i like the not ghost girl's face in the first one because she's pretty much like

Whipped...friends??

Y/N would have never imagined the amount of attention being Harry’s best friend would bring. There’s also always speculations, suspicions that the two might be more than friends, given the fact that when they go out, it’s like they might as well be joined at the hip. Where Harry is on a day off, Y/N is sure to follow, and the paparazzi gets pictures of it all. But Y/N’s always been just a friend. It’s not like she trails behind him like a puppy, no. Harry just always loves having her around, finds comfort in the way she talks to him without a hint of glorification. Tracing back to the beginning of their friendship, Y/N didn’t tip toe around Harry, trying to make sure to not say the wrong thing, never really made impressing Harry a priority. And Harry really appreciated that.

And the relentless bother and questions of “are you two dating?” doesn’t end with the public, no, it continues, and probably gets more intense coming from their group of friends.

Whenever Y/N steps away from Harry’s side, there’s always one of the boys whispering to him about how they’re sure she’s got him wrapped around her pretty little finger. How at the call of his name, Harry never thinks twice about dropping everything and tending to her wants and needs. They make it sound awful in a way, as if Y/N is always needy of Harry and demanded his attention. But they don’t mean it like that really, just like bothering him about it, specially because he gets all worked up in trying to defend her.

They even comment about how they’ve taken notice to the fact Harry’s smile can stretch for miles at the mention of her name, which Harry has never denied. Only nods his head in amusement at the fact others notice.

And maybe their secret little escapes to what they refer to as “friend dates” are no help. They’ll be having a night in on the sofa, Harry sat at the edge of it, elbow propped on the arm rest, mindlessly scrolling through texts and thumbs swift on the screen, typing replies to friends. And obviously Y/N’s with him, lying down and feet resting on his lap, her head flat on the cushion, eyes shut because she quite enjoys just lying about in a silent room, knowing Harry’s there. And it’s not until he shuffles to stand up, pushing her legs off him in the process, that she opens her eyes and follows his body across the room where he doubles over to slip on his YSL boots before he goes for his coat. With a small whisper of “ye’ comin’?” Y/N is sure to follow his steps. Most nights like that they end up in some random bar or restaurant, sat on a stool or a booth, laughing and eating. Harry will often opt to sit next to her rather than in front, taking the chance to lay his head on her shoulder. Even kiss at her neck sometimes.

And when the boys catch a glimpse of the paparazzi photos taken of them all cuddly on a random Tuesday night at a local cafe, Harry’s phone just about overloads with texts from Niall going on about “I knew it!” And “just ask her, man!”

So no, it’s not out of the ordinary for Louis to make a ‘wuh-PSSSH’ sound followed by something snarky like “so whipped, mate. And she’s not even ye’ girlfriend,” when he notices Harry’s stare trailing to where Y/N goes as she makes breakfast for the lot. Harry tries to disregard the comment as Louis takes a seat next to him at the kitchen island.

“What’re you guys going on about over there?” Y/N asks, giggling to herself, “got Harry blushing and all.”

And of course with no chill what so ever, Liam pats Harry on the back, a devilish smile playing on his lips, “Harry here has found himself head over heels.”

Y/N can’t deny that her heart sinks a little at that, but she doesn’t let it faze her, or at least she doesn’t show it. “Really?? Oh who is she??”

“Yeah, Harry! Tell our lovely Y/N who’s the lucky woman!” Harry would hope Niall would be the one not to indulge in his current tormenting.

But Harry can only look at Y/N, her eyes locked on his from across the room. And Harry swears he’s never seen her look at him the way she is right now.

And the boys don’t mean to over tease him this time, just wish he’d finally let it out and tell her because they’re rather sure Y/N feels the same. It’s hard not to notice the way she looks at him, eyes full of adoration and dare they say, love.

When the air has fallen silent for far too long, Liam decides to change the subject for Harry’s sake and stands up to give Y/N a hand with the pouring of the beverages.

“You two have gotten to the point where you grocery shop together.” Liam starts again when Y/N steps away for more milk, “you cook together. You do laundry together. You’re always going on dates. You go with her for manis and pedis, and I’m sure you enjoy it, too.”

“So wha’?? I like spendin’ time with her.” Harry doesn’t really see why that’s so bad, being whipped and all.

“You sleep together,” Louis chimes in, “hell, wouldn’t be surprised if you showered together.”

Now that’s just nonsense.

“Sod off ye’ prick.”

***

It’s been a few weeks since the day Y/N found out Harry’s interested in someone. And she’d be lying if she said it doesn’t keep her awake at night. Awake while she’s lying next to Harry because of the fact that they’d much rather sleep together than alone. But when she looks over at him, she can’t help but smile.

She’s lying on her side, eyes tracing his, rid of any wrinkles they get when he smiles or frowns. They trace all of him. From his eyes to his eyebrows, then his cheeks and to his nose, where she kisses lightly, careful not to wake him. He only crinkles it for a short second, to which she only smiles. Her eyes linger down his neck, tracing every muscle and crevice until she’s looking at the tattoos on his chest, the steady rise and fall of it has her breathing adapting to his.

It’s when she looks at his parted bubble gum pink lips that she raises a hand, her index finger ghosting over his bottom lip. The touch has Harry stirring, eyes open for a moment before he puckers his lips to peck her finger, a smile on his face. He flutters his eyes shut for a second before resting his hand on her waist and rubbing his thumb gently on the exposed skin. He moans in content, pulls her body closer to his and rests his lips on her hair line.

“Go t'sleep, pet.”

And why oh why did she ever think some friendly flirting and bed sharing with her best friend could never lead to any emotional attachment.

***

The cuddles haven’t stopped. Harry’s lingering kisses and hugs haven’t stopped. The boys teasing on Harry behind Y/N’s back hasn’t stopped. Y/N sleeping in Harry’s bed hasn’t stopped. And Y/N’s constant self reminder that Harry might just be in love with someone else has not stopped.

If she’s being quite honest, she’s not liking the way the boys snicker and whisper to Harry when she walks off. And she really doesn’t like how whatever and whoever they’re whispering about is making Harry blush and smile sheepishly like crazy. Wishes she knew what they’re always being so secretive about. But giving it a second thought, maybe she doesn’t wanna know. It’s all the same to her now though.

The movie on the telly doesn’t seem to distract her anymore, not from her thoughts which are taking over her mind the more time she spends in Harry’s home. And to add to that, the second she steps back into the room with a bowl of popcorn the boys go silent. It makes her feel awful…left out, but she’s sure they don’t mean to do it. She should be thankful right? At least they’re nice enough not to talk about Harry’s girl in front of her, or maybe that’s just something she wants to believe.

“Oh popcorn.” Niall’s first to reach out and grab a handful before she’s even had the chance to get to her seat next to Harry.

“Thanks, love.” Harry whispers, kissing her cheek the second she sits down.

She notices out of the corner of her eye how Louis smirks and nods his head when Harry wraps his arm around her shoulder. What’s so funny??

The moment Harry presses another kiss to the top of her head is the moment she realizes she’s had enough. It’s the moment she realizes she can’t keep pretending and letting herself fall even more. Not after what Liam said.

“I have to go. It’s getting pretty late.” This catches everyone off guard, especially Harry.

When she stands up to leave, his fingers around her wrist are quick to make her stop and have her look down at him, still sat on the sofa. “Wha’ do ye’ mean? Ye’ always spend the night, poppet.”

His brows are furrowed now, grip tight on her wrist, fearing that if he loosens it she might just slip away.

Of course they can’t ignore the other people in the room though, so when Y/N’s eyes avert to the boys, Harry is quick to stand up and lead them away.

“Everythin’ a'right?” His eyes scan hers for answers, his hand now cupping her neck, thumb rubbing soothingly at her jaw.

The cool of his rings on her skin keep her at ease. But the uncertainty in her eyes has Harry feeling all types of useless.

“Tell me wha’s wrong, little one. Wha’ can I do to make ye’ feel better?”

And those words would have made no sense if it wasn’t for the sudden feeling of Harry wiping away a stray tear she didn’t notice she’d shed.

She can’t. She can’t break down. Not in front of him. What can she say for him to let her go??

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry.”

But she’s sure he doesn’t believe her, not one bit. He knows her too well.

And she can tell he’s about to say something else, and she knows if she lets him, she’s sure to fall back into whatever they have.

“I’ve really got to go. I’ve got a date in an hour and I have to go get ready.”

As much bullshit of an excuse as that is, Harry’s grip on her wrist loosens, and the hand on her neck falls.

And she takes the opportunity to slip out the door.



Whipped…friends?? Or.. (Part Two)

Promise*

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Rating: Explicit - 18+ only
Summary: Reader, being reckless gets hurt on a mission. Days later, when she gives her final report to her boyfriend Steve, it provokes an argument between them.
Word Count: 3.5k
Genre: general fiction containing explicit sexual content.
Warnings: argument, mild swearing, mentions of death. NSFW/SMUT: makeup sex, praise kink, soft dirty talking, nipple play, oral sex (female receiving), slow fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, and semi-protected sex. - This fic assumes Reader is on the pill. [Cover your stone before you bone!]
Author’s Note: especially written for @always-an-evans-addict‘s writing challenge. I hope you like this one, sweetie.

   New Avengers Facility

“Steve, you read my report and Wanda told you what happened. That’s it. Can’t we just move on?”

“That’s it? That’s it?!”

Behind the closed door of your boyfriend’s office, you uncomfortably explained yourself, keeping in mind that people around you could probably sense the walls vibrating under the force of your voices.

You’d never thought that blowing out the last Hydra base found in Argentina would provoke such a drama within the team, or between you and the super soldier. Usually, you and Steve argued about the group’s mistake, not yours. When the incident happened in South America, you realized that if Wanda hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t be alive today.

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anonymous asked:

Do you have any advice for writing characters undercover? Thanks!

So, we’ve covered this topic a lot in the past. Undercover operatives, intelligence agents, black ops, assassins, and spies I’d start with a spies search on our website, as that’ll get you started. The really good references will be there. My big advice for writing any kind of spy fiction is to have a clear idea of what you want and which genre you’re chasing. Do want James Bond or George Smiley? You can blend these genres, but it’s a good idea to have a clear idea as that’ll define your narrative.

The first thing to understand about spies and any sort of shadow operative is the Burn Notice quote: “A spy is just a criminal with a government paycheck.”

Take a look at this passage. This is a character (Thirteen) trained as an undercover operative exiting a bad situation. What do you see?

Limping down the hall, I forced one foot before the other. Slowly, my stride lengthened. The silver door at the end didn’t open, so I pushed it, and stumbled out onto the launch pad. My gaze fell on a string of oval automatic airstreams parked all in a row. No, I frowned, eyes sweeping to street and the vehicles winging by in the air overhead. No self-respecting AI would let me drive in this condition. Robots always insisted on hospital, and I had no time to hack. To get out fast, I needed a human. A cabbie. Older, preferably female. Fingers to my neck, I tapped twice. Up came the ODS, my thoughts linking to: call a cab. Human.

A string of numbers and faces appeared before my eyes, the oldworld men and women working a dying industry. Better for No Questions Asked rides in our digital world, no one else called when they could pay a corporate run robot for half the cost.

I picked the first female face that flashed across my dash.

Time to pick up… thirty seconds.

I gripped my injured arm, and ran an analysis. Tucked out of sight, Sixteen’s pistol rested against my ribs. Ammunition at less than half a magazine, so seven rounds. Eight, if I counted the one in the chamber. The Uplink already registered the irreparable damage and severed the blood flow to the damaged limb. So, no more bleeding out. My upper lip curled. A bad trade off for no more arm. Damn, Sixteen.

Fifteen seconds.

I couldn’t hide in the shadows. Needed to seem desperate, distraught. Call up tears.

Ten seconds.

My blurred gaze flicked to the skyline, watching for black. The Ghosts wouldn’t appear in the datastream. Still, NIS hadn’t cut my access. Not yet.

Five.

A beat up airstream in ruby red dropped out of the sky to the left, pulling up to the curb. They were early. From the shabby state of their car, probably desperate. Good.

I limped over quickly. Even if they weren’t my ride, they were human and sitting in the driver’s seat. A car enthusiast who needed no AI systems to handle the steering. Likely to have built in cameras. More likely to possess a slow Uplink. Slow data received poor police service. My fingers seized the handle, flung open the door, and threw myself inside.

“Need a ride?” the voice was sympathetic, unfamiliar.

I slid across the bench into the seat behind the driver. My free hand tight on my damaged limb, couldn’t do much about my nose. So, instead, I tilted my head and caught her reflection in the mirror. Younger. Mid-thirties. Red hair worn short with one gray streak, tied back in a severe bun. Clear hazel eyes. Talk like you’re in pain, scared, but putting on a brave face. Tears. I wiped the blood from underneath my nose, sniffling. “Y-y-yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Thanks.” I tried for a half-smile, half-grimace, and leaned on the window. “Just looking to get away. The address should be—”

“You don’t need to worry, I have it,” the driver said. “Came in with your order. Grace, right? You want to go downbelow, the Rep Shop.”

“Yeah.” Resting my cheek against the glass, I closed my eyes; Uplink sizing up her car’s systems. Automatic turned off, but easy enough to hijack. My free hand drifted off my injury, and moved near the pistol hilt jabbing my ribs.

“I’m Marla, I’ll be your driver today.” A pause followed. “You sure a pretty girl like you wants the Rep Shop? Not a hospital? You look pretty banged up.”

“No,” I replied. I got what she suggested, this was a nice neighborhood. “I just need… need to go…”

“Boyfriend trouble?”

I grimaced, eyes squeezing shut, and wished I felt a twinge of guilt. It’s like the Overseer always says, love is just a cover.

“Don’t worry, no need to say it,” Marla said as the engine revved, the floorplates shook, and the airstream lifted skyward. “Shipped enough victims out of here to know.”

Notice, she pays attention to her surroundings and makes choices based on her condition in service of her needs. She needs to get out quickly, but would run into more trouble stealing a car so she calls up a cab driven by a human. Human’s are easier to manipulate in short order than code cracking. She specifically aims for a female cab driver, one preferably older than she is.

Why?

She’s female. Another woman is more likely to assume her injuries are because of a man, and a cab driver will have encountered this scenario often enough to not pry too deeply into it. An older woman is likelier to be maternal and protective, but not so protective that she’ll stay beyond when Thirteen needs her too. However, pay attention to the fact that Thirteen never verbally confirms it was a man who caused her injuries. She lets Marla assume, and fill in the blanks herself. This gives her an out later if she needs to change her story and place the blame on Marla’s shoulders for misunderstanding.

This is an example of what’s called social engineering. Deliberately manipulating the people in your environment to divulge confidential information or getting them to do what you want.

Notice also: After getting into the vehicle, Thirteen’s hand goes to the gun she stole. As she is playing to Marla’s sympathies, she is also assessing the possibility of killing this woman and taking control of the car if things don’t go the way she’s planned. Thirteen would prefer to exit by the easiest means possible, but a good spy always has a contingency. She won’t compromise her safety, and civilian lives mean next to nothing. A dead body is one more problem to deal with, one more attention getter that she doesn’t want, but she’ll go there. Violence is messy, and sometimes necessary.

There’s no real difference between a spy and a conman. Still, if you want to trick people there’s a few rules to follow.

What a spy isn’t:

A compulsive liar, an overseller, or lies all the time. An undercover operative needs to maintain their identity, that is one identity, singular. While a spy can create many false personalities, they should only be using one at a time with the goal of giving away as little information in trade as possible.

Notice: Thirteen does not tell Marla a story, she lets Marla create the story and then plays along. It is easier to convince someone of a lie when they’ll craft it themselves. Why say something when you can get just as much by saying nothing at all?

“You’ve told her three lies. Suppose she’s an asset, now you have to make all three lies true.” - Spy Game

Your character can’t just lie, a liar will be caught after a prolonged period of time. They need to manipulate the truth by creating a fiction. A cover is a fictional person with a fictional job who people think really exists when they check the character’s identity. Assume their identity will be checked, re-checked, and checked again. They are not maintaining a cover to a singular individual, but multiple ones. Their assets are the locals they are manipulating in order gain access to information, and who often run the jobs for them. These assets will, most of the time, not know the truth or not know the whole truth about who the spy really is.

Assets can be friends, business associates, girlfriends/boyfriends, wives/husbands, disgruntled employees, janitors, etc.

Your character can’t enter a business or government agency as a pretend janitor if they’re also going there everyday as a reporter or contractor or some other job. They must maintain the fiction of their identity.

This is the biggest problem most authors will get into when writing spy fiction. The concept of telling lies is something that comes easily to most of us, the problem comes in with keeping up a fiction over a prolonged period of time. The next step is to be able to lie without guilt and throw over people who help you without remorse. Crafting that dual identity of a person who genuinely cares about their friends and allies versus the real one who… really doesn’t.

You need a solid grasp of social functions, mores, and conventions in order to write a spy because a spy is manipulating all those points to gain access. You also need to understand these rules change based on what society your character is entering. Social rules change based on social groups, be it economic or cultural. The expectations for a man or woman in Mexico City versus Seattle are vast, and your character needs to be versed in the world they’re walking into. They need a cover identity to suit their work. Someone who has the freedom to go many places without being questioned, but unimportant enough to be neither needed nor remembered.

A spy is always looking for a way in, to slide into your confidences or sympathies however they can. They are going to use you to get where they need to go. They are very convincing actors and they are changing, modifying themselves slightly for each person they encounter. Not so much though that their falseness becomes obvious to the other people who know them.

When we’re working with a female spy, for example, all the “bad woman” societal traits you’re inclined to throw away are exactly what she needs to succeed. She will flirt, and flatter, and seduce, and manipulate the men (and women) around her to gain entry. She may rotate between being a gorgeous woman and an unremarkable one by the use of fashion and makeup. She is exactly what so many men are afraid of, a social climber who is manipulating their feelings and her attractiveness in order to get what she wants because it is the most expedient method to get what she needs. The one who is manipulating society’s view of women as nonentities, nonthreatening/replaceable objects in order to do her job.

Don’t be afraid of these characters. Don’t be afraid of “unlikeable” characters.

Spies are bad people who do bad things. They are often cold, calculating, impersonal manipulators looking for the most expedient method to get what they need. Your spy’s cover is just a cover. Never forget the real person underneath, especially when they’re lying to themselves.

-Michi

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FUCK have i told you all about this au I have where Cosette can see ghosts?

OK so the premise is basically Cosette has been able to see ghosts all her life.This is based on the lines “There is a lady all in white/holds me and sings a lullaby” because as this is sung Fantine is already dead if you’re following book canon (or even musical canon JVJ doesnt leave until Fantines dead and he’s squared off with Javert and then it takes a while to ride to Montfermeil) 

ANYWAY

After the barricade, Les Amis stick around as ghosts. I dont know why, maybe they’re in purgatory, maybe thats just what happens when you die, I dont know I’m not a theologian. 

Marius is unaware of the ghosts. But Cosette, who’s been seeing ghosts her whole life, can, and she doesnt think too much of it. Yes, they’re dressed pretty modern, but plenty of revolutions happen, and she assumes they’re from 1830 or 1828.  She and Marius have moved into a nice enough house after their wedding but Paris is full of ghosts as its an ancient city, and shes used to it. 

Until, one day, she notices that the ghosts, especially a dandy with dark curly hair, seem to stick close to Marius. She has an inkling, and she decides to listen closer when Marius tells stories of his friends. She starts to recognize them, from Marius’s tales, and with a sinking heart she realizes, these arent just recent ghosts, these are the ghosts of the June Revolt, and are the closest thing Marius ever had to a family. 

She’s tried to communicate with ghosts throughout the years, with varying levels of success, the most being with her mother. (I will fight to the death over this ok Fantine gets to help raise her daughter beyond the grave) 

Cosette knows that Marius would never believe her, but whenever he goes out for his strolls by the ruins of the Musain or when he’s working at his firm, she endeavors to learn about these people that made her Marius so happy. She learns about their stories, who they left behind. Some, like Courfeyrac, warm up to her immediately, teasing her about Marius, and telling her how they pined. Some, take longer, and she has more trouble understanding. She learns about the peculiar relationship between many of them, which she doesnt quite understand at first, but she supports and endeavors to do better. She learns why they fought, and why they were willing to die for their cause, and finds herself agreeing, although she wishes they might have lived, and that her Marius might have left unscathed. 

She goes out and tries to make right by them, volunteering at the orphanage where Feuilly spent his childhood, paying off Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire’s tabs at various cafes. She finds the Enjolras family burial plot, and pays for a new headstone, one that says son instead of daughter, and that has the right name. She seeks out Musichetta, Floreal, and Bahorel’s mistress, and befriends them, offering them comfort and support. 

Marius thinks shes a bit odd, going off at all hours, but he assumes shes just giving alms like shes always done.

And finally, once she’s done her best to honor the dead and to befriend those that her husband considered family, she starts to notice a girl ghost, a girl who’s face she hadn’t seen since she was a child, timidly watching.

technically single || stuart twombly (smut)

word count: 6278

warnings: oral (both receiving), smut, strip club, unestablished relationship

author’s note: so i was listening to the way i are by timbaland and i just felt the need to use it as some sinsipration! enjoy xo

pairing: stuart twombly / reader

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home is where you are. (m)

↳ punk au

pairing: shin hoseok | reader
genre: fluff, angst, and minor smut
word count: 8,288
description: for once, he’s willing to come to terms with his past if it means not losing the best damn thing in his life, her. 
author’s note:
happy birthday to @wonhopes! i wish i had finished that personal trainer au, but i hope this is okay too girl! sorry for being a little late btw~ <3

a companion piece to sad machines.

cr.


The bar was quiet that night.

Its usual goers remained to themselves, drinking away their sorrows with little cares in the world and remaining there as the night slowly progressed. Wonho wasn’t sure how that could be possible, but everything felt too heavy and uninviting. He hated it. He hated that he envied them, hated that he was wishing for his own release.

His dark brown hues grazed over each of the forest green booths, noting how the faces in them jogged some memory in his recollection, until his sights landed on the last one in the far right. Although it was occupied, his mind could only remember this was where he met her. The incandescent light had washed over her scrunched up visage, words fell off her lips in grumbles, and several bottles of Blue Moon laid astray atop of the mahogany table. Still, she reached for the bottle, trying to siphon whatever else was left. He remembered asking her what was wrong, knowing that whatever it was, he hoped she was okay.

He smiled to himself, remembering the way Y/N glared at him, willing him to go away with vehemence. Her very first words were, “I hate guys.” It came off as a huff, and he almost believed that she hated him, but the moment he apologized and tried to walk away, she told him to stay. Her voice has been small, remorse tinged between the words, and, for whatever reason, he did and he didn’t regret it, even now.

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Daddy Issues

Pairing: JungKook & Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Summary: A top student, marks always high. College was not a dream for her…Except she didn’t have enough money. Her parents never earned much so they literally took care of themselves. Her boss acting as a dick towards her she quited her job. Even though she had no idea what she let herself into this was her only option.

Other Chapters: 1 

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You’re My Favorite

In honor of H’s 23 birthday, enjoy this little one shot! :) 

Plot: What to get to the man who has everything?

Warnings: None. 

Three weeks to H’s Birthday:

“Baby,” Harry groaned exasperation. His eyes rolled back and he let his head drop for a moment, appearing to be completely and utterly done with the subject I had been bugging him with for a few hours now as well as over the past days.

Harry’s birthday present.

And still, he was being close to no help. His eyes met mine and I whined, wanting him to take me seriously, because even though we (admittedly) had been discussing this topic a bit too long now, he somehow still didn’t understand my point.
Birthdays were something I took very seriously, especially Harry’s. It was the first time for me to celebrate his birthday with him given that our relationship was only a few months old and all I wanted was him to be showered with love and spoiled silly. I wanted to make him happy.
Planning his day wasn’t the problem, it was easy. I would spend the night before with him, mainly so I could make sure him being spoiled would start early in the morning already (breakfast in bed, maybe some sex) but most of all I wanted to stay with him because I knew how Harry didn’t like having to sleep and wake up alone. It made my heart ache a little bit and fall even more in love with his sensitive and gentle soul and so I liked the idea of him not having to do that on his birthday, too.
Later, we would have lunch with his mother, sister and step-father so we would be able to exchange gifts quietly and just in the presence of his immediate family. Harry absolutely adored them and I knew he’d love being able to be with just his family for a while, before his friends would join us for a dinner at his favorite restaurant. It was a simple plan and wouldn’t entail too many surprises for him, but I knew that would be what Harry enjoyed most. All of his life was always extravagant and a big deal, so I imagined him having simple family time would be just what he’d need.
What had been giving me a headache for a while now was the most difficult question I’d ever had to ask myself. What makes a good present to a person who could buy the world?

“You are so difficult sometimes,” I argued quietly, nudging Harry’s hip with my own.

We were standing in my tiny kitchen and cooking dinner together, well, less cooking and more arguing about his upcoming birthday. The pans were still empty and the table wasn’t set either. Three weeks. I had three weeks left to get him the perfect present and I was absolutely clueless.

Harry laughed. “Says the one who’s been worrying herself silly over a present for a birthday who’s almost a month away.”  

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just shouldn’t get you anything then. If I’m just being silly.”

My body turned and I went to reach for two wine glasses, almost dropping them when Harry startled me by wrapping both of his arms around my waist. His chest hit my back and I squealed when his head buried itself into my neck, releasing puffs of hot breath, making me squeal.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he murmured quietly, sounding like a little boy who’d been denied… well, his birthday present.

“Oh wouldn’t I, Styles?” I giggled, squeezing his wrists through the thick material of his grey jumper.

He shook his head, lips ghosting over my skin and I relaxed into him. “Don’t think you would.”

And of course I wouldn’t. But I really was lost. In my imagination, I could see his face lighting up with that beautiful smile of his and his pretty eyes would sparkle in surprise and happiness. I wanted that image to be reality, had seen him wear the expression on other occasions before and I wanted to be the reason why he wore it on his birthday. And the one bloody thing needed for that to happen was missing. An idea.

Two weeks to H’s Birthday:

In my desperate situation I’d called up the only person I could think of, who knew Harry better than anybody else did. His mother. Anne and I were sat in a small cafe just around the corner of where Harry lived. I held my mug of hot chocolate tightly and listened eagerly to the stories Anne had to tell, all of them involving a much younger version of Harry. Anne waved her hands in the air, mimicking Harry’s desperate attempt of rollerblading and I laughed out loud.

“He sounds like he was an incredibly clumsy child,” I giggled.

“Oh he was,” Anne smiled with a nod, “Still is, really. You’ve seen how he used to stumble around on stage. Even broke his foot once, the silly boy.”

“Oh right, I forgot about that!”

Anne chuckled and kindly offered me some of her cookie, which I happily accepted.

“So,” she began, handing me a piece of her desert, “I’m sure there’s a other reason behind you summoning me, other then hearing stories you can mock my son with later.”

I laughed gently and nodded. “Though, I could listed to those stories all day, I did call because I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with.”

A small frown took over Anne’s kind features and she set down her cup. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing too serious,” I quickly assured, not wanting her to worry, “It’s going to sound silly to you, I’m sure. But I just can’t come up with a good idea for a gift for Harry.”

My eyes met hers and I sensed that she was about to ask if I was kidding, because of course it sounded stupid to anyone else, and so I carried on quickly.

“His birthday, is coming closer and closer and I can’t figure out what to get him! That man has everything and if he doesn’t, then he buys it the next day. And even when I finally find something he hasn’t seen before but would love, it costs so much more than what I have! It’s so frustrating ‘cause all I want is to make him happy and surprise him with something nice but I can’t even get him something as simple as clothing! He came around with a cardigan just yesterday that cost £5000! I don’t even own anything that expensive! That piece of clothing he loves, is worth two months of my rent.”

Anne bit her lower lip, her expression serious again and I sighed. I felt so whiny and like an uncreative child, but I really was at my wit’s end.

“It’s the first birthday I get to spend with him and I’m going to fail him completely.”

My eyes lowered to my mug and I tapped the porcelain lightly, feeling defeated.

“Sweetheart,” Anne said kindly, “Harry will love whatever it is you get him. He adores you.”

A small smiled tugged at my lips and I blushed at her words. “I don’t want him to like it simply 'cause it’s from me, though.”

I raised the cup of chocolate to my lips and took a sip, then decided to just come clean with my greatest worry.

“The women he’s been with before me,” I began quietly, avoiding Anne’s patient gaze, “were rich enough to get him the world. What if he realizes that I’m just not… I don’t know. Suitable for his standards?”

The worry sounded stupid when it’d come to my mind the first time, but it’d stayed. Kendall Jenner, the last girl Harry had been involved with before me, was probably just as, if not even richer than he was himself. Same counted for Taylor Swift. They could go wherever he wanted to go, dress just as expensively and rent entire venues for him to host his party. Me? I had to scrap anything I had together every single month so I could afford my tiny apartment in London. Harry of course was aware that I couldn’t afford the same lifestyle as he had, but sometimes, especially when he came around with a £5000 cardigan, I wondered if he was aware how much money he actually had compared to what ordinary people earned.
When I dared looking at Anne again, she surprised me by wearing a bright smile. Both of her hands reached over the table and she took hold of my own, squeezing my fingers in a comforting gesture.

“Him thinking you aren’t suitable for him is absolutely and a hundred percent impossible, Y/N. Believe me.”

“You think so?” I asked timidly.

She nodded, still smiling confidently.

“The women Harry was with in the past,” she shook her head, pausing for a moment, then she continued, “were lovely, sure. But they never stayed around long. They never mattered to him as much as you do. He never brought one home, only introduced them casually over a dinner or sometimes not at all. Trust me, sweetheart, you are the first one he’s let get close to his heart and I can see it every day. You might not notice it because you’ve never seen him without it, but since you’re in his life, there’s an extra sparkle in his eyes and his smile is just a tiny little bit wider. He told me he’s been getting more sleep and that he even learned how to cook. That’s your influence on him, I know that. You’re taking care of him and that means the world. So trust me on this, you give him enough of what he couldn’t get himself every day. No birthday present could ever make you a failure to him.”

“Oh, Anne,” I almost squealed, blinking away the tears forming in my eyes. I squeezed her fingers in return and sniffled, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

She squeezed my hands once more and just like her son, her comforting aura was enough to ease me.

“And besides,” she continued in a giggle, “if he thinks I’m getting him anything even remotely close to £5000, he’s gone mad.”

H’s Birthday:

My lips lingered on the warm skin of Harry’s cheek and I giggled when I felt his smile beneath my lips. Harry’s hand found mine on his knee and he interlocked our fingers, humming quietly in appreciation. I could hear Gemma snicker at our interaction and I pressed another kiss to his jaw, then I withdrew. Harry’s eyes found mine and I could read his surprise in them. Normally I wasn’t as touchy feely with him when his family was around, but today I couldn’t help myself. My Harry was officially 23 years old. I couldn’t believe it.
We were sat on the couch in Harry’s living room, Gemma, Anne, Robing, Harry and me. There was cake and coffee on the small table along with the presents we’d bought for him. So far, the day had gone neatly and after the chat I had had with Anne, I felt confident about my choice of present, too.
Harry seemed so happy, relaxed and like he was enjoying himself. Just like I had intended to do, I’d been showering him with love all day long, waking him up with kisses and embracing him every few minutes. For breakfast I’d made him pancakes, bacon and eggs, making sure that the only healthy thing he got was a smoothie. And the sex well, had been mind-blowing.  
I squeezed Harry’s fingers tightly and blushed when he pressed his lips to my own cheek for a moment, as he wasn’t too much into PDA himself either, then he turned to engage in the conversation his family was leading.

“Harry,” Robing began, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but do you want me to initiate that it’s time for you to get your presents?”

“That would be great,” Harry laughed, letting his arm rest around my waist in a loose hold.

I smiled at him lovingly and felt my stomach flutter when Harry pulled me even closer into his side, sharing his warmth with me. How did he always smell so good?
The first present he opened was Gemma’s. He let go of me and got up to hug her in thanks and joked about how it was the exact same thing he’d been thinking of getting her only weeks ago and she giggled, muttering a “liar” under her breath. Next came Anne and Robin’s present, then came mine. My fingers itched and I swallowed. Though I wasn’t worried about Harry not liking my present, I was very eager to see the excited expression on his face.

“S'big,” Harry said, giving me an impressed glance when he picked up the box I’d wrapped neatly with blue wrapping paper.

He carefully began to pull at it with care as if the paper wasn’t actually meant to be ripped apart and I giggled, resting one of my hands on his shoulder to squeeze it. He was so adorable.
Once finished, he began to tap the cartoon box as if expecting a noise and I giggled at his comedic and silly behavior. Anne shook her head at him but the smile plastered on her face was a big enough sign that she was just as delighted to be here with her son as I was. With careful fingers Harry continued to open the box and my heart squeezed when he smiled instantly.
Since I hadn’t been able to decide on one present for him, I’d gotten him several.
The first item Harry revealed was a bottle of massage oil, his favorite with the soft smell of almond mixed with vanilla. I’d remembered the many evenings where I’d found him on his couch, face a grimace of pain and exhaustion where he claimed nothing could ease and soothe him better than my fingers massaging his tense muscles. Though I was tired on most night when I came home after a long day, I’d always given in. Seeing Harry unhappy was enough of a persuasion to make me help him.

“For when your back is acting up again,” I murmured quietly, allowing my hand to run down Harry’s back in a soothing gesture, “Won’t even complain about it, I promise.”

He chuckled and nodded, setting the bottle to the side before sticking his hand back into the box in search for the next item I’d gotten him.

“Oh I wanted to get that one myself!” Gemma exclaimed when Harry held up the navy blue nail polish.

“Do you think I can pull this color off?” Harry asked me, a smile on his face. “S'a bit flashy, don’t you think?”

“It’s blue, Harry,” I laughed, “Pink would be flashy. And of course you and pull this off. There’s nothing you couldn’t, really.”

The next and last item Harry pulled out of the box was a small journal, similar to the one he already owned.

“I saw yours is almost full,” I explained when Harry smiled at the new journal.

It had the same leather cover as his other one did and since he’d decorated it with small stickers and words, I’d allowed myself to leave my own small message to him. A tiny inscription saying you’re my favorite right at the bottom of the right corner. I’d scraped it into the leather, making it a permanent decoration so he’d have something to remind him of me when we were forced to be apart.

Harry actually blushed when his thumb stroke over the words and he momentarily leaned into my side. My heart hammered in my chest.

“Open it,” I whispered quietly.

He glanced at me briefly, then he opened it slowly. At first he didn’t see it, but once he turned some of the pages he noticed that some of them were already used. And once he began to read what I’d written, he teared up. The grin on his face grew, revealing his loveably dimples and his widened.

“Y/N,” Harry sighed and shook his head.

His fingers kept on running over the paper and he swallowed visibly. He looked as if he found it difficult to believe what his eyes were reading and one of his hands found mine.

“What?” Anne asked, leaning up so she could catch a peek as well.

“They’re just some notes about us,” I explained.

But they weren’t really, not just some notes. I’d filled the pages with small texts and short sentences, all of them about Harry and me. They were tiny stories about us, remembering our first kiss, the one we’d shared standing on Jack’s balcony while all of our friends were celebrating and partying indoors. The second paragraph I wrote about how I’d felt when I’d first met Harry, how excited I’d been and how I hadn’t stopped thinking of him since then. I even admitted that I’d fallen a tiny bit in love with him already.
Harry’s eyes were still teary when he read a few more pages, then he closed the book.

“I love it.”

The words were whispered to the journal, his head held low. His hands clenched around the item and he sniffled noisily. My fingers squeezed his hand and I pressed another kiss to his arm. This was better than having wearing a wide grin. The present, one that I’d gotten him for a reasonable price, had actually made him speechless.

“I’m glad, Harry,” I giggled.

Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you to every single one of you who takes the time to read my one shots! I’m so excited and happy about every note I get. 

Rest of what I wrote: 

http://harryimaginedstories.tumblr.com/post/144920695218/masterlist

memory found || stiles stilinski (part two)

word count: 5288

warnings: season 6A finale spoilers, brief mention of sex

prompt: part two of this imagine

author’s note: i recieved many requests for a part two of memory found, so here is the next part. i got very carried away with this, it’s literally over 5k words. i got emotional at the end bc the music i was listening to. i am so in love with these two parts. also, one of the many authors i like on tumblr replied to the first part. so shoutout to @minhosmeanhoe (not my gifs)

masterlist

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Legit- (Dylan O‘Brien)

Originally posted by teenwolfmazerunnerunited

Characters: OC’s, Dylan O’Brien and (Y/N)

Word Count: 1219

Warnings: none

Pairing: idk man I got bored I guess some Dylan x Reader

Summary: an interview with your fellow cast mate Dylan goes totally aloof 

(Y/C/N)- your character name


“Run!” (Y/C/N) yells into the darkness of the hospital. Lights flash, the elevator opens. A shadowed figure starts laughing. Stiles grabs (Y/C/N)’s hand and starts dragging her down the hospital corridors, the running is slow motion. The lights shut off. Silence. 

The hospital scene fades away on the large screen behind me and the audience begin to clap and cheer. Dylan and I grin at each other, already knowing what happens after that scene. 

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You don’t own me

Originally posted by baekoneggyeolk-ed

Summary: Danger is alluring. Danger is fascinating. And he sure as hell was a dangerous man. But you were more then willing to give yourself to him. Even though you had vowed to never let any man have you.

Word count: 2575 // It feels good too write a little longer stories from time to time

Warnings: This one is pretty soft but I plan the whole program. Violence, blood, death so be prepared ;) Oh and I may add a little smut in the future :D

Author’s note: So this is the annouced criminal/mafia-ish au! Not sure how it turns out. I want it angsty tbh but you gonna find it out while reading ;)  Never wrote something like this, so I’m really nervous. Please enjoy! ♥

Check out my masterlist ;)

Most recent release: Satisfied


You hiked the black lace-stockings over your knee and secured them with the strap. You eyed yourself in the mirror.

“This is beautiful! I gotta buy it!”, you annouced overly happy. The saleswoman nodded eagerly with a pleasent smile spread over her face.

“You look fabulous, darling! Do you want me to box it for you or will you just keep it on?”

“As much as I would love to wear it right now, I can’t. Please pack it in for me.” She nodded and left. You turned back to the mirror. It looked like it was tailored just for you like it was hugging your curves perfectly and underlining your feminine charms. You loved lingerie. It made you feel powerful. And you sure as hell needed that power because to work as an escort wasn’t always easy…

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My Boyfriend the Pharaoh

Originally posted by violet-phantomhive

Ahkmenrah x Reader

My Boyfriend the Pharaoh

As an aspiring actress, it was not easy to find a job in New York. You’d think jobs would be open all over the place, but with an abundance of acting opportunities came an abundance of extremely qualified super-talented people that somehow always stole the spotlight from you. Of all places, you had never expected your first job to be here.

The New York Museum of Natural History was sort of famous for their amazing night program. The museum, as they said, “came to life” with actors and animatronics and all sorts of amazing special effects, all managed by the “Night Guard”, Larry Daley. And it just so happened that you were friends with his son.

Nicky had hooked you up the minute you mentioned a fascination with the 1940’s.

“It’s pretty simple. All you have to do is sing some songs with the other 40’s girls and maybe talk to the guests a little. Nicky said you know a lot about the 40’s right?”

“World War II is my favorite.” You nodded.

“Perfect.” Larry nodded and showed you where he kept the costumes and had you pick a dress that suited you. Surprisingly, there weren’t very many. Just a sparse collection of clothes from specific eras, particularly the ones that were getting new actors. “All right, so, everything starts up an hour after sundown. Just be there like fifteen minutes before opening.”

“Will do. Thank you so, so much, Mr. Daley.”

“See you tonight.”

***

The Victory Rolls had been nearly impossible to put in, but you thought they looked pretty good, although, at this point, your hair was more hairspray and pins than it was hair. You topped off the look with some simple eyeliner wings and red lipstick and then walked in the door fifteen minutes before they opened for their night session.

It was as though history had thrown up in the lobby.

People from several different eras were walking through the museum to get everything ready. And it took you a while to find a familiar face, but finally, you found Nicky. He was standing at the DJ booth talking to a man wearing a tall golden headpiece and a shimmering orange cape. The moment his eyes fell upon you, they widened. A small smile pulled at his lips.

“Nicky, where’s your Dad?”

“Woah, (Y/N), I barely even recognized you!” He looked pretty impressed. “Nice…hair.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know where Dad went.” Nicky looked around for a second before noticing the look on his Egyptian friend’s face. “Buuut, I can introduce you to this guy! (Y/N), this is-”

“I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king.” He took your hand in his own, and instead of shaking it as you had expected, he brought it to his lips. Your cheeks had never burned so bright. “And it is a pleasure to meet someone so beautiful.”

“Wow, is everyone here so into character?” there was a crack in your voice as you replied. “N-nice to meet you too. You’re…hot. Oh my God, did I just say that out loud?” Nicky smiled, as did Ahk. “I gotta go, byeeeee.” You started to walk away and eventually ran right into Larry.

“You okay, (Y/N)? Your face is all red.”

“I’m f-fine. Where do you want me?”

***

The night gig was fun, you decided. You got to sing with a 1940’s trio and then teach kids about World War II. And a few hours before sunrise, when the night hours were officially over, you were once again greeted by the handsome Pharaoh.

“Hi there.” You cursed the crack in your voice.

“So how did your first night on the job go?”

“It was amazing. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a long time.” He smiled at your response.

“I hope that means I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Perhaps I could show you around my exhibit sometime.” He suggested.

“I’d like that. A lot.” You yawned and then glanced at a watch. It was waaaaay past your bedtime. “Goodness, I’ve gotta get home and go to bed. But thanks for the chat. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He smiled. “Definitely.”

***

Because the night program only ran Friday and Saturday nights, it was with a heavy heart that you started to pack up your stuff after your shift at the museum. The few months you had been working there had felt magical. There was no way to describe it. And now that you had to face another week without him- I mean working, it was bittersweet, to say the least.

One of the storage rooms had become a sort of dressing room/lounge for yourself and the other performers. That was where you were as you packed your duffle bag with your costume and makeup and hair supplies.

“I thought I might find you here.” You looked to the door to find Ahk standing there with a beautiful flower in his hand. “I was wondering if you might want to accompany me tomorrow evening.”

“Me?” You looked around, a finger pointing to your chest. He nodded and took a step closer. His large hand gently wrapped your own around the stem of the flower.

“There is no one whose company I would like more.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were warm as they met yours. He leaned closer to whisper in your ear, and as he did so, his breath ghosted across your cheek, causing a shiver to run up your spine. “Meet me here after sundown.”

“A-all right. Will do. Can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.” He smiled and left the lounge, a proud expression etched into his handsome features. Nicky was waiting for him just down the hall.

“So…?”

“She said yes!” Ahk’s calm and collected demeanor shattered to pieces, and all of his relief bubbled to the surface. He would have been one brokenhearted mummy if you had said no. “Now tell me, what must I do to make (Y/N) happy?”

“Dude, I think she’d be happy watching paint dry as long as it was with you.”

“Perfect. Where do I get some paint?”

“Figure of speech. I don’t know…I could bring you a few movies and you could set up the projector down the hall.” Nick smirked and shook his head as it finally hit him. “I can’t believe my best friend is dating a mummy.”

“But…perhaps we should keep that last part between us for the time being.”

“You got it, dude. But…(Y/N) is smart. She’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

***

You showed up to the museum the next night wearing something casual and comfy but definitely date night attire. You did not, however, expect Nicky to be the first person you saw.

“Good, you’re just in time.” He said. You looked around at all of the activity in the museum. You had sort of expected the place to be empty, but instead, about 80% of the night staff was here wandering around in full costume.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone here?”

“Um, I’m not sure.” Nicky lied. He punched something into his phone and then looked back up at you. “Anyway, Ahk is up this way.”

“Is his-” Nick looked to you, stopping in his tracks. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Is his name really Ahkmenrah?”

Nicky was quiet for a long moment. This was the first time you suspected something was up.

“Y-yeah. Haven’t you ever met anyone named Ahkmenrah? I know like four of them.”

“Oh. Okay then. Didn’t realize it was that common a name.” You paused. “I guess.”

You followed Nicky up the stairs and into the room where Ahk was waiting. He looked so different than you were used to, dressed in street clothes instead of his very regal Pharaoh garb. His long shimmering cape and colorful beads had been replaced instead with a gray hoodie and some jeans. His face lit up at the sight of you, and he immediately got up from the couch he and Nick had dragged into the room not long before.

“Hi.” He waved shyly. “You…you look very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” You blushed and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“Nick helped me in selecting some films I thought you might enjoy.” He said, motioning to a small stack of DVDs sitting on the table beside the projector.

“Thank you, Nicky.” You gave your friend’s chest a little shove before taking a few steps toward Ahkmenrah. You looked through the stack and then picked a romantic comedy and popped it in. Ahk sat down on the couch, heart racing as you took the spot beside him. Then, as Nicky had told him to, Ahk inhaled a large breath, stretched, and then wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into his strong chest, basking in his warmth.

“I like seeing you this way,” Ahk confessed after some time, “you seem more…you.”

“What, you don’t like the Victory Rolls?” you teased, giving him a little nudge. He laughed. “No, I feel. They’re fun, but they’re a hassle. My hair is much softer without all the spray.”

“I agree.” He smirked. “And though you seem quite comfortable on the stage, I much prefer the sight of you in my arms.”

“I do too.” You nuzzled in closer to him.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“There is something I must tell you, but I fear you would not believe me.”

“Okay.” This was the second time you suspected something was up.

“But I swear to you, I would not lie.” His eyes locked into yours and it was as though he was staring into your soul. Your heart fluttered. For a moment, you thought you might explode. The world stopped, and when he removed his arm from around your shoulders to take both of your hands, you could finally see the fear in his seemingly ancient eyes. His fingers wove through your own, gripping them tightly.

“I trust you, Ahk.” You whispered and gave his hands a squeeze. He smiled gratefully. “What is it?”

“The museum…it’s not-” he paused, arranging the words in his mind. “It’s not exactly ordinary.”

“I figured as much,” You chuckled softly. He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Suddenly, an idea struck.

“Come with me.” He stood and led you down the hall, across the second floor, and finally into the Egyptian exhibit. His hand gripped yours tightly as he led you to stand in front of the sarcophagus.

“The tablet of Ahkmenrah?” you asked. Your eyebrows crinkled as you thought it over.

“It’s said to have magical powers that bring the museum to life every night.” He stated, waiting for the pieces to click. “And inside the sarcophagus…” he slowly pushed open the lid revealing…nothing. Nothing but bandages. You gasped.

“Where did the mummy go?” and immediately as the words left your mouth, it finally clicked. The mummy was standing beside you, holding your hand. “Oh my God.”

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

“How are you even-” you looked him over, bringing a hand up to stroke the soft skin of his face. It felt so real. Too real to be dead. You pressed your ear to his chest, and sure enough, his heart was beating, racing even. “I don’t understand.”

“Every night for thousands of years, I’ve come to life again because of the tablet. And yet, I’d never felt truly alive…until I met you.” One of his hands rose to caress your cheek. “I promise to treat you like the queen you are…if you’d have me, that is.”

There were a few moments of silence as you looked into his eyes. And then, nodding rapidly, you rushed into his embrace.

“Yes, Ahk. A million times, yes.” You held him tighter than you had ever held anyone, afraid that he would suddenly slip away.

“I take it it went well?” Nick poked his head around the entrance of the exhibit. You rested your head against Ahk’s chest as you turned to look at your friend.

“You could say that, yes,” Ahk told him with a smile.

“Nicky, my boyfriend is a Pharaoh.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little as you said it. It was unbelievable. Impossible. And yet, here he was.

“Thank you, Nicky, for introducing me to the love of my life.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” He smirked. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs partying with the others.” He walked off, leaving the two of you alone.

“What would you like to do now, my love?” he asked, his voice merely a whisper.

“Just hold me.” You gripped him tightly, and he held you fast against his chest.

“I can certainly do that.”

*Bonus*

The following evening, you arrived at the museum precisely five minutes before sundown. When Larry opened the door, you were one of the last people he had expected to see.

“What are you doing here? Work isn’t until Friday night.”

“Well, my boyfriend is a mummy that only comes alive at night, so he and I kind of have some time to make up for.” You replied. Larry smiled slowly.

“He told you then, huh?”

“Last night was a bit more eventful than I had expected.”

“Welcome to the madness. It only gets crazier from here.” He handed you a key. “I’ll let you do the honors, then. His royal highness gets kind of impatient while waiting for me to lock up the lions.”

“All right.” You nodded. As you made your way up the stairs, the fun began. Teddy rode off of his platform and off to find Sacagawea and you ran up the steps and into the Egyptian exhibit, where you could hear your boyfriend yelling and pounding on the lid of his sarcophagus.

“LARRY LET ME OUT!” You could barely make out the muffled shouts, but you rushed to shove aside the stone slab, unlock the glass case, and then finally pull the lid off.

“Hey, Ahk, it’s all right.” You stated. His body was fully covered in bandages, and he smelled like an attic, but you didn’t care. You helped him undo the wrappings around his face. As soon as he was free, he turned his head to cough up a cloud of dust. “Good morning, babe.”

“Good evening, my love. Now, if you’d help me undo these wrappings so I can greet you properly, that would be splendid.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” You grinned and pressed a soft kiss against his lips as you pulled his wrappings further off, revealing the rich orange cape and beads that lie beneath. In all of his time, Ahk had learned many things. But he finally knew that after four thousand years, being here with you was where he truly belonged.

Accuracy - Pt. 2 (M)

Genre; s m u t 

Length; 2,200+ words

Kink(s); exhibitionism, mild impact play

Originally posted by wonhoforjackson

You couldn’t seem to find your voice as you watched Yugyeom join Youngjae on the floor in front of you. 

Both men laughed with one another the moment your body seemed to tense up and tremble at their gentle touch. 
Yuygeom peered up at you through his lashes, flashing you a shy smile before pressing his lips against your outer thigh, “You’re so cute..” He cooed, his large hand trailing down your leg then wrapping around your calf; separating your legs slightly. 

Immediately your cheeks flushed a peachy hue as your skirt rode up slightly, only exposing a little glimpse of the baby blue lace you wore underneath. 
Your eyes shot up as Mark and Jaebum moved over to you. 

“So y/n…” Jackson suddenly said, completely stealing your attention from the two men as he practically sat himself on Jinyoung’s lap, “How would you like us to take care of you babygirl?” 
His sudden question had your mind going crazy, your heart raced as he his large hand began ghosting over your breasts causing only a small, timid whimper to escape you.

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Beautiful Disaster (Part 4)

Story Summary: Your best friend asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family gathering and you reluctantly accept his request [Modern AU].

Word Count: 2,115

‘Beautiful Disaster’ Masterlist

A/N: Sorry it took me forever to write this part! 

“Please stop telling these stories, Ma. You’re embarrassing me,” Steve whined as you laughed along with his parents. All of you were in the dining room eating dinner and exchanging stories about Steve. Your best friend was less than pleased about being the target of the narratives that were told at the table. While he tried to shift the topic away from him, his parents always found a way to place him on the spotlight once more.

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Nicknames (Philip Hamilton x Reader)

Words: 5400+

Warnings: Cursing, death, blood, 

A/N: this was a request and i can’t find it! but yes this got out of hand and i hope you enjoy!


It started with the knocks.

You just moved into your home. It wasn’t the biggest, only two bedrooms and one bathroom. Wanting to explore the world fueled your soul, and you felt like this was the beginning. This was the beginning of a long journey that you were willing to go on. Your parents didn’t want you to own a house so early, but you insisted, ignoring their frightening words like mortgage and high property taxes. You would figure that out along the way.

Because you were your own boss. You created a company from the bottom up, using all your savings and extra cash to make it successful. And now, at eighteen years old, you owned a multi-million-dollar business. And hell, if you wanted to buy a small home, it was feasible.

You were carrying your boxes into your home when you first heard the sounds. It was an even rhythm, three taps in a row. At first, you thought it was just because you bought a fixer-upper, but then it continued to get louder and louder.

“What is that sound?” You questioned, unpacking your clothes in your room. You were alone today, your family on vacation for the next few months. You placed your clothing on the hanger, and chuckled to yourself, “How about this: One knock for no, and two knocks for yes. Okay?”

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title: baby it’s you
rating: T
pairings: sasusaku
summary: thirty kisses challenge
author’s note: so i saw this thirty kisses challenge thing, so i’d thought i’d try it out for sasusaku. i’m gonna try to post five at a time and we’ll see where these go


i. kiss on the hand: hold your partner’s hand with yours and kiss the back of their palm. this is a chivalrous kind of kiss that depicts your likeness and trust for someone.

Sasuke never had a place he could call home.

No matter how hard Naruto tried, Konoha never truly felt like home—it held too many dark memories, too many secrets, too many fears. He’d grown to find comfort in the people rather than the city; he’d learned to accept the title of brother from his blonde haired best friend, he’d agreed to be equals with Kakashi, he’d agreed to be friendly with those who gave him the chance. He felt comfortable, and it was nice, better than he’d ever thought it could be, but it wasn’t home.

But here, with Sakura in his arms, her rose hair in a small ponytail and her green eyes fluttering shut, he begins to feel differently. Here with her back in his chest, small, calm breaths reminding him of that she was here and alive—that he was here and alive—Sasuke thinks, maybe this is what a home is.

Maybe home is splays of pink hair on white sheets in the morning and a smile to rival the sun. Maybe home is small medical scrolls scattered in the living room after a long day’s work. Maybe home is his favorite bento box waiting for him when he wakes up at noon, despite her being a mediocre chef at best. Maybe home is her temper, unmatched by the most vengeful of gods and the most wicked of storms, that somehow, brings him the strangest sense of peace. Maybe home is little kisses on his jaw at four in the morning.

He looks down at his wife, her small frame beginning to curl into his, as if she was meant to fit there. Sasuke takes her limp hand in his own, gently curling his calloused fingers through hers and raising their hands. He brings the back of hers to his lips and let them linger as he reaffirms his conclusion.

Sakura stirs a bit and he swears she smiles (—and he does too).

Yes, Sasuke decides, Sakura is where home is.


Keep reading

TMNT x Reader!

Imagine ending an unhappy relationship to be with your favorite turtle. You end up moving into the lair and spend the next few months in happy bliss…until, that us, your ex is targeted by one of the turtles enemies and you end up bringing him to the lair.
Imagine your ex talking bad about you in front of the turtles, thinking that Casey is…

“Leonard. Or something like that. Anyway, I haven’t seen her since we broke up.” Ex said, rolling his eyes as he watched Casey.
Leonardo is pretty much ignoring him.
You had told him enough about the relationship to make him understand that this guy was a total jackass. A jackass he has little to none interest in.
He instead focuses on his katanas, calmly sharpening them as Adam continued.
“I mean, I’m better off without her anyway, probably would have ended up dumping her anyway.”
Sure you would, kid. Leo simply smiled as he inspected his blades carefully.
“She was a slut anyway.”
He wasn’t smiling anymore. Anger flooded his veins as he attempted to compose himself as best he could.
“What did you just call her?” he hissed.
His voice was low and deadly, something his brothers would pick up on any day. This idiot however, did not.
“What’s it matter? It’s not like you’re-”
“Leonardo. My name is Leonardo.”
He was looking over the ex now, his blue eyes glinting with anger.
“And you will NOT speak about her like that.”
“Wait…she left me for a God damn turtle?!”
“No. She left you for a man.”

“I dunno, some loser. Went on and on about how she was sick of me and wanted someone better.”
Raph couldn’t care less about this loser.
He might of been, if he hadn’t of known how freaking awful this guy had been to you. Sleeping around, breaking your heart, and always blaming you for it.
Fucking asshole.
“And I’m just like, good luck with that! I mean seriously…” He said, eyeing Casey with disdain.
Doesn’t this guy ever shut up?
“Who’d want a bitch like her?”
Oh, hell no.
Raphael is standing over him in a second, his hulking form looming over the ex.
“Me.” He growled, his fist slamming into the wall just about Ex’s head.
It took him a minute, but once he made the connection, he turned ghost white on the spot, trembling just a little. He couldn’t even speak.
Good. Someone needed to shut him up.
“Don’t ya ever, EVER, call her that agian, ya understand me? Ya ain’t fit to even look at her, ya little punk.”

“Donald or Doyle, I don’t know! I just know she fucking walked out on me.”
Donatello is done.
This guy was the “worst mistake of your entire life” (your words, not his) and yet, here he was, acting like you owed him something.
He’s trying to stay calm, he really is. But right now?
He was mad enough to make Raphael look like a little kitten. And that was saying something.
“I don’t care really, she can do what she wants.”
Yes she can, now please shut up.
“But she could have at least put out once. God knows she opened up her legs fast enough for Dewey.”
Donatello stops. And stands up, slowly turning around to face him.
“I’ve noticed a few flaws in your argument here, maybe you need my help. First off, don’t act like you were innocent in the relationship, you know damn well that you weren’t treating her right. You deserve to be walked out on. Secondly, you most certainly do care, because otherwise you wouldn’t be complaining to ME about it. And thirdly, she didn’t owe you sex or anyone else for that matter, it’s HER choice. And…”
He was standing tall know, proudly looking down on the man who had caused you so much pain, staff in hand. Ex, at this point, was frozen in fear and probably regretting every choice in his life that had led up to this moment.
“The name is Donatello.”

“I have no clue. I just come home one day, her shit is gone and she’s like, bye. Three years down the drain, just like that.”
And who’s fault was that?
The one who lied and cheated and went around his girl’s back with her best friend? Or the the one who tried to make it work, tried to fix things?
Michelangelo is fuming inside, trying to keep control. He can’t stand that this guy is spewing shit like this about HIS girl but he doesn’t know what to do.
It’s your ex, your battle, right?
“I mean, if she was so desperate, she could have just asked me, I would have taken care of it.” Ex said, putting out his cigarette.
Considering what you told Mikey about this jerk’s skill, not freaking likely.
“Just can’t wait to watch this guy fuck her and leave her-”
It was the straw that broke the turtle’s back.
“Like Hell I will!”
Mikey lept over the couch, storming over to the guy, fists clenched and itching to take those nunchucks and slap some sense into him. But he held back.
By some miracle, he didn’t kick Ex’s ass all the way to Mars.
“Lemme tell you something, buddy. Y/N is smart, sexy, and a million times better than you! She was too good for your stupid self and you fucking know it.”
He pushed the guy back onto ass, which only served to freak him out even more.
“So why don’t YOU do us all a favor and shut the hell up?”

Tokyo ghoul:re chapter 131, about Touka and Kaneki

Well… Jokes aside, this chapter was really depressing. I knew from the very start of my experience with Tg that kaneki was probably going to die, but having it pretty much confirmed is disheartening anyways. The general mood is incredibly gloomy, kaneki’s health is so deteriorated that he looks like a ghost (he probably is one, in a sense).
I’d really like to spend a few words for Touka. The poor girl is getting so much hatred that’s unfair. First people called her abusive, then accused her of forcing kaneki to have sex because she wanted to trap him or something, last chapter she was a monster for keeping her pregnancy secret, now she’s literally the devil because she chose to put her child’s future before everyone (even Yoriko omg!!).
I’m going to write my two cents about all this drama, because I’m bored and insomnia is a bitch.
Touka is a woman, but let me put this straight, she’s still very young. She grew up in a world that hated her even before she was born. Touka had a loving family and her heart was filled with kindness and affection, she knew that specific type of warmth, she played with her brother and a little bird. In a blink of an eye she lost everything, even hope. Left behind, betrayed by all that kindness that was her father’s condemn. So Touka put herself together alone, struggling to survive, no one around to guide her, to support and promote her emotional growth. She cried silently, shamefully, hating her innate tenderness. She didn’t want to end up like Arata. Loneliness and rage, power and distance altogether, but… She met Yoriko and her eyes were gentle, too gentle to be ignored. She met kaneki and he was an idiot, a useless, indecisive weakling; his eyes were full of sorrow and Touka let them sink into her own pain.
Touka fell in love with someone, a stranger to be honest, and love itself is a difficult matter. She was lookin for an image, a memory, fond and terrible at the same time. Fear of losing as a twisted form of complacency…
She doesn’t know how to be completely sane, she’s still craving love without understanding its multiple faces. SHE WAS ALONE, missing that precious piece of herself, always longing, waiting… She doesn’t want to feel isolated anymore. Kaneki… He is not a perfect lover, he has troubles, he aches constantly, but he is… Somehow… Sweet. Touka doesn’t know him, not so much, not as good as she should. Their relationship is tainted by their own warped concept of love. But is this really so terrible? Is this really so incomprehensible for a girl desiring more closeness, more understanding, more REALITY? She wishes for kaneki to become a real person for once, to complete the puzzle of his shattered identity. Someone she can be with, someone she can care for without any fear. I know a lot of readers will not like this statement, but the harsh truth is that, for many people, sex represents a way of bonding. A direct, imperfect, exclusive one, of course. Emotions are not easily manageable, especially when you have spent most of your life fighting to be “just invisible”. Touka wanted her answers, wanted to put a name to her swirling feelings, so she made her move. Kaneki was more than willing to embrace their moment together.
Kaneki… He’s a young man. He was hurt a lot by the people he loved the most. He was told to shut up, to be a maggot (small, insignificant), to not upset anyone with his existence. His mother gave him the message he was a nuisance for the world and unfortunately he belived her. Kaneki doesn’t really want to live, to get attached, to feel. He’s good with his books, foreign worlds, inoffensive artificial emotions. Touka is the first ghoul he met after Rize. She is a blazing flame, she lives her personal hell with proudness and a bit of recklessness. She is beautiful and she shakes him from the inside. He fell for her twice, even when he didn’t know who he really was. Kaneki needs to be shaken, he really does. Kaneki enjoyed having sex with her and at the end, he quietly slept on her knees, SMILING. No one of them really thought about the consequences, they just AGREED to freed themselves from every intrusive thought, chasing after that precious thing so mysterious and always far away.
Kaneki and Touka are two young adults overwhelmed by a crazy world that has never really protected them (actually they are still learning how to protect themselves).
However this crazy world is also unforgiving. They are BOTH responsible of their actions, they had sex TOGHETER and sure as hell none of them wished to become a parent, especially not Touka. Yes, she has been carless, but Kaneki too. How can anyone ignore the torment she’s living? She found herself pregnant and nothing can change the past. So now, even tho she didn’t planned anything, she’s enduring terrible physical pain, even not knowing if her efforts are somehow useful, because she cannot let the creature inside of her die. And at first her greatest concern was still to PROTECT kaneki, sparing him from the responsibility of being a father. Kaneki has already the entire world on his shoulders, so she didn’t want to make him even more anxious. She was ready to live this hell alone, for Kaneki’s sake. I usually don’t like when other people try to impose their decisions on others, but I was still impressed by Touka’s abnegation.
I’m happy she chose to tell kaneki everything in this chapter. The baby is also kaneki’s and he has has the right AND the duty to take full responsibility.
Now please spare me the comments about Touka mentioning another girl or the childish argument “THEY DON’T SEEM HAPPY! THEY ARE SO FAKE!!”.
First of all, Touka is a sarcastic person. We know this from the very beginning of Tg. Touka uses irony every time she feels uncomfortable, embarrassed or scared. Even when she confessed a few chapters ago she tried to appear casual about the matter, even if her thoughts were complex and also tinged with sadness (remember her referring to kaneki’s suicidal tendencies?). Please don’t be ridiculous by giving meaning to Touka’s silly ice breakers. If you want to criticize use more convincing arguments. As for the “ they don’t seem happy! ” thing, well… OF COURSE they are not happy! Kaneki is literally dying, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be lucky enough to see this child’s face, the pregnancy itself has an high risk of failure, Touka and kaneki know this for a fact and it’s frightening. The world is burning, ghouls and humans are at each others’ throats more violently than ever and at the moment ghoulkind is definitely losing. They are starving and are forced to live underground. So… Tell me: what exactly should kaneki and Touka be celebrating?
At least kaneki tried to connect more this time. Touka gave him a ring, now he tells her in his typically childish way that he truly cares for her and that he wants them to be together like a real family.

As for Yoriko, I’m sorry for her, but I can totally understand Touka’s decision. Touka wants to protect her family, her child and the father of her child. You can’t help anyone if you don’t choose. It is painful indeed, but there is no other way. I guess Kaneki was really impressed by Touka’s will. His mother didn’t fight for him, so his son is already luckier in my opinion.

Disclaimer: I want to make this crystal clear, I’m not a shipping fangirl, or at least, I don’t have any favourite pairing at all in Tokyo Ghoul. I think none of these freaks should be allowed to experience romance and reproduce (lol).
Seriously tho, I really don’t have any particular love for Touka or Touken in general. This post is just my honest feelings spilling together because I can’t sleep at night.