seen it, so now you can go.”

           “Saving the World of Mages one kiss at a time,” Baz murmurs with a chuckle.  “Not exactly what I was envisioning.”

           “I’m only covering for Agatha,” I retort, “she’ll be back in five minutes if you’re wanting her services.”

           He scoffs.  “I’d rather not snog your girlfriend, thank you very much.”

           “She’s not my – forget it,” I shake my head.  I’ve told him at least a dozen times, but it never stops him.

           “She must have been really desperate for a break to put you in charge,” Baz drawls on, his voice smooth like honey but with too much of a bite to be sweet.  “You’d think she’d at least pick someone attractive for the Kissing Booth.”

           It stings, but I don’t flinch.  “What, someone like you?” I spit back too fast.

           His eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise as I realize my mistake.  “You flatter me, Snow,” he purrs, and I feel my cheeks heat up, but I furrow my brow tighter and hope it passes for anger.

           “Is there a reason you’re still here?” I growl as the burning spreads from my cheeks to my ears.  

           “As a matter of fact, there is,” Baz says, and his gray eyes look cool enough to staunch the flames at the tips of my ears, but the more I glare into them the more the fire rages.  “I’m here to torment you.”

           “Great, well you’ve done that.”

           “I wanted to see what you’d do.”  He leans on the edge of the counter, bringing his face far too close to mine for comfort. “What would the Mage’s Heir do if his nemesis showed up at the Kissing Booth?”

           “You can torment me any time,” I shoot back, “you’re holding up the line.”

           “Oh, yes, well,” he feigns conern, “I wouldn’t want to keep anyone from their kiss.”

           “Then go away.”

           His eyes narrow and he pretends to think.  “Mmm, no.  I don’t think so.”

           “Baz, I’m warning you.”

           “Terrifying,” he drones, “but this is too much fun.  Besides,” his eyebrow flickers up, “don’t you owe me a kiss?”

           I flash him a smirk of my own.  “Aw, Baz. If you were so desperate for a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

           Baz, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You think of that comeback yourself?”

           “There’s a fee, you know,” I ignore him, barely having to raise my voice above a murmur for him to hear me, he’s so close.  “You haven’t paid the fee, so I don’t owe you anything.”

           He doesn’t drop his eyes from mine, and the cool gray takes on the spark of a challenge.  Out of my periphery I see him reach into his pocket, and there’s the clatter of coins dropping into the tin.

           I should punch him.

           I should spit in his face.

           I wanted to see what you’d do.

           I take him by the lapels and crush his mouth under mine.

           He makes a muffled sound of shock.  To be fair, so do I, but mine is more angry than it is surprised.  I kiss him hard and rough, and it’s a bit of a juxtaposition because his mouth is oddly soft.  A face like his, you’d expect his lips to be made of marble, cold and unmoving, but he’s the farthest thing from unmoving.  I can’t tell if he’s struggling or if he’s kissing me back but his lips are so, so soft and I want to bruise them, mark them, bite them…

           I only stop when a series of wolf whistles reminds me that there are at least ten people watching us.

           Trying to salvage the illusion of control, I break away harshly, still gripping him by his collar.  The cocky smirk has dropped from his smooth features and now his face mirrors mine, a matching scowl, like I’ve crossed a dangerous line.  I probably have.

           “Was that what you wanted?” I growl.

           He doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze another few seconds before pushing back from the table, his lapels slipping out of my hands, and stalking away.

*** 

I don’t see Baz at the carnival after that, and I stay as long as the booths are open, perusing the same counters and feigning interest even after having looked through their contents three times.  I keep Penny company where she mans the popcorn booth, drizzling caramel over every few cartons, and I even get bored enough to hang around Agatha back at the Kissing Booth for a little while, until one too many patrons have asked if I’m available for service.  When she and Penny are freed we pet the goats at the petting zoo, the ones that Ebb has graciously volunteered for the event, and take a few spins on the carousel.  Only once the light has begun to fade and the signs are being lowered from their booths do the three of us part ways.  Even then, I offer to help Ebb get her goats back safely.

           Basically, I’m doing anything I can to put off going back to the room, but eventually I can’t avoid it any longer.  I’ve wandered the grounds enough times that the sun has properly disappeared behind the distant hills and I can barely see the ground in front of me. Even then I’m tempted to consider crazy alternatives like spending the night at Ebb’s place, but I’m pretty sure that would be against school rules anyway, and besides, I’ll have to face Baz eventually.  There’s no undoing what’s happened.

           When I finally trudge back into the room, he’s staring out the window at the moat, presumably trying to intimidate the merwolves, but he turns at the sound of the door.  His expression, though I don’t see it for long before I look away, is hard to read. Wide eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’s still mad at me for my stunt earlier, but there’s a bit of a questioning edge there, too.  Almost a where were you edge.

           Normally I have to start any type of conversation, but tonight he wastes no time. “What the hell was that, Snow?”

           There’s no question as to what he’s referring, and I can’t help but get angry again.  “Me? You’re the one who had to start something!”

           “Well, you didn’t have to react so drastically,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by the window, the moonlight casting its glow on his skin and making him even paler than usual, almost transparent.  I half expect fangs to slide out from his lips for no reason and complete the picture.

           His soft, soft lips.

           “You were egging me on,” I seethe, the memory igniting the rage that I’d felt in the fractured moment before kissing him, “it’s your fault anything happened.”

           “Proud little hero,” Baz says with the slightest smirk, “can’t back down from a challenge.”

           “You know I can’t, not in front of people.”

           “Wouldn’t want them to think the Heir is a coward.”

           I feel like a balloon in me is swelling and deflating at once.  “But that’s just it, Baz,” I insist, anger momentarily aside.  “If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?”

           He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second I think maybe he understands. I want so badly for him to understand.

           “No reason,” Baz eventually says, turning to look out the window again, “not with someone like you as the Chosen One.”

           I want to groan, to kick something, to shake him by the shoulders and make him look me in the eye and for once not fight me.  Have we ever in our lives made eye contact without there being some challenge between us?

           “Why did you have to get in that line?” I shake my head.  “There are so many other ways of tormenting me, lower-stakes ways.”

           “To be fair, I’ve already exhausted most of those,” Baz murmurs with a little shrug of his shoulders.

           “When have you ever been fair?”

           “Touché.”

           I’m tired of standing here at the door, so I kick off my shoes and sit down on my bed, trying not to think about how much closer I am to him now, still at the window, looking as vampiric as ever.  His gray eyes are positively silver in the moonlight, and the black of his hair looks silkier than ever, as if it’s soaking the rays directly into him. He almost glows.  I have to laugh a little, because more than once Baz has mockingly compared me, with my bronze curls and sky-blue eyes, to the sun, but he himself wears a halo of night.  If I am the sun, then Baz is most certainly the moon.  Distant, cold, mysterious, almost too pristine to touch.

           His gaze returns to me suddenly.  He raises an eyebrow in a wordless inquiry, and I realize I’ve been staring.

           “What exactly was it you expected me to do?”

           “At what point, Snow?” he gives a humourless laugh.  “You had more than one opportunity to react.”

           “When you paid the fee.”

           His tiny smile disappears.  “It doesn’t matter.”

           “It does.”

           “Drop it, Snow,” he says, the hardness returning to his eyes, and I know I’ve cornered him.  Drop it is Baz’s way of betraying himself, of saying there’s something that he doesn’t want to tell.

           “Was I supposed to kiss you?” I ask.  For some reason I have to know.

           “No.”

           “Then what?”

           “I don’t know, Snow, punch me.  Push me. Beat me to the ground.  Something.”

           My brow furrows in confusion.  “Wait. You wanted me to hit you?”

           He shrugs, more with his head than his shoulder.  “One of us has to get hurt, right?”

           I rise to my feet, and I’m face-to-face with him again, only his eyes are different this time.  Whereas at the booth he had betrayed no hint of doubt at our closeness, now there’s a flicker of something in the silver, something that feels a lot like the way my heart is racing in my chest, and it dawns on me.  He was putting on a show at the carnival, acting like nothing I could do would get to him, just as I had been.

           If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?

           One of us has to get hurt, right?

           And suddenly it makes sense.

           There’s only a few inches between us, so it feels almost natural when I lean in and press the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

           He doesn’t kiss me back this time, but he doesn’t move away either.  “What was that for?” he asks when I draw back a second later.

           “You act like we’re so different,” I say wonderingly, “but we’re the same.”

           “How?”

           “What do you think we’d be if we didn’t have to fight each other?”

           I don’t miss the split second of longing in his eyes.  “Keep dreaming, Snow.”

           “Because I bet it would involve a lot more of this.”  I bring a hand up to his neck, my fingers instantly lost in the wavy tips of his hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks bathed in moonlight.

           Baz closes his eyes like he has to collect himself.  “You’re the hero.  I’m the villain.  What more do I have to say?”

           “Fuck that,” I chuckle, “we both know that’s not true.  You’re a boy, and I’m a boy.  That’s all.”

           “Tell that to the rest of the world.”

           “I don’t care about the rest of the world,” I shake my head adamantly, “I want to know what you think.”    

           “About what?”

           “If there was no act, no reputation, no role to play,” I murmur, “if we were just two boys, what would you do?”

           Baz returns my gaze a moment, searching my eyes.    

           Then his lashes close and he’s kissing me, and my eyes drift shut again like I’m sighing in relief.

           I let my fingers tangle higher up in his hair while my other hand grips the front of his shirt like earlier, only without the anger of the afternoon.  He angles his head further and guides the kiss deeper, his hands gently gripping my waist and pulling me closer.  I melt against him, my mouth moving with his, my head swimming with his citrusy scent, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my throat when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle tug. Suddenly I’m floating, weightless, and Baz gives a muffled sound of surprise when I press back a little harder.

           When we finally break apart, both of us gasping and dizzy, I immediately want more, want to line his neck with my mouth, want to feel his breath hitch when I reach the base of his throat, want to hear my name in his sigh.  Would he sigh Snow or Simon?  I want to know.

           “Please,” I whisper, dotting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “can’t we just be two boys?”

           When I meet his eyes, they’re full of more longing than ever.

           In response, he kisses a soft, slow triangle pattern on my cheek, and I recognize the pattern of the three moles by my eye, and I can’t help but smile.

“We can try.”

anonymous asked:

i'm giggling to myself bc i keep imagining that sasuke's and naruto's friendship starts bc sasuke learns that naruto has massive chakra reserves and he's just like "well /hello destruction/" and they probably become everyone's worst nightmare.

The first time Sasuke really notices Naruto is during their Academy class’s unit on sealing.

To be fair, it would be kind of hard to miss him after the way he shoves so much chakra into the exploding tag he’s supposed to be making that he blows up the back half of the classroom and launches himself about twenty feet into the air. A couple of the other kids are a bit singed, and they end up having to share a room with another class until the terminally overworked Mokuton user can fix the wall and ceiling, but Naruto wanders back in the next day looking sheepish and entirely unharmed.

Since Sasuke saw him take the brunt of the explosion, this is worthy of note. So is the fact that he managed to shove enough chakra into the tag to burn out the safety seal that was supposed to keep things like that from happening.

Under the cover of Iruka-sensei’s yelling, Sasuke looks down at the diagram on his paper, a jutsu that his father dismissed as unreasonable and unusable given normal human limits, and thinks, Huh.


“All your old designs?” Shisui says with some confusion when Sasuke tracks him down after class. He rocks back on his heels, eyeing Sasuke a little warily, and swipes ineffectually at an ink-stain on his cheek. “Yeah, I still have them—I wouldn’t throw them out after you gave them to me for safekeeping, brat.”

“I need them,” Sasuke says with determination. “All of them.”

Shisui blinks, then tilts his head, studying him for a moment. “You know the amount of chakra they need would kill most jounin,” he says, though it’s too curious to be an accusation. “I think even Sarutobi-sama might have trouble with some of them. You’ve got a habit of thinking big, kid.”

“Are you going to give them to me or not?” Sasuke demands crankily, because he’s got curfew in three hours and he still has to pick through his plans to find the easiest one and find Naruto.

“Of course.” Shisui sounds offended that he’d think otherwise. “They’re your designs, Sasuke. Check the hall closet, top shelf—Tenzō!”

Shisui’s boyfriend takes one look at the manic light in his eyes, the scrolls scattered over the breakfast table, and the ink smeared across his face, then blanches and turns right back around.

“No no no!” Shisui lunges after him, grabbing up his scrolls and vaulting clear over the table. “Tenzō, no, come back, I swear this one isn’t like last time, this is a brilliant idea, you will be blown away!”

“Urgent mission, ANBU called, I have to go!” Tenzō calls over his shoulder as he bolts.

Tenzō! That wasn’t even a convincing lie! Come on, you’re the only one in the village with Mokuton, you have to try this or my brilliance is wasted, it’s a gorgeous jutsu! Tenzō!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes as the yelling fades behind him and heads for the closet. The box with the jutsus his father rejected is right where Shisui said it would be, and Sasuke clutches it and thinks a little gleefully about the potential of even one of these jutsus, provided he can get Naruto to agree. The destructive power. The awesome might. The possible explosions.

(Somewhere deep in R&D’s basement Mikoto pauses in the middle of creating a devastating combination jutsu, and turns to smile fondly at the picture of her youngest son on the wall. She’s so glad he got more of her proclivities than Fugaku’s, even if her husband does tend to complain about the property damage more frequently since she introduced him to the wonders of explosive chakra techniques.)


Naruto is just heating up water for his nightly cup of ramen, halfway through trying to factor a new jumpsuit into his monthly budget while still having money for Ichiraku’s, when there’s a knock on his door. A little wary—because Hokage-jiji usually warns him when he’s going to drop by, and there’s no one else who visits Naruto—he pulls it open, and finds himself face-to-face with the weird nerd who spends pretty much all of their time in class drawing on big scrolls. Iruka-sensei yells at him to pay attention almost as much as he does Naruto, which automatically makes Naruto like him.

But he and Naruto have never even spoken before, so Naruto has no earthly idea what he’s doing here.

“Hello?” he asks.

The boy thrusts the shoebox he’s carrying at Naruto and says, “Your chakra reserves are amazing will you try my jutsus?”

This is, Naruto learns much, much later, the Uchiha equivalent of a marriage proposal.

Even if he’d known, he probably still would have lit up with glee and cried, “Yes!”


“Not a word,” Mikoto tells her husband as she ladles miso soup into five bowls instead of the usual four.

Fugaku rolls his eyes at her, ignoring her warning to offer, “I don’t think Kushina would have liked anything more than for you to take in her son.”

“And now we have an excuse,” Mikoto says triumphantly, waving the ladle like it’s a weapon to stab Danzō and the other Elders with. “We couldn’t approach him but they didn’t say anything about Sasuke now did they? Hah!”

“I think,” Fugaku says dryly, casting a glance at where Sasuke is looking halfway to manic as he explains one of his jutsus to a beaming Naruto, “that the Elders are very shortly going to have much bigger things to worry about.”

Rent-a-Boyfriend™

Words: 12k

Genre: Extreme fluff for all you bitter people out there (me being included)

Read more at Service Series 

Cr.

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Sweet Valentine // Spencer Reid x Reader

“That’s sickening,” you commented with a grin as a bouquet of flowers was delivered to JJ right in front of you. She chuckled, aware of the fact you were joking and simply waved the comment away.

“Will is just sweet,” she replied. Your grin grew bigger at the fact JJ couldn’t hide the growing blush on her cheeks. She and Will had been together for a while now and yet he always seemed to find a way to fluster her. Watching JJ receive little gifts was something the whole office had come to enjoy.

“You’re just mad cause you don’t have a date lil mama,” Morgan commented with a smile. You scoffed as you swiveled your chair around in order to face him.

“I don’t need a date. I have Emily and Reid this year,” you replied with a smug smirk. The three of you were the singles of the group and after much convincing, you’d managed to have them agree to an anti-valentine’s day.

“About that…” Emily replied guiltily.

“Emily! Did you seriously get a date at the last minute?? What happened to all of us agreeing to boycott Valentine’s Day by spending it getting drunk together?!” You exclaimed in disbelief.

“Okay one- we did not agree to boycott. We only agreed to spend the day together since none of us had dates, and two-the drinking thing was your idea. Not that I wouldn’t mind getting completely wasted although I do worry about Reid if you continue that plan,” she laughed. “Sorry babe, I got asked out and I just couldn’t say no.”

“Looks like it’s just you and Reid now,” JJ replied with a wiggle of her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes at the gesture, knowing well that she always pictured the two of you together. You couldn’t deny the fact you’d developed some feelings for the man, but expecting Spencer to make a move was like waiting for rain in a drought. It wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

“I guess I’ll have to let him know it’s just the two of us,” you replied as you shot Emily a look through narrowed eyes. She smiled brightly, her eyes shining with mischief.

“I already let him know last night,” she replied.


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Parents didn’t always read the orientation material.

There were a few, every year.  They insisted on helping the new students move into the dorms.  They sent boxes from home, full of cookies or brownies or favorite munchies.  They called frequently (it wasn’t safe.  Letters were safer, e-mail was safer, even texts were safer, but calls not so much.)  They begged for pictures, for visits, and sometimes they accidentally-on-purpose “just happened to be in the area”.

The staff tried to deal with parents.  Oh how they tried.  Usually it worked.  The Gentry almost never kept parents.

But some… some parents never left.

She had taken piano lessons when she was younger.  Her parents approved:  that was a womanly decorative thing to do.  She had never played sports, because that wasn’t a womanly decorative thing.  She wore dresses.  She took ballet, she sang, she painted. Her parents told her every day in every way who they thought she should be, and she tried, she really did.

She was tired of not being good enough.  

She applied to Elsewhere, and got a full music scholarship, and carefully out of sight in the shower she sobbed with relief and fear.  Her parents loved her, they really did, they told her so.  The disappointment at her, the silent treatment, the confinement and not being allowed out with her friends… well, they were just trying to protect her, right?  They didn’t know the bubble wrap they tried to put around her was smothering her.  

She read the orientation paperwork, every single scrap.  She wanted to do everything right, because the thought of doing it wrong terrified her.  Even the strange stuff, maybe especially the strange stuff, because everything in life was a test, another opportunity to disappoint.

“As an environmentally-conscious measure, Elsewhere University’s campus is not set up to allow automobile traffic.  For those students who need transportation help, there are staff with golf carts available, as well as a series of campus shuttles that make regular stops.  Bicycles are available for rent by the hour, the week, or the semester.  Skateboards and skates are permitted but proper safety gear must be worn.”

Father was angry when campus security wouldn’t let him drive straight to her dorm.  She trembled.  Always, when Father was angry, somehow either she or Mother paid.  He fumed while waiting for a golf cart, he clenched his jaw when the staff member driving the golf cart refused to simply step aside and hand over the keys, he was elaborately careful when helping load her things after being refused a campus map.

Her dorm was a solid brick building, a pleasant generic institutional place.  Father insisted on carrying her things up to her room, on the second floor.  "So I know where my little girl will be,“ he said. His anger cooled a little with the exertion, down to its usual simmer.

It only took a few trips to get all of her things upstairs.  Father insisted on a hug, just on the edge of being painful as his hugs always were.  She endured it, because trying to get away always earned a lecture.  "I love you so much, you’ll always be my little girl, you are a disappointment because you don’t love me as much as I love you, but I will forgive you because I am better than you.”

“Elsewhere University wishes to be the beginning of a new life for every student.  We ask that students choose a nickname, in order to facilitate this feeling of a new beginning.  Common nickname categories are an interest, a favorite song or work of art, an aspiration, or a personal quality.  It is our firm belief, demonstrated by decades of successful graduates, that this practice allows students the freedom to really expand their horizons and demonstrate both their personalities and their capabilities both actual and potential.  In support of this practice, we ask that legal names not be used on campus except with the Student Services or Records and Enrollment offices.”

The driver helped as Father made one last check to be sure nothing had been left.  He reminded her to call twice a week.  He hugged her again, ignoring the gasp she made as he let go.  "Remember to call your Mother, Susan.  You’ll always be her little girl, and you know how she worries.“

“I will, Father.”

The driver watched, waiting patiently while Father said his good-byes, then cleared his throat.  "Sir, if you want to attend the parent orientation, we need to be going.“  

"Yes, I’d planned on attending.  I need to know everything, to help keep my Susan safe.”  Father climbed aboard, and the driver waved as they left.  For an instant his hand seemed to have too many fingers.

She felt eyes on her as they drove away.

She climbed the stairs back to her room, looking forward to taking her shoes off and unpacking.  The door, locked when she left it, was still locked, but now there was a pile of stuff underneath the open window.  

“Hey!  Sorry I wasn’t here when you were bringing stuff up, he looked a bit intense, oh hey are you ok?”  The girl on the tree branch outside the window climbed in and sat on the windowsill.

She nodded.  She locked the door behind her, then sat on one of the beds.

“I’m Magpie, second year, one of the stage monkeys for the theater.  You wanna see?  No obligation.”

“Yeah, I… I paint, a little.”

“You do?  Cool!  Hey, but if you want to go see, that outfit’s cute and all but it’ll get ruined pretty quick.”

“I’ve got some grubbies, let me unpack.”

Magpie grinned and pushed her hair behind one ear.  "Your dad isn’t one of those types who thinks he’ll be visiting every weekend, is he?  'Cause I can’t hide all the time.“

"I think he was heading to the parent orientation.”

Magpie blinked.  "Oh… kay.“

"What, okay?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.  They go by Melanotis. They’ll tell you about the parent orientation.  Are you sure you’re ok?”  Magpie pushed her hair back again. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Why do you keep asking?”

“There is no parent orientation.  Here, take this.  No obligation.”  Magpie took a ring off of her index finger and handed it to her.  It was a puzzle ring made of iron and pyrite, and it fit her index finger as if it had been made for her.

“Thanks, but why?”

“My dad was like that, too.  What do you want to be called?”

The choice, the possibility of choice, was dizzying.  Something to hang onto… a favorite song.  "Call me Sussudio,“ she said, and smiled.

[x]

PLL ENDGAME FINAL THEORY

Okay guys, so here is my theory. It’s long so bear with me. I hope you’re convinced with this one

In this theory, I will tell you who Uber A is. Who killed Charlotte. Who killed Jessica. How every character is involved in the story. What the initials A.D. stand for. Everything that we are yet to know at this point. 

Who is Uber A? There are two people. A twin of a character we know and her helper. We have an identical twin among us that has been behind everything that we are yet to know. Bethany Young is the twin and she is Uber A. The show is coming in full circle. She killed Jessica, Charlotte, Sara Harvey, etc. Uber A and Charlotte’s killer ARE the same person. She is not here to avenge anyone’s death like they want us to believe. She’s here for revenge for having her life ruined. 

They promoted this new A as the deadliest and most twisted A of all the As (and the one who loves the game the most). That description doesn’t fit with someone who is avenging someone’s death. 

It all starts with Bethany and Charles. The night Marion Cavanaugh died. According to Charlotte, Bethany pushed Marion Cavanaugh and blamed her. This isn’t true. Charlotte killed Marion, Bethany witnessed it, and Jessica covered it. Charlotte blamed Bethany but Jessica paid Wilden to rule it out as a suicide. Flashbacks aren’t always true. It’s visualized on what the person is saying. Jessica wouldn’t cover up the murder if Bethany did it. That’s why in Bethany’s recordings we would hear her saying to someone “she’s a bitch, she’s an evil bitch!” It’s not clear as to who was she talking about but it was definitely Charlotte or Jessica. Bethany drew pictures of Jessica with horns and the word ‘liar’ all over it

Charlotte lied in her story so Alison and the rest of the liars would feel bad for her. This is why some of the things don’t make sense. A big part of her story was a damn lie. Charlotte is the biggest liar on the show. Everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie. Bethany got payback after the time jump by murdering Charlotte and throwing her off the bell tower, just like Charlotte pushed Marion from Radley. What I love about this is that Uber ‘A’ is putting the girls through hell to find Charlotte’s killer when she is the one behind it.

Who’s Bethany’s twin? Spencer Hastings. Mary Drake had Spencer and Bethany. Both are identical twins. One was adopted by The Hastings and the other one was put into family services and was adopted by the Young family and was sent to Radley later on. Before you all say “Bethany was two years older than Spencer and the rest of the girls” Charles was supposedly older than Jason but in reality they were the same age. Jessica and Kenneth came up with that lie to keep the adoption a secret from everyone else as it was revealed in 6x20. Bethany’s information was made up to keep her a secret from everyone

Peter Hastings was responsible for this and this is why he wanted Toby to stop investigating his mom’s death and sign the papers to close Radley back in season 4. The more he was investigating the more got to the truth. 

This is why we never saw her face when she escaped Radley. She has Spencer’s face. And this is going to be the ultimate final twist the writers already talked about. Lets be real, if she was a random girl we would see her face. They could’ve casted literally any blonde for this scene and they would show us her face. We still have yet to see her face as a teenager

One of the biggest mysteries on the show are Bethany’s drawings. There is a drawing of a woman falling (Marion), the picture of a demon (Jessica) taking a kid (Charles) away. We also see pictures of her but they’re all distorted. We can’t see her face

This makes me believe that she has part of her face disfigured or doesn’t want to show her face AND this is why Uber A wears masks

I will show you proof that Mary had a third child (which is the twin) In 7x08, Spencer and Aria go visit Dr. Cochran and he tells the girls that he helped Mary delivered “Two OF her babies” as opposed to her “two babies” hinting about another child. One was adopted and the other was put in family services. Mary was giving Spencer hints about a twin in the premiere telling her how much she and Melissa looked alike. 

This is one of my favorite scenes from 7A because Mary was indirectly telling Spencer her relationship with her parents and how they met a long time ago leaving Spencer confused

What does Sara Harvey have to do with everything? Sara was killed for knowing too much. She was a girl from another town involved in all this mess. Sara ran way from her home and Charlotte kidnapped and forced her to be her accomplice. She used her as a decoy in all the stuff that she was planning to do like “The Lodge Fire”. She knew stuff about Charlotte and was going to tell the girls and run away but Uber A was outside her room waiting to kill her. Never ever underestimate “A”. It happened with Jessica, Mona and finally to Sara. 

I hate to say this but Sara wasn’t the real Black Widow. The real Black Widow is the twin Bethany. She is the ENDGAME. I have proof of this. The first time we were introduced to the Black Widow was in the season 4 premiere titled “A is for A-L-I-V-E” (the title is a clue). Her introduction was really creepy and weird. It felt like a new character that was VERY connected to the story. Whoever this person was did NOT want to be seen in public because either they’re supposed to be dead, they are secret twin of someone or they are looking for them and that’s why she was wearing a mask and we can see this at the end of the episode

In 7x01 when the girls see the fake Hanna hanging in the bell tower. There was a clue that leads back to 4x01. Caleb looks at this phone and it’s 4:01 a.m. The writers tend to use numbers as clues. The episode where we are introduced to Black Widow

Black Widow had the girls as dolls at the lair. Sara may have been bad but having the girls as their dolls is completely twisted and it doesn’t fit her with character. Sara wasn’t wearing a mask when she lifted up her veil. I’m pretty sure the writers did this on purpose so we could catch the fakeness of Charlotte’s story.

Another thing that doesn’t make sense about her story. She shot Wilden twice. Lets be real here. She would know if he was really dead after shooting him. Why would she need Sara to go and check if he was really dead? This makes absolutely no sense. Here is more proof that Bethany is the real Black Widow. Toby was getting messages to take the RV and he would know what really happened to his mom. Who would know what happened to his mom? The witness. -A was helping Toby solve his mom’s mysterious death

What I’m about to say I believe no one has said it before. Bethany was working with Mona but Mona didn’t know who she was working for. Mona created the A game so Bethany could finish it. This has always been Bethany’s game. Mona loved playing the game and the last thing she would do was to reveal herself. Someone KNEW what Mona had done that night Alison disappeared and Mona was being blackmailed about it. She had no other choice than to reveal herself. How do I know this? Easy, Mona saying to Spencer “Either you join the A-Team, or you disappear” 

And of course Mona’s monologue when she’s admitted for evaluation: “I know they’re watching me, I don’t look bad considering… I like this lipstick, what’s it called? Toffee tango? (voice changes) They think it’s over, Loser Mona is going to the nuthouse and those precious liars are going home to sleep with their windows open and their doors unlocked. Don’t they know that’s what WE want?”

Okay there’s been theories that it was Charlotte talking after Mona but it’s impossible because Charlotte was a patient at Radley and met Mona later during her stay. Whoever was talking was helping Mona all along and she was present in the season 2 finale. She was at the masquerade party. She was right in front of us wearing a red dress with a full mask. The camera focuses on her. She has been watching them all along

Now. I will talk about her helper. Her helper is Dr. Wren Kingston. Wren has been an A-team member since the beginning. Mary sent him to Rosewood check on The Hastings and the only way to continue reporting her what the Hastings were doing was to get engaged to Melissa Hastings but he fell for Spencer and everything was ruined

I will give you the biggest clue that Wren is AD’s main accomplice

In 7x01, we see Mary talking to someone on the phone and according to Mona, “It’s definitely a man. I think he has an accent. Maybe Aussie, maybe British. Note: This can’t be Rollins because Mary and Rollins were not in touch for a couple of days

This is going to sound really twisted but I don’t think Mary cared about Charlotte at all. Charlotte was looking for her and she was spending time in other countries. 

Something that hasn’t been explained is why Wren suddenly decided to volunteer in Radley when Mona was admitted there. He volunteered to continue the A game but with a new leader (Charlotte DiLaurentis). Eddie Lamb suspected and knew all along that Wren was bad news

The infamous visitor’s pass. Wren didn’t make the pass for Charlotte. it was for Bethany but under the name CeCe Drake. She used Charlotte’s “alias” when she had her out privileges. She was sneaking into Radley under that name to visit Mona wearing a Red Coat. That pass couldn’t have been for Charlotte because she was already a patient there. All she needed was to get out of her room and visit her. Why would she need a visitor’s pass?

Mona said to the liars in 3x24 “that she made a deal with the devil and she gave me a way in and out of that place”

Charlotte wasn’t giving her a way in and out of Radley because she needed Mona to get out of that place without anyone noticing as she stated in 6x10.

So who was Mona talking to? Uber A. The real Red Coat and Black Widow. 

Only someone who works or was a patient for a long time knows the exits and secret doors. Bethany escaped Radley so she would definitely know the secret exits

Uber A manipulated everyone to do her dirty work. Just like Mona, Charlotte was addicted to the A game so why would she just give herself up? Because someone was telling her what to do. And this is why they introduced us to the board game. This is how Uber A was manipulating everyone. Telling them what to do.

In 6x10, Mona tells the girls that she didn’t tell CeCe about them but somebody at Radley did start sending her riddles and twisted rhymes. More proof that someone else was seeing her. 

The last time we hear about Wren is in 6x17 in a flashback of Hanna and Melissa in a restroom. According to Melissa, he was in contact with Charlotte when she was at Welby. Melissa tells Hanna that Charlotte ruined her relationship with him because he found out that she killed the girl in the grave. Wren was blackmailing Melissa about this throughout 6B. This is why Melissa was terrified if someone else had the tape confession because someone was targeting her.

Now the last question. Who’s in the grave? A stranger that was killed and buried with the outfit. Grunwald rescued Alison and someone with a red sleeve rescued Bethany. There are two different scenes with two people wearing different clothes and rescuing someone. Whoever was identified was killed and buried with the yellow top outfit

You can follow me on twitter @boyfataie if you want to discuss it

Finding you

Originally posted by taesscripts

Words: 5992

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut

It has pretty much everything but there is a point where there will be smut so if you don’t fancy something like that you can just skip the part.

Description: Your cousin gave you a gift. It’s a pen, a pen that whatever you write upon your skin with it will also appear on your soulmate’s. Silly stuff, how can what you write with a stupid pen appear on your soulmate’s skin?

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#SherlockLives: The Resurrection

The day is April 23rd, 2017.  It’s an ordinary Sunday afternoon in London.

The crowd bustles, trains whirr, birds chirp.

Life in the city is business as usual.

Three teenage girls take photographs outside 187 North Gower Street, soaking in the ambiance of the Sherlock set.  They step into Speedy’s for a cup of coffee.

The women lament over the loss of their favorite show. On March 8th, the BBC announced Sherlock would not be returning for a fifth series, and cowriters Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss were quick to assure their fans that it was time to lay the beloved program to rest.

But what the women saw next changed their lives forever.

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share my heart

A/N: i was forced at gunpoint tonight to write a s4 drabble about bellarke realizing how the other feels about them. Rated T. WC: 1455.


It’s quiet.

Somehow, quiet is always around Bellamy. It’s like he wears it on his shoulders, along with all the pain and hurt and guilt. She doesn’t know if he’s even aware he projects it. All she knows is when she’s sitting with him like she is tonight, sorting meat packages into piles for storage for Alpha Station’s five years weathering out the storm, everything just feels calmer.

“Pass me the checklist,” Bellamy rumbles, nudging her hand with his. It’s the first thing either of them have said for the past half hour.

She obliges, and he squints at it.

“We’ve got to sort those.” He points. Clarke glances around. “Into different kinds of meat. We forgot to do that.”

“Then we have to do it again,” she exhales, and rakes a hand through her hair, nails digging into her own scalp. That will take another twenty minutes at least. Heavy frustration washes over her in a wave. There’s too much to do. Too many small details to iron out. “There’s not enough time.”

She hears him taking a deep breath— it’s no secret that they’re both counting down the minutes. But when he speaks, his voice is even. “There’ll be plenty of time soon enough. Five years, to be exact.”

She looks up, finds him watching her, dark eyes unreadable, and nods, her throat still feeling tight.

They resume sorting, but this time, it’s his shoulders that are drawn tight, and Clarke feels terrible right then for reminding him how little time they had, as if he weren’t already thinking about it every moment of the day. She scrambles for something to say to distract him. “What do you think you’ll do?”

Bellamy looks up, quirks up a brow.

She clarifies. “What do you think you’ll do with those five years?”

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Golden Boy

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2165

Warnings: Smut - NSFW

Summary: After playfully sending suggestive pictures to Chris right before he presents at the Oscars you realize that you are in for the night of your life.

Author’s Notes: This wasn’t planned. I had no idea Chris was going to wear a velvet bowtie to the Oscars. I’m basically CEvans Trash. I literally just wrote this – instead of watching the freaking Oscars – so if there are any ridiculous grammar errors – please forgive me… I am tired and hormonal. This is probably trash, ha!

I tagged those of you that liked my initial post asking about this (along with some others). Soo yeah…..

Originally posted by sensualkisses

You hummed to yourself absentmindedly as you applied the rest of your makeup. Chris had promised his mom that he would take her to the Oscars this year, and you had agreed that it was a good idea. After the show was over you were to meet up with him to go to the after parties – which, let’s face it, were always the best part of the night. As you rapped your knuckles lightly on the bathroom countertop your phone dinged – alerting you to an incoming message. You reached for it as you finished putting on your lipstick. Of course it was from Chris.

“Miss you beautiful. Can’t wait to show you off to everyone.” You couldn’t help but smile at this. Of course he would send you something sweet. He had panicked that you would be upset about not going with him to the show, but you had assured him over and over that it was fine.

You had watched him get ready earlier that afternoon – the sight of him in his fitted suit and velvet tie had left your panties soaked. While you had secretly hoped for a quickie before he left for the show you had reasoned with yourself that there wasn’t time. Even the thought of the way he looked caused the tingling between your legs to start again. You checked the time on your cellphone before smiling. If the show was running on time Chris would be presenting within the next five minutes – you turned towards the television playing in the hotel bedroom for confirmation that the scheduling had not gone askew. It hadn’t and you couldn’t help but think how perfect the timing was. You were still only wearing your lingerie – not willing to wear your beautiful dress in fear of getting makeup on it. You positioned your hand over your panties, suggestively touching yourself, and formed a pout before snapping a picture.

“Wishing you could give me a hand.” You texted as you sent the picture. You could tell by your notifications that he had immediately seen it and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you sat your phone down and finished getting ready.


“Jesus Christ,” Chris muttered to himself as he opened your text.

“Everything okay?” Someone beside him asked.

“Oh yeah… yeah,” he nervously blundered as he secured his phone safely back into his pocket. He was due to go on national television any minute, and was now also secretly praying that he could quell his body’s response to your text long enough to present. He chuckled nervously to himself. He knew you had done it on purpose. He had told you when his presentation was, and who it was after so you wouldn’t miss it. “I swear to god, Y/N. You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mr. Evans are you sure you’re okay?” A stagehand asked nervously.

“Never been better!” He announced a little too enthusiastically. Causing his co-presenter to jump beside me.

“Great… you are on in five….four…”

That was fine – he thought to himself – two could certainly play this game and payback was going to be a bitch.


You were nervous. After your text you had never received a response from Chris, but you were sure that he had saw it. Initially you had laughed during his presentation. He seemed maybe just a little flustered – most people wouldn’t have noticed, but most people hadn’t taken him to bed before either. As you exited the limousine you looked around nervously – nearly jumping out of your skin when a warm arm wrapped itself around your waist.

“Hey Babe,” he whispered into your ear – giving you a quick peck on the cheek. You looked up at him and he graced you with one his dazzling smiles. It was only when you really looked into his eyes that you realized he had definitely seen the picture, had certainly reacted to it, and the game was totally on. You swallowed hard – trying to bottle up your excitement as he smirked at you while you walked towards the entrance of the venue. “Just for the record,” he whispered – his beard tickling your ear – “I had to masturbate in the bathroom during the Academy Awards, because of you.” He gave your ass a quick slap which caused you to straighten up in surprise. You couldn’t help but smirk back at him – this was certainly going to be a night to remember.


“Sebby!” Chris shouted as he waived Sebastian over to your table. Sebastian said his hellos before taking a seat between Jeremy and Chris.

“What was up with you tonight?” Sebastian asked with a smirk. His eyes seemed to twinkle with humor as he offered you a wink.

“What do you mean?” Chris asked as he tried his hardest to keep a straight face – failing miserably.

“You seemed a little flustered is all,” Sebastian shrugged as he laughed. “Can’t imagine what would cause Chris to lose his cool,” he added to which Jeremy chuckled.

“I was a little distracted by something,” Chris added seriously as he turned his gaze to you. You knew the more his friends joked the more you were going to pay once you were alone with him.

You smiled shyly as you brought a glass of wine to your lips. “I guess you need to work on that babe,” you shrugged before turning your attention back to your conversation with Jeremy’s wife.


The following hours seemed uneventful – at least where Chris’s revenge was concerned. You gushed over celebrities like Emma Stone, as he politely introduced you – never taking his eyes off of you as you interacted with his friends. Everyone continued to drink – the alcohol seemed endless. Each time a bottle was finished at least two more arrived to replace it.

“Everyone should be dancing!” Sebastian declared as he rose from his chair.

“Oh come on man,” Chris muttered as he shook his head. His face was tinged pink from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. “I don’t know if I can even stand right now,” he laughed.

“Y/N?” Sebastian asked as he offered you his hand. You took it willingly looking over his shoulder to see Chris’s reaction. He was watching you like a hawk – good.

You left the table with Sebastian hand-in-hand. Out of all of Chris’s friends you liked Sebastian the best – probably because you had known him before you had ever met Chris. “You are going to have hell to pay,” Seb laughed as you danced against him.

“A girl can only hope,” you laughed as you smirked in Chris’s direction. He was already rising from his chair – his eyes trained only on you and his best friend.

“That didn’t take long,” Sebastian laughed as Chis meandered his way through the crowd. As he neared Sebastian shouted, “She’s all yours,” before laughing and walking back to the table where everyone else had stayed.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Chris muttered into your ear as he pulled you roughly into him. He placed his hands on your hips –guiding them to grind into him as you felt his growing erection. “You kill me,” he muttered breathlessly against your neck. You could feel the wetness between your legs grow as he continued to harden against your contact. The feeling caused you to let out a soft moan. “Oh do you like that,” he whispered seductively into your ear.

“Yes,” you responded breathlessly. “Chris, I…” but he cut you off.

“Follow me,” he demanded as he took your hand, guiding you towards one of the many private bathrooms. Being a celebrity had its perks – at least you had a room to yourself.


You sighed as Chris looked the bathroom door behind him. You were ready. Ready for him to ravage every part of your body.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled as he pushed you gently onto the couch – you never quite understood the need for couches in bathrooms, but for once you were glad to have one. You pouted quietly as Steve took you in. “Now listen here baby girl – you’ve been torturing me all night. Sending me that naughty picture of you and grinding yourself up against my best friend. Now it’s my turn,” he muttered softly as he slowly removed his tie. “Give me your hands,” he commanded. You obeyed giving him your hands. He took them in his hands and tied the velvet material around them securely. He spun you on the couch – making you lay on it fully before raising your hands above your head. “These better not move, do you understand me?” He asked. You nodded as you whimpered your assent. You would do whatever he said if he would help the aching feeling between your legs.

He smirked as he worked your dress up to your waist – admiring a portion of the lingerie he had seen earlier in the picture. He slowly planted kisses up your leg causing you to squirm uncontrollably. More than anything you wanted to twist your fingers through his hair and you soon found your hands moving from their position. “What did I say?” he asked calmly as you placed your hands back above your head. “Good girl,” he hummed – kissing your wet core through your panties. “I think we can get rid of these,” he murmured against your skin as he worked your panties off. He gently circled his thumb around your sensitive clit causing you to buck your hips. “Mmm, my naughty girl. You’re so wet,” he remarked as he slid a finger inside of you causing you to moan out his name. “That’s right baby, you’re mine,” he said fiercely as he added another finger – pumping them in and out of you as you squirmed with pleasure. You could feel your walls tightening at his touch and your moans became louder. You didn’t care who heard you. “Not yet baby,” he whispered as he removed his fingers.

“What?” Your head snapped forward at this. He couldn’t just get you close and then stop. “Chris,” you whined as you tried to sit up. He pushed you back gently with a smile before moving his face between your legs. He smirked up at you before burying his face into you. As he lapped at your wetness you moaned his name louder causing him to suck on your sensitive clit. As you bucked your hips he slid a finger into you. His mouth and fingers were too much – causing you to cum all over his face. He lapped away your orgasm – causing more moans to fall from your mouth – before he broke away with a smirk. His beard was glistening with the remnants of your pleasure which immediately made you ready for round two.

“Stand up,” he demanded as he stood and offered you his hand. You placed your bound ones in his and he helped you to your feet. “I want you to bend over the sink,” he explained as he motioned over to the sink. You did as he commanded – your bound wrists stinging softly as the velvet bit into your soft flesh. You watched in the mirror as he removed himself from his pants – stroking himself a few times before approaching you from behind. He lifted your dress to your waist again before nudging your legs apart with his own. As he slid into you fully you groaned. He began to thrust into you as he held on to your hips tightly. “God – you are so tight,” he exclaimed as his thrusts began to become more disjointed. You groaned as your body reacted to his thrusts – you could feel your walls tightening again with the promise of a glorious orgasm. When he began palming your sensitive clit you came undone around him – your orgasm spurring his own. He stiffened as he filled you with himself. He sighed softly into your hair as he kissed the back of your neck affectionately before removing himself.

“So that’s what happens when I send you nudes when you’re at the Oscars?” you asked with a laugh as you sat shakily on the couch.

“I guess so,” he chuckled as he plopped down beside you – wrapping his arm around you and bringing your head to his shoulder.

“Well I guess I should do that more often,” you shrugged as you both laughed.

“Oh hell,” Chris sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?” you asked alarmed.

“Seb and I had a bet on who would have sex at an Oscars’ after party years ago. I never thought it would be me so I’ve given him hell for years about it,” he grimaced.

“Well I guess it’s time to pay up,” you chuckled as you both rose from the couch.

“It was worth every last fucking penny,” Chris responded as he pulled you into him – planting a soft kiss on your lips.


Tags: (I tagged those of you that liked my initial post asking about this along with a few others)

@writingblockswriters @kendallefire @marvelouslyloki @seargantbcky @sapphire1727 @dont-let-me-go-again @amrita31199 @kittthekat @3brosangel @yknott81 @samanthaneedsanap @dreamer1495 @frolicsomefawkes @totallygroovyllama @caffeineandlaserbeams @sebbys-girl @bless-my-demons @moonofhisheart @giggles2107 @summerbummer2001 @ninjayjumper @vidishajain @fan-guirl @ily-celebrities @harleyqueen7

for @fauvistfly, who wanted something with pining and stiles being a singer

rated T, 2.3k also on AO3 here 

It’s four am and the diner is quiet. Derek finishes wiping down a table; life as usual, he’s alone, he’s at work, everything goes on as it does. He refills coffee for the two tired-looking truckers sitting at the counter and goes back to refilling the salt shakers.

The last time Cora was home, she’d asked if he and Laura ever considered selling the place. “Doesn’t do much business,” she said, trying to be gentle. Say it was okay to let go. But she’d only been a baby when the accident happened that took their parents; she didn’t have memories growing up here the way Derek and Laura did, playing hide-and-seek under the counters, watching their dad bake pies and their mom fill coffee, listening to travelers talk about their lives on the road.

Hale’s is fifty miles from the nearest town in either direction, a blink-and-miss-it diner still stuck in the ‘50s, right off the Pacific Coast Highway. The little town of Beacon Hills is an hour away, so almost all the patrons are travellers, people looking for respite from the road, on their way up to the redwoods or heading down to San Francisco and Los Angeles. There’s a little wall of autographs from famous people who’ve dined here; cowboys and starlets and authors and people Derek’s parents took a shine to. The diner is a historic landmark, not to mention it’s always been home to Derek.

So Laura manages the day shift and Derek does the night. It works out well; he doesn’t have to interact with people much. He and Laura were homeschooled until high school, and Derek had found Beacon Hills High School overwhelming with its crowds.

The radio starts a new song; it’s one of Derek’s favorites. He doesn’t remember the name of the artist, but it makes Derek feel alive. The song lyrics aren’t particularly sensual, but the man’s voice is— Derek shudders, feeling his blood run hot under his skin, and he imagines the warm touch of someone pulling him close, embracing him, kissing him—

“Can I take this coffee to go?”

“Oh. Sure,” Derek says, pouring the trucker’s coffee into a plastic cup.

They leave him a decent tip and are off, the bell jingling as they go.

Derek sighs, watching the moonlight dance across the ocean in the distance. He listens to the rustling of the trees, and occasionally a car will drive past the diner, lights blaring.

He turns off the radio and hums the song to himself as he sweeps up.

There’s longing here, of a love long lost, and Derek is lost to the song, to the memories it drags up.

Nothing but the sound of waves crashing on the shore, the white hot sun burning just beyond Derek’s closed eyes. He can feel the warm body next to him stir awake, and then fingers carding through his hair.

“Derek… hey. You awake?”

“Nope,” Derek says, and he can already picture it: Stiles leaning over him, his hair still wet, eyes bright with laughter.

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