impeccably dressed

What your Favourite Colour says about you

1. White: This indicates a desire for simplicity, perfection and purity.

2. Red: This person is usually outgoing and lives life to the full. They are optimistic, hate monotony, and are driven and ambitious. They may also be impulsive or aggressive.

3. Maroon: This is often the favourite colour of someone who has had to cope with hard experiences in life. They are mature, generous and well-disciplined.

4. Pink: This indicates a desire for love, affection and security. It is a fragile, gentle and delicate colour that is linked to feelings of protection and care.

5. Orange: This is the colour of the flamboyant, fun-loving, sociable person. They are usually good-natured, popular, curious, fearless and dramatic. However, they may be fickle and restless, too.

6. Yellow: This color is associated with happiness, wisdom, a desire for novelty, a sense of adventure and a rich imagination. It is usually linked to a good sense of humour and a rational mind.

7. Green: Green symbolizes balance, hope, sincerity and peace. Green people are generally concerned about the wellbeing of others, are patient, modest, self-effacing – but can sometimes be exploited and used by others.

8. Blue: Blue is associated with compassionate, caring, patience, perseverance, conscientiousness, self control and a sense of duty. These individuals are dedicated and reliable people – but also worry about how things will go.

9. Turquoise: These are more complex characters. They are creative and imaginative, and drive themselves hard to achieve their goals. Although they appear to be calm and controlled, inside they may feel tormented or perplexed.

10. Lavender: These people are usually impeccably dressed, are refined with a sense of class and culture. They have high ideals, are creative, charming, witty, classy and sophisticated. Typically, they are committed to causes that are noble and great.

11. Purple: Purple people are usually artistic, highly individual, unique and sensitive. They are independent thinkers, who are unconventional, and are likely to achieve positions of power.

12. Brown: Browns are known for their stamina and patience, for being conscientious, dependable and stable. They are rarely impulsive - but can be inflexible.

13. Grey: This is associated with caution, compromise, stability, hard work and good business sense. Greys are usually introverted and suppress how they feel.

14. Black: Blacks are dignified, mysterious, have hidden depths – and reveal very little of themselves, their beliefs, their hopes, desires and personality.

epikegster 2k14 “Oh” au
  • in an au where parse never showed up to epikegster, i like to think jack had his “oh” moment in the hazy dark of that cold, loud winter night
  • (like, what could be more different than graduation? in the warm, bright day, scared but certain of his immediate future, speaking to his father in soft french while bells and birds sing overhead?)
  • it’s a different kind of “oh” – it’s not one last shot before everything changes, it’s one more layer of confusion and uncertainty as he enters his final semester at samwell
  • but it’s also…comforting.

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prince in training

~3k, rated T

Sterek ficlet inspired by this: “i grew up not knowing i was royal and now i guess i’m heir to a throne and you’re the guy who’s supposed to be teaching me how to be royal bc i suck at it and oops we made out” au

This is kind of Princess-Diaries-ish. I know that’s been done before in this fandom (and thank god it has—it’s awesome), but I couldn’t help myself. Yay for self-indulgence!

*

Stiles thought the most annoying thing about suddenly being a royal heir to a small eastern European kingdom he’s never heard of would be the hyper-aggressive paparazzi, but he was dead wrong.

The most annoying thing is actually Derek Hale, the guy Stiles’ grandmother hired to teach Stiles how not to screw this up.

“Princes don’t chew with their mouths open, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t shove an entire fistful of curly fries in their mouths, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t wear pink-and-green plaid shirts from Target, Stiles.”

“Princes don’t slouch.”

They don’t slump, either, or yawn or sneeze or cough in public, or fist-pump, or drive beat-up old blue Jeeps, or wear bright colors, or rock out to the radio, or do anything fun.

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Dangerous Man (John Wick x Reader)

Originally posted by anothermoviepage

Working at The Continental isn’t at all what you thought it’d be. 

SPOILER FREE FIC.


You smoothed out your shirt and looked in the mirror. It was your first day on the job. You were decked out head to toe in brand new clothes. All from a designer you’d never heard of. All custom made to fit you perfectly.  All completely free. On top of that, you’d be making a salary that, at entry level, was six figures. And all you had to do was deliver room service.

But there was a saying you’d heard since you were young: If it’s too good to be true, then it probably is.

You should have suspected something was off when you had to give a blood sample, a urine sample, a DNA swab, and answer a thirteen page questionnaire that included things like “list the full names of your parents, siblings, and grandparents” or “do you have any experience with sutures, cauterization, or CPR?”

And then the interview, itself, felt more like an interrogation. The whole thing gave you this weird feeling in your gut, but this was also the most exclusive hotel in New York City. Getting a room here wasn’t about whether or not you had the money, but whether or not you knew the right people, and even then, it was typically booked solid. You’d even heard a rumor that The Queen of England was denied a room once. Of course they’d be picky about their staff.

But after the lengthy interview process and dozen or so signatures on papers you probably should have read, you found out the truth about The Continental.

The manager’s name was Winston. He was nice enough, though he had a very “no nonsense” attitude about him. The more you found out about the place, though, the more you understood why. It was a safe haven for a secret society of people. Assassins. Hit men. Gang Lords. The underground elite of not only New York, but the entire world. The only currency accepted from customers were gold coins. One gold coin was the equivalent to one favor. It was a simple system, Winston explained, but complex to newcomers. You’d pick it up over time. All you needed to know was that if you got a coin, you kept a close eye on it.

Additionally, the hotel followed a strict set of rules, but the two that most concerned you were that staff was never to ask questions, and no business could ever be conducted on hotel grounds. The latter of the two should have made you feel safer, but instead, it just made you more nervous.

Upon the conclusion of your meeting with Winston, he presented you with a single gold coin. You looked at him curiously. He smiled, and said simply:

“A welcome gift.”

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Keeping Your End of the Bargain

I promised I’d give you all another Dark fic when we reached our next milestone, and I always keep my promises. 

Just a quick warning- this is not fluff. It’s not romance. It’s not a sympathetic portrayal. This man is a manipulator, a good one, and he does what he does to further his own interests. He enjoys control, not company. And, to use Mark’s own words:

He is not here to help you. He is here to use you.

Enjoy.

Originally posted by wrcngchcice


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enough w taako is impeccably dressed constantly w no effort. more taako spends 20 min after every battle redoing his look and delays the teams departure by like an hour every morning. everyone is frustrated

The Arrangement (Part 13)

Originally posted by yaelstiel

Summary: you head to the only safe place you can think of. A talk with your father gives you the courage to return to work, where Dean finds you immediately. But he’s not expecting your reaction. Charlie and Cas come to the rescue.

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,900

Warnings: Language, ANGST, general sadness, betrayal…

A/N: Bad to worse, kiddos. Buckle in for some serious angst. Please don’t hate me. I promise I’ll make it up to you…

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You know what I find so insidiously appalling about the culture of treating things like fashion and makeup as basic defaults of femininity, rather than like… cool things that a lot of women happen to be really into.

And the reason why I think society has this disgusting double standard where they treat girls that don’t care for makeup or fashion like they are lesser (How many times in my life have I heard “You should really make more of an effort” or “It would be more professional if you wore X” or “why don’t you care about your appearance?”) while at the same time scoffing at women who passionately love fashion or makeup as frivolous or shallow (How many times have I heard “Why do you need to touch up your makeup so often” or “girls are so vain why do they care about appearances so much”)

The answer came to me today when I read on Facebook some dude’s opinion on the Hannibal TV series, and why he thinks it’s lame and furthermore women’s love of it is lame. His argument essentially boiled down to women’s fantasy image of an “ideal man” being ludicrously unrealistic and unattainable… because they are too well dressed.

A man cannot, he argues, be expected to be accomplished at both a career and a hobby AND have time to dress impeccably and be so well groomed and manicured. He argues that women are being unrealistic by finding men who are well dressed and interested in fashion attractive, because no man accomplished in other things could possibly have time for that because that stuff takes a lot of time and effort.

Well. Um. I have news for him.

That’s exactly what women are expected to do in our society. We are expected to be accomplished at a variety of things AND ALSO dress well and look well groomed and immaculate. And it strikes me that this is also EXACTLY why there’s a double standard, if it’s a default expectation on us. A woman who isn’t doing it is failing to meet the standard. And a woman passionately enthusiastic about doing it is clearly going overboard here, I mean, that would be like being passionate and excited about brushing your teeth don’t you have anything else in your life to get excited about, fashion is just a default after all.

And yet, they clearly understand and acknowledge that keeping yourself fashionable and immaculate and stylish is a lot of work, that could in many cases take time away from other things. They just don’t value a woman’s time as much as they value a man’s time. We are expected to perform it, but not care about it.

And then they get bent out of shape when we have the audacity to suggest it would be attractive if men did it too.

Ever think about driving with Harry?

Like sitting next to him in one of his expensive cars surrounded by buttery soft leather. And getting to watch all of the faces he pulls while concentrating on the road. And when you’re on a long, straight stretch that doesn’t require both hands on the wheel or he’s not fiddling with his bottom lip with that free hand, he’s reaching over to you, taking your hand from your lap so he can hold it. He likes to bring your knuckles to his lips, placing soft kisses with quick glances at you. But his eyes never linger for too long–he does have to watch the road, after all; “M’a safe driver, love.”

And when you’re on long drives or stuck in traffic, you like to sneak pictures of him. Of course, you’re never really sneaky about it because you love the way he gets all grumpy when you do. “Why yeh got to bother me while I’m operatin’ heavy machinery, kitten?” And you pout in response to his assertions that you’re annoying, sticking that bottom lip out that makes him feel some kind of way. So he turns and gives one of those cheesy, eye crinkling smiles, letting you snap a quick pic.  

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does this make sense? | 11 (m) ✓

pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre/warnings: romance, fluff, heavy petting, smuuut, they finally get down and dirty, college! yoongi
words: 11,752
summary: You meet the mysterious Yoongi at a house party and no matter how uninterested you tell yourself that you are, you’re can’t say no to him. Can you end up changing his playboy ways, or will you just end up getting hurt?

» playlist | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | + | ✓

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lu-cien  asked:

12, Nessian! :)

Prompt: a hoarse whisper “Kiss me”. 
Here you go, Luna! I know you probably wanted smut (I know I wanted smut lol) but this is what happened. I hope you like it anyway!
AO3 link


From afar, she looks perfectly fine. Everything always does.

Cassian stares at Nesta from the doorway, unsure of whether she might have heard him or not. She is standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out beyond the Sidra, the warm glow of the sunset illuminating her silhouette. Cassian thinks she looks ethereal – an angel who found its way from Elysium into this grievous world.  Her posture is perfectly erect, as always. Her hair is flawlessly plaited into a crown. Her dress is impeccable and fit for a queen.

Yet as he moves towards her, it’s as if the image shifts before his eyes. He notices the slight curve of her spine, as if her shoulders are weighed down and the ground is waiting for her to crumple. He notices the tremor in her fingers, even as she keeps them wrapped around her slender arms, hugging herself as if to keep herself together. And when he’s next to her, he sees the wet trails on her cheeks, the teardrops clumping her eyelashes together and making her eyes an impossibly light shade of blue – like a flash of lightning in the middle of a storm. Despite all this, he can’t help but think she looks achingly beautiful.

He’s not surprised that she’s been crying, though, he was expecting it. It was the reason he came to find her – the string tied to his ribs wrenching him in her direction so forcefully that his breath caught in his throat. It had subdued now that he was next to her, and Nesta’s crying seems to have subdued as well, long past the stage of choked sobs and gasping breaths – if it had ever even got to that. He doesn’t know if perhaps violent crying would be better than this quiet anguish but either way, he feels her pain and sorrow as if it was his own: murky water drowning his heart, a heavy blanket smothering his lungs, a frozen chill numbing his bones.

He stands silently next to her, wordlessly offering his strength to her and she doesn’t say anything either – another thing he expected. Nesta had never been one of many words, especially when it came to her feelings and vulnerabilities, and their bond, the profound understanding between them, was deeper than words could convey anyway.

They stand next to each other in silence until the sun starts to dip behind the horizon, Nesta staring out the window, fresh tears which she makes no move to dry rolling down her cheeks every once in a while, and Cassian staring blankly at the tranquillity of Velaris before him.

“It’s all just too much,” Nesta says at last, without turning to face him and her voice is a hoarse whisper. It’s more than Cassian thought she would offer so he takes her hand in his without taking his eyes off the city ahead. He doesn’t say anything. He knows she doesn’t want him to and he knows there’s nothing that could help. And he understands. He feels too much every day since the war ended and he doesn’t know if he will ever be back to who he used to be before. Not when every time he closes his eyes, he sees the faces of soldiers – his or Hybern’s; it’s all the same now – seconds or minutes, if the killing blow wasn’t a clean one, before the light left their eyes forever. Not when every time he sees his family, his High Lord and Lady and his closest and oldest friends around him he says a little thank you to the Mother that they’re all safe. Not when he had been ready to give up his life for the woman next to him, for Nesta, his mate, and she had been ready to die next to him, and then they both got to live after that.

She turns to face him and she sees the tears flowing freely on her face now, he sees her woeful stare and he rubs soothing circles with his thumb over her knuckles wishing he could take all her pain away with the motion. His eyes flicker across her face, taking in the furrowing of her brow, the twitch of her mouth, the blinks meant to stop the sadness from pouring out of her body in rivulets of water and salt and he feels utterly helpless. His strength and presence is all he can offer and he knows she is grateful for that but he wishes he could do more.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispers, her hands grabbing at the front of his shirt but making no further move. ‘Please,’ she sobs and she closes her eyes, her face crumpled in sorrow and tilts her face up to his.

He knows the kind of comfort she seeks all too well. He’s sought it too before in pretty eyes, and flirty smiles and fevered touches. But he also knows the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth afterwards, and he knows it doesn’t help at all and he knows it would only complicate things between them even more.

So he cups her face gently, lowers his head and presses his lips with incredible tenderness to her forehead. He stays like that for a couple of seconds, neither of them moving, before he draws back to look at her. Her eyes are still closed, her expression still one of grief and he carefully runs his thumb across one cheek and then the other, wiping away the spilled tears.

When she looks up and blue grey eyes which hide a nearly broken soul behind them finally meet his, he says the thing she had always needed to hear, his words more of a promise for the future than a simple statement: “I’m here.”

Daddy’s Home

Because I need a sugar daddy AU, here ya go. This is gonna end up as a series. Enjoy!

           He rolled up in his lemon-yellow Lamborghini and rolled down the window. You gave a little wave, and he leaned over from the driver’s seat. “You ready, baby?” Bambam grinned and peered over the top of his sunglasses.

           You smiled from the curb, your Louis Vuitton bag in your hand. “Of course.” He pulled the handle of the door open and you slid into the passenger seat. Bambam’s hand automatically slipped to your thigh when you sat down. Once you were situated, he ensured you had your seatbelt on before taking off down the street. “How was your day, princess?”

           You grinned. You loved it when he used that nickname. “Well, between being too busy to think about anything other than how I was going to sneak away to spend time with you this afternoon,” you paused, putting your hand on top of his, “and my boss yelling at me, nothing else really happened. I guess you could say I had a day,” you said.

           “Baby… I really think it’s time you quit your job…” he chose his words carefully. You stared at him, trying to figure out what to say.  

           Bambam glanced away from the road long enough to catch the look on your face. “I know what you’re gonna say,” he began, “but I make more than enough for both of us, and I’d love it if you let me take care of you.”

           “Babe,” you started, but he lifted the hand that was still on your thigh.

           “I’m just saying, I want you to think about it.”

           You let out a gusty sigh, and he squeezed your thigh again, causing a smile to pull at the corners of your mouth.

           “Now, who’s ready for some shopping?” Bambam asked in a singsong voice as he pulled into the parking garage. “Will that make daddy’s princess happy?”

           You grinned and nodded at him. “Good, let’s get you in there, then.” He walked around the car and opened your door for you, his hand extending to help you out of your seat. He took you by the hand and tucked it in his, pulling you just a tad before you caught up.

           “My legs aren’t as long as yours, babe,” you said.

           Bambam turned to look behind him, laughing. “I forgot, my bad.”

           “Good evening, welcome to Chanel,” the doorman said, punctuating his sentence with a nod. You smiled at him, and Bambam turned to the closest salesperson he could find. “I need to get my princess here a watch,” he said to a tall woman with auburn hair who was impeccably dressed, passing his hand over the back of your upper arm.

           “Well, what’s her style?” she asked, looking to you.

            You grinned. “Anything that sparkles,” you said sheepishly.

            The lady—looking at her nametag, you realized her name was Paula—smiled warmly at you, then led you over to the watch case. “Then I have good news for you, we definitely have ones that sparkle.”

           You looked at Bambam, and he nodded at you. “Anything you want, baby.”

           “I really like this one,” you pointed to a watch that had a silver and black band, a black dial, and diamonds laid into the rectangular beveled edge.

           “Ah, the Premiere Mini,” she said fondly, pulling it from the case, “excellent decision.” She placed the watch in your hands and you paused, marveling at the beauty that had just been put within your reach. You grinned again, and Bambam put a hand on the small of your back. “What do you think?” he whispered.

           “I love it,” you said in a hushed voice.

           “We’ll take it,” he said to Paula, who took the watch back from you, placed it into a long, rectangular box embossed with the word CHANEL, and then placed it in a shopping bag. You beamed as she handed it to you.

           “It’s just seven,” she said to your boyfriend as he slid his gold card.

           “That’s fine,” he murmured, scratching his nose.

           “Congratulations, you’re now the owner of a beautiful Chanel piece,” Paula cooed. You shook her hand and Bambam waved, and you both exited the store.

           “Where to now, baby?” he’d said, a grin spreading across his face.

           “Louboutin?” you asked.

           He nodded, took your hand in his, and led the way to the escalator.

           Two hours later you were on your way back to the Lambo, and Bambam insisted on carrying all your shopping bags. He’d bought you an entire new outfit, complete with a new pair of heels and that beautiful watch. Bambam had bought himself a pair of flats to match yours, and had taken a photo of both your and his feet for Instagram.  He’d done it all with a huge smile on his face. “Anything for my princess,” he’d said, and passed a hand over your ass, gently and discreetly.

           As soon as he’d put the bags in the trunk, he slid into the driver’s seat and pulled you close to him, his left hand cupping the side of your face and his right hooking around the back of your neck. “Is daddy’s baby happy?” he whispered, his lips centimeters from yours.

           You nodded and licked his lower lip. He crushed his mouth to yours, the hand that was on the back of your neck moving to your hair, pressing your face to his with so much force that you thought it’d break your jaw. You let out a soft whimper and his mouth moved to your throat, switching between tiny kisses and pulling your skin into purple hickeys. Bambam released you once he reached your collarbone, breathing heavily. “I got a little carried away, sorry baby,” he said, grinning at you from the driver’s seat. You beamed back at him, taking in the tent in his pants. Home was over a half an hour away, not including traffic, and you didn’t know if you could wait that long.

           Bambam put on his seatbelt and started the engine, his eyes too focused on the road to notice you staring at him. He smiled to himself and, seemingly absentmindedly, placed his hand in its normal spot on your thigh.

           “Daddy…” you began, your voice sultry, “your princess wants to play.”

           Bambam sighed huskily. “Baby, I’m driving. Can you make it until we get home?”

           “Nope,” you purred, fingers dancing along his thigh.

           He shook his head wryly, but scooted his seat back far enough that you could slip your head between him and the steering wheel.  

           You grinned and leaned over the center console, fiddling with his zipper. “Daddy,” smokiness was pouring from you. “I’m gonna suck your dick so hard I’ll make you cry.” The response you issued from him with just a few words was overwhelmingly positive. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, his hips twitching just a tad underneath you. “Then what, baby?”

           You placed a playful kiss on his stomach through his shirt. “Then I’m gonna let you fuck me with nothing but this watch on until I can’t walk,” you purred, “and then I’m gonna get up and make you breakfast in bed,” you grinned and nipped at his stomach again. A low groan fell from Bambam’s lips, and you knew the dirty talk had turned him on enough to make him hard again.

           You unzipped his pants and he tilted his hips up enough for you to drag them down so you could access his now-erect member. Bambam shivered but kept his eyes on the road as you blew lightly on his tip. A strand of saliva slipped from your mouth and you rubbed your hand over his dick, squeezing and stroking him simultaneously.

           “Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” he groaned, glancing down at you, then back up at the road. You moaned in response. Your lips finally met the tip and you pulled his cock into your mouth without hesitation. Bambam inhaled sharply and you grinned around a mouthful of dick, positively ecstatic that you had this kind of power over him. You hollowed out your cheeks and sucked hard, finding a steady rhythm as you wrapped your hand around the part of his shaft that you couldn’t fit into your mouth. You felt the car swerve just a little to the left and heard an “oh, shit,” leave your boyfriend’s lips, then a giggly scoff. You looked up at him and giggled, then went back to bobbing your head as fast as you could manage, swirling your tongue around his tip as you came back up for air.

           Bambam moaned loudly and as the car came to a stop at the light, he pulled your face to his, his lips crushing to yours. “You make daddy feel so good, princess,” he said, and you grinned, a sexy laugh escaping you. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed, and you kissed his lips again before you went back to work. You pulled his cock back into your mouth, sucking as hard as you could and moving your head as fast as the position would allow. He inhaled sharply and cursed under his breath, one hand leaving the steering wheel to get the hair out of your face. He took the left turn to his condo and pulled into the driveway, breathing hard and fast as he turned off the car. “God, let me fuck your throat,” Bambam moaned.

           You nodded and he gathered your hair in both his hands while you hollowed out your cheeks and held your head still. His hips rolled into your face and you hummed low in the back of your throat, his speed increasing with every thrust. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed. Tears were rolling down your cheeks but you didn’t care, it was making you wetter by the second. He was into it too, by the way he was moaning and writhing underneath you. You closed your lips around his shaft and he stopped for a second, letting you control the speed, but not for long. “I’m so close, princess. I want you to swallow my cum,” he said, and you nodded as he thrusted faster and faster into your face.

           “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna come,” he breathed, and to help it along you swirled your tongue around his tip. Bambam thrusted into your face a few more times, and you felt him throw his head back in ecstasy as he exploded in your mouth. He pulled out to let you breathe, then you slipped your tongue along his shaft, letting the cum roll down the back of your throat and ultimately swallowing it. Bambam took your face in both his hands and kissed you with fervor, his hand tangling in your hair.

           “Good girl,” he said, “you’re so good for me, princess.” He stroked your hair with his other hand.

           “Let daddy take care of you now,” he said, and led you out of the car and into the house.

My masterlist is here if you guys wanna read the rest of my stuff!

Auston Matthews - Part 24

Explicit content, beginning marked with “~~” as well as when it ends. 

I exhaust myself but finish my kitchen by the time the game starts, thanks to time zones. I hunt down my box of blankets and snuggle down on the couch with my pups. I get the feeling this is going to become a nightly routine when Auston has a game. Not that I didn’t used to watch the Leafs play, I just usually had something in front of me as well, but now I feel guilty if I don’t watch the game in its entirety. They have a few days before another game, getting a little bit of a break after a tough road trip and Auston will be home in the morning, but I doubt I’ll be able to see him until later tomorrow.

               My eyes are getting heavier and heavier as the game goes on, Toronto taking the early lead. By the time first intermission comes on I have to stumble to my coffee maker and down an expresso. It doesn’t help. So instead I set an alarm on my phone to take a little cat nap before the second period. This does work.

               I’m able to make myself stay awake for the entire game and see him score yet another goal. I purse my lips, deep in thought as I eye the blue jerseys on my screen. I remember telling Auston that I would never wear his jersey when I had first met him, I debate a moment if that still stands true. I decide it does. For now.

               Once the game ends, a close three to two win, I barely manage to text Auston about his game and a goodnight before passing out right there on the couch. My first night in my first house and I don’t even make it to my bedroom.

               The morning sun is unforgiving as it come in through the uncovered windows, the only things that I didn’t have were curtains and blinds. Those were the first things on my list to get after I settle in. I have zero food in my fridge so I settle for a poptart for breakfast and dig my phone out from under the couch cushions and there’s a message from Auston waiting and several snapchats.

               Thanks babe, cant wait to c u tomorrow.

               It was sent at nearly two in the morning. I tap through the snapchats from his teammates, one of them he’s smiling at his phone and Will captioned it “wonder who he could possibly be reading.” I compare the time Will sent me the snap to when Auston texted me and it matches perfectly and I can’t help but grin at myself.

               Call me when you wake up.

               I quickly send to Auston and rub my hands together, wondering which room to move into next. I wander upstairs and into the open sitting room that I’ll probably make into an office, which leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. I nudge open the door to my room and I eye the boxes lined up against every wall and cringe. When did I get so much shit?

               I spend the next hour setting up my bed and getting that made, moving onto the boxes of clothes that are the primary thing taking up all the boxes. My phone goes off around eleven and I answer it quickly.

               “Hello,” I say shyly.

               “First time you’ve answered and it doesn’t sound like a question,” Auston’s groggy voice comes through the phone and I know he must have just woken up.

               “Well this time I knew for sure it would be you,” I laugh into the phone and begin pacing the room, just as I always do on the phone.

               “Valid. How’s the unpacking?”

               “Slow. I have a lot more stuff than I thought,” I again eye the boxes I can still see in the hallway.

               “Well you want some help?” He asks through a yawn.

               “Are you going to help or nap?” I quirk an eyebrow.

               “Probably both,” he answers honestly and I laugh.

               “Fine, though I have no food beside fruit snacks and poptarts, so if you’re hungry you better eat at home,” I add, my own stomach grumbles and I wonder if I’m close to any delivery places.

               “I’ll bring lunch, what do you want?” Auston asks and I wonder if he heard my stomach through the phone.

               “I don’t care, I’m not in a sub mood so anything but that,” I say and I wait for him to complain that I’m one of those people who don’t like making decisions.

               “Okay, pizza good?” He asks and I blink in surprise.

               “Pizza’s perfect,” I smile. “I’ll text you my address.”

               “Alright, I’ll be there in about an hour,” I can hear him rustling his sheets and I know he’s getting up.

               “Can’t wait,” I say shyly again, a blush creeping into my cheeks.

               “Make that thirty minutes,” he says and I giggle.

               I say goodbye and hang up, I should go shower but I grab one more box and get set on unpacking the clothes in that one as well. I finish my sixth box when I hear a knock on the door downstairs. I startle and glance at the clock I just finish hanging on the wall and panic. It’s been exactly a half hour and I’m still in the clothes I wore yesterday. I contemplate for a moment before hurrying down the stairs.

               “Coming!” I call and my two dogs come barreling down the stairs with me. I frown wondering how they will react to Auston. I calm them down, taking a collar in either hand before opening the door with my elbow. There standing impeccably dressed and holding two pizza boxes in his hands is the boy I’ve been thinking about since I left Toronto.

               He blinks down at me and eyes my dogs a bit warily and I slowly let them go.

               “Hi,” I murmur, suddenly very aware that my hair is knotted in a lopsided bun on my head, my shirt has holes in it and my jeans are barely jeans, too many rips and holes to count. Then I notice that stupid hat on his head and I know I look better than he does.

               Auston doesn’t say anything but grabs me with his free hand and pulls me to him. I meet his lips all too willingly and his mouth coaxes mine open, at least I brushed my teeth. His grabs a handful of my shirt, causing the back to creep up and expose my skin, I shiver from both the touch and the cold air that hits my bare skin. I place my hands on his stomach and marvel at the solidness of him. By the time we pull away from each other there is not a single breathe left in my body.

               “Hi,” he says against my lips and my face turns crimson.

               “You can take a lot more road trips if that’s how you’ll greet me every time,” I manage to get out, my breathing still out of control.

               Auston gives me a grin and steps into the house once I step back, my two dogs dancing in circles around him.

               “At least they like me,” Auston says, keeping the pizza above his shoulder.

               “I think it’s the pizza, bud,” I laugh and show him into the kitchen. He follows behind, his eyes roaming around my house. “I’ll show you the house later. I’m starving.”

               I grab two plates and slide them onto the counter, balancing myself on a bar stool, Auston sits next me and we dive into the boxes. I let out a groan of satisfaction and close my eyes.

               “Warm food!”

               Auston laughs beside me, “You’ve been here less than 24 hours…”

               “Seems like 24 years,” I groan again, taking another embarrassingly large bite.

               We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, I devour two pieces by the time he finishes his first and I’m already reaching into the box again.

               “How was your trip, besides the hockey part,” I ask, wiping at my face with a napkin.

               “Better now that I’m home,” Auston shrugs and I frown.

               “What do you mean?”

               “I enjoy going to different cities, but I’m always happier to come home, this time especially,” he glances at me and my face heats up again.

               “So you did miss me,” I nudge him with my foot and he rolls his eyes.

               “Don’t get a big head,” he mutters and I giggle.

               “Nah, yours is big enough for the both of us,” I reply, taking another bite and Auston raises his eyebrows at me, a smirk playing on his face. “What?” I ask through a mouthful and then the double meaning hits me like a rock and I punch at his arm. “Stop that!”

               Auston laughs and finishes his second piece. He eyes the almost empty box now. “Glad I got two.”

               I wonder if I should be embarrassed but I could not care less. “I told you I was hungry!”

               Auston laughs and down his third piece, matching me.

               “Alright, tour time,” I say, going to the sink and rinsing my hands off, drying them on a towel. “Come on,” I touch his arm and step around him.

               He follows behind me as I take him into the dining room that has a table and chairs with about twenty boxes on and around it.

               “I don’t know how I’ll ever get everything put away,” I scowl at the boxes, wishing they would unpack themselves.

               “Was there anything in the house before you came or did you bring everything?” Auston asks, his eyes darting around still.

               “Not a single thing but the barstools and big kitchen stuff, like the fridge and stove,” I run my hand along the table and lead him into the adjourning back porch room, enclosed with windows on three sides, I’m surprised it’s not very drafty. There’s another bathroom and what could be used as a bedroom aside from the living room which Auston already saw.

               I bring him upstairs and through the two spare bedrooms and a bathroom before walking into my bedroom and I automatically go to the box that I had been working on when Auston got here.

               “My room,” I say obviously and suddenly feel unbearably shy and busy myself with organizing my socks into their rightful drawer.

               Auston remains silent as he wanders around the room, half unpacked. I peek at him in the reflection of my vanity mirror, his expression unreadable and I squirm a little. He steps in front of my T.V stand, which was what I started with earlier because it was the easiest. Picking up one of the photos that I placed there just an hour earlier. I know it’s the one with my parents and Auston’s parents at my high school graduation.

               Like always, he seems to feel my stare and his eyes raise to meet mine the mirror. I give him a sad smile and look back down at my hands, trying to make myself put the socks that I’m currently holding into the drawer. They don’t listen. I’m too busy trying to keep back my tears.

               Within seconds one of Auston’s hands is on the small of my back, his face just below mine as he kneels on the floor beside my stool.

               “Hey, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he says gently and he grabs my chin, making me look at him. His eyes are soft, just like the small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

               “I know you didn’t,” I whisper, willing the tear that’s threatening to fall free to stay right there.

               “Then why are you so sad?” He runs his thumb across my bottom lip and my lips part under his touch.

               “I just forgot that on top of being far away from my parents, I’m now an additional five hours away from Alex,” I whine and the tear finally falls. Auston is quick to wipe it away and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

               “Oh Y/N,” he says gently and gets to his feet, pulling me with him and against his chest. I don’t sob, but I do cry.

               “I’m an emotional person, okay,” I say, my voice muffled by his chest and I inhale deeply, remembering how much I missed his smell.

               “I gathered that,” Auston muses and with very little effort, he gently lifts me and he carries me to my bed. Lying me down and then sprawling out beside me. I wiggle myself back over to him, nestling into the crook of his shoulder, he rubs my back gently and I let my tears dry themselves. My eyes wander to his face and he continues staring up at my ceiling, I can see wheels turning in his brain. I take the distraction as a moment to appreciate his beauty, I look at his neck and notice a few freckles I hadn’t before, along with a small cut just under his jaw.

               My eyes travel to his mouth and the surprising fullness of his lips fascinates me. I realize I’m staring much harder than I initially thought when the corners of his mouth quirk up and my eyes flash to his, an amused look in his brown eyes. I blush and he laughs out loud this time.

               “You blush a lot,” he says and I roll my eyes, embarrassed.  

               “It’s in my genes, my mom blushes constantly too, don’t flatter yourself,” I snap at him which makes his laugh harder and the whole bed vibrates. Though for some reason he doesn’t stop laughing, most likely finding my embarrassment hilarious. I scowl at him and wait for him to quite laughing, but he doesn’t.

               “Auston…” I say after a good ten seconds.

               “Auston!” I snap again, lifting my head off his shoulder and glaring at him.

               I don’t bother saying his name a third time. Instead, I reach other and grab his chin, angling his face to mine and I cover his mouth with mine. Finally, he shuts up.

               Auston’s lips respond to mine and soon enough I’m getting a better taste of his intoxicating mouth, he tastes just like I remember; fruity with something sweet. I tell myself to pull away before this gets out of hand, but my body doesn’t respond. Instead I let him push my back into my pillows, he rolls to his side, hovering slightly over me and trailing his hand down to my hip.

               Again, I tell myself to stop it but I don’t listen. I grab a handful of his shirt and shimmy my way farther under his body. Slowly running my hand down to the waistband of his pants, I find the end of his shirt and raise my hand up underneath it, my fingers grazing his stomach. He makes a noise above me and my resolve completely breaks, I’m aching for his touch.

               “Auston,” I breathe, my lips leaving his and brushing against his jaw. “Touch me, please,” I whisper. His body goes still above me and a grin breaks out across his face.

               “What was that?” He asks and I know full well he knows exactly what I said.

               “Touch me,” I whisper again, tugging at his shirt impatiently.

               “Only took two weeks for you to ask,” he mutters, his lips finding mine again, this time much more roughly.

~~

               I tug once again at his shirt, this time be obliges and breaks away from me for just a moment to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. Auston’s mouth then goes to my neck as I take my time exploring his skin with my hands. A moan escapes my mouth when he nips at my neck and I can’t even focus long enough to blush. Auston seems to take that as encouragement because his hand too sneaks under my shirt and up my stomach to my chest, undoing my front clasping bra faster than I would have thought possible. Oh!

               My breathing is erratic as I try to focus on anything else besides his hand moving against my bare skin. I finally get my body to respond to my wishes and I grab a handful of his hair, forcing his lips back to mine. He wastes no time and nudges my legs father apart with his knee, settling himself between them and holding his upper body up with his free arm. I raise one of my knees and rest it against his side. My hand seems to get a mind of its own and wanders back down to a place that I’ve become quite familiar with.

               “Nuh uh,” Auston scolds, taking his hand from out of under my shirt and taking my wrist instead, bringing it to his hand that’s holding most of his body weight off of me.

After making sure I couldn’t wiggle my wrist free, he turns his attention back to my mouth and his now free hand snakes its way down my side to my hip again, shifting his weight slightly so he’s against my side. I can feel him against my hip and I resist the urge to try and wiggle my hand free.

“Remember what I told you,” Auston whispers against my lips. “Payback is a bitch.”

My breath gets caught in my throat as his hand brushes against the waistband of my old, ratty jeans. I can feel his smile against my neck as I shiver with anticipation. He makes good of his word and takes his time brushing his fingers against my bare skin right above the button of my jeans and I instinctively react which makes him smile every time.

“Auston,” I whine and he finally gives in.

He quickly makes work of my button and zipper, dipping his hand down the front of my jeans and I moan, though he hasn’t even touched me yet, still intent on teasing me into oblivion.

“You suck,” I manage to get out, closing my eyes and turning my head away from him. He only laughs against my throat and inches my panties to the side. Auston seems to think that it’s now safe to let go of my hand he was holding prisoner and uses it to bend my knee up against his side again. Using this new leverage his finger brushes against me and my hips move on their own accord. After a few more teasing strokes he slowly slips a finger in.

I let out a moan at the same time he lets out a low hiss in my ear. I claw at the bed spread on either side of me as his starts a slow, rhythmic movement. I turn my head to the side, hiding my face against his chest and pulls my hair to make me look back up at him.

“Not as fun being taken advantage of in an emotional state is it?’ Auston asks me, his breath tickling my face and I refuse to answer him, only giving him the satisfaction of another small moan as he adds a second finger. My pulse hammers in my chest and I don’t understand how it doesn’t lift me out of my bed.

“Auston,” I whimper, all pride gone. I just need relief.

“What?” He asks and I don’t have to look to know there’s a smirk on his face.

“Please,” I whimper again and he roughly kisses my mouth again, pressing his thumb down as well as quicken his movements and I rocket into space. My moan is muffled by his mouth and he continues his movement until I float back down from the clouds, kissing my cheeks and jaw gently until I’m able to open my eyes again to give him a lazy smile.

~~

“Now you really can go on road trips as much as you want as want,” I murmur up to him and he laughs.

“I don’t think I’ll be spending any more time out of Toronto than I can manage from now on,” Auston says and I grin at him. I glance at his still bare chest and grin.

“I still got more clothes off of you than you did me,” I tease.

“Yeah? Do me a favor and sit up,” Auston quirks an eyebrow down at me and I go to sit up and remember my bra.

“That doesn’t count,” I mumble, and quickly clasp it back.

“I think it does,” Auston laughs and leans down, placing a gently kiss on my lips.

I let him and then push him onto is back, climbing on top of him.

“Now that you’ve had your fun,” I breathe down at him and his eyes narrow. “It’s time…” I lean down farther, my lips at his ear. “To get to work,” I finish and bound off of him, grabbing the closest box and setting it on his lap, making him grunt.

               “I think I have my work cut out with you,” Auston says under his breath and I’m not entirely sure I was meant to hear.

  • fanfic fever era ryan: is a deep, intellectual artist who is constantly reading and writing. dresses impeccably, has an incredible vocabulary.
  • actual fever era ryan: had a mullet
Across the Stars, Chapter 5

Prologue   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

AN: Here you are! It’s a day late, but I had some things to take care of last night. I’m so glad you all are enjoying it! I realize this one is a bit shorter, but I felt like the last line was such a perfect place to end it! Don’t forget to like/reblog/reply <3

Rhys cursed under his breath as he stepped into the cool, marble tiled elevator of the ritzy apartment building. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, blinking away the image he’d seen the night before, blinking away the fact that he hadn’t been able to get that girl from the coffee shop out of his mind while he was on top of Amarantha. It was a terrible, terrible thing that such a beautiful image would pervade such an ugly space, such an ugly event. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to link having sex with Amarantha to the thought of Feyre.

At least she’d allowed him to be the one to show up at Tamlin’s door and warn him of the upcoming deadline. He straightened his shoulders, flexing his hands and setting his mouth into a firm, disinterested line. He hadn’t seen that blond bastard in five years, hadn’t seen him since Amarantha plowed into their lives and grabbed them all by the throats. She hadn’t wanted them to come across each other. She knew they’d rip each other to shreds, and so she’d forbidden them from even crossing paths.

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