it looks like it could be some ad for an expensive clothing line or something

Thin Walls (Jaehyun x Reader)

Rating: M, as hell

(A/N) Hey! Long time no see! It’s been a minute since I last posted something or filled a request, and the guilt of not doing so was slowly eating away at me lol I managed to throw this one together after forever and it took so long because I was struggling hard core on the actual smut. It’s just so difficult trying not to repeat a scene I’ve done previously in the exact same way, etc. But finals are coming up, and I’ll be trying my darndest to chip away at these requests as best as I can! Hope you all enjoy this one!!!

Originally posted by oh-prankster

Moving to one of the biggest cities, you had your hopes high, but not too high. You knew it wasn’t a perfect place, with perfect people who had perfect lives and perfect apartments. There were the dumpster divers, the druggies in the alleyways, and the snobs that flaunted their glittery 24 caret plumage on their wrists and necks, suffocating themselves with mink coats and expensive cigarettes. But you were determined to ignore all of it, the people who mattered were like you; starving, but alive, living their big dreams regardless of the struggle. You clung to those people, the places they frequented, and learned to love and appreciate the side of this city that was your new home. You were stable and free now, able to pursue the things you enjoyed and make a living to support yourself. 

Keep reading

Sons of a Thunder Storm (Part Two)

Part One

AN: Um sooo more Ragnarssons’ in modern time xD They’ll be the death of the reader

Before you’d gone to bed you showed the boys how to make breakfast and to your horror there was nothing but a huge mess left for you when you got up. “Where is everyone?” You asked Ivar who was glued to the TV.

“They went to bathe, there was noticeable concern about us leaving mess everywhere so my brothers have gone to the pond to wash.” He muttered without looking at you.

“What!” This had him looking away for a second as you hopped about putting your tatty crocks on and ran through your back garden, finding the fence had been moved so the boys could get to your neighbor’s pond.

Keep reading

EXO’s S/O Is Sassy!

contains: fluff / sass / thirsty boys / slight NSFW / more sass

[[ // Masterlist // ]]

// Minseok

Minseok came home from the practice in the mood again, but you weren’t. You had so much work to do, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to finish it all.

He put his hand on your knee. “How much more do you have to do, Jagi?”

“A lot.”

“Do you think you might want a break soon?” he asked, leaning in close to you.

“No time.”

He nipped your ear. “We can be quick.”

“I didn’t know that all those months ago, I had said yes to dating a walking, talking boner! Silly me! I should have gotten an entire man!”

Minseok leaned back, eyes wide. He’d gotten the message loud and clear and left you alone to work. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him grab his laptop and leave the room.

The next day though, you were the one feeling needy, and you hoped you hadn’t shut him down too hard.

Of course not; it’s Minseok. He’s always ready to go to town with you.

Originally posted by squishy-mushy

// Junmyeon

You were watching old episodes of Everybody Hates Chris when Junmyeon walked in front of the TV doing the Growl choreography.


“I am moving!” he joked. “으르렁 으르렁 으르렁 대!”

“Boy, if you don’t get out of the way, I will knock you into next week.”

He kept dancing…

Seven days later, Junmyeon showed up at the door with flowers. You took them, but still had scorn on your face. “Have you learned your lesson?" 

He bowed. "Yes, Jagi, my love.”

“Okay.” You stepped aside and let him in.

“Can I make it up to you?” he pleaded.

“I don’t know, can you?” You crossed your arms.

His lips went straight to your neck, and you allowed it.

Originally posted by junmayeon

// Yixing

It wasn’t often you got snippy around Yixing, because he never provoked you, but the flight attendant sure did when he woke you up by rudely lifting your seat and slamming your tray closed.

“What was that?”

“We’re landing,” he said, not looking at you.

“Hmm. Glad to know we’re flying Asshole Airlines. I’ll remember next time we need to travel.”

Yixing had his eyes wide next to you, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

“Never. Again,” you said to him, your signal that this was a business you would no longer be patronizing.

He nodded and pulled you close to him so you could calm down. Being near him always did that. You rested your hot head on his chest until you landed in Changsha, cooled down and ready to meet his parents.

Originally posted by ygyixing

// Baekhyun

“I’m creeping in your heart bae!” Baekhyun sang in your ear as he hugged you tightly. Sometimes you were in the mood for his antics, but today was not one of those days. You were stressed and just needed to focus on your work so it could be done.

“Baekhyun, if you sing one more line…”

“Creeping, creeping, creeping!!!”

“Hey, you know who wants to hear you? Why don’t you go find Chanyeol? He loves hearing your loud mouth.”

Baekhyun stopped singing and slinked away from you singing softly, “You huuurt me… so bad, so bad… you huuurt me…”

Later on when you were no longer stressed, you felt bad, but he wouldn’t let you make it up to him.

“No, I think you made it clear you hate me now, Jagi! I’m going to sleep in Chanyeol’s bed tonight!”

“Baeeekie, don’t be like that…”

You reeled him back into your arms with promises of cuddles and kisses, reminding him that when you were stressed, you got crankier.

Originally posted by iyeolie

// Jongdae

You and Jongdae looked at the spilled milk between the two of you.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me pour,” he said.

“ThiS wOulDn’T haVe HapPenED iF yOU haD juSt LeT me pOur!” you repeated in your most derisive imitation of Jongdae possible.

“Ahhh waeee!”

“ahHh wAeEE!” you mocked again. “Sit your butt down and let me fix my own breakfast.”

Jongdae was taken aback and left the kitchen. As you wiped the floor and added the little bit of milk you had left to your Frosted Flakes, you felt like you might have been a little harsh. It was only milk; you could buy more.

You walked into the dining room ready to apologize, but you were surprised to find Jongdae giving you his bedroom eyes.

“What… are you serious?” you asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t know you could be so sassy, Jagi…” he growled at you.

Somehow, Jongdae always got his way. An hour later, you sat down to extremely soggy cereal with a slight ache in your legs.

Originally posted by chenclusive

// Chanyeol

Chanyeol texted you sweet things often when he wasn’t around, but sometimes you liked to mess with him.

He sent: Hello aaaangle

You sent: I never knew I was an angle

He sent: Of course, you’re my one and only angle :)

You sent: What kind of angle am I?

He sent: An angle with more beauty than any other

Then he sent: Wait… why didn’t you tell me that was the wrong word.  How long were you going to let me type the wrong word

You sent: Learn how to spell, Chan

He sent: I’m not coming home from the studio tonight

You didn’t answer, and in an hour, he showed up at the door, worried that you were mad at him.  You’d played him right into your hands once again, and had him begging for your cuddles and your attention.  You gave it in small doses until you were ready to give him your undivided attention.

Originally posted by dailypetal

// Kyungsoo

You were watching TV on the couch alone when Kyungsoo changed the channel without asking you.


“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, sitting next to you. “This is that show I said was really good.”

“I’m not going to like it if it’s interrupting my drama. Change it back.”

“I thought we could watch this together, since it’s a rerun from the beginning.”

“Kyungsoo… do you like your face?” you asked, turning to him. “If you do, I suggest you change the channel back.”

Little did you know, you had just declared a war. Kyungsoo was the king of threats. The war escalated to near nuclear levels before you decided to call it a stalemate because both of the shows had gone off!

“…What do you want to do now?” he asked.

“Eat your face,” you said with a smirk. “I like your face.” Kyungsoo’s angry side really got you going for some reason.

Originally posted by kyungsuhos

// Jongin

“I missed seeing you, Jagi,” he said, holding you close to him, sounding more sincere than he’d ever sounded about anything.  He had been gone for nearly a month and had only been able to Skype you three times total.

“I don’t blame you… if I couldn’t see me for a month, I’d miss me too.”

Jongin laughed and hit you lightly on the shoulder, and you laughed along with him.  It was just one of those overly-cocky moods that popped up on occasion, turning your usually confident self up a few notches.

“Jaaagi, I’m serious!”  He calmed down.  “I missed you a lot.”

He shyly pulled you into his lap and held your hand against his chest.

You pecked him on the nose and he grinned bigger than you’d ever seen him grin as he stared lovingly into your eyes.  You could probably get him to agree to whatever you wanted him to do.  Hmm… what did you want him to do…?

Originally posted by iamlatinaandilovekpop

// Sehun

“Jagi, what do you think of this outfit? Jaw dropping?”

Sehun stepped out of the dressing room and did a twirl for you. You stepped forward and took the tag on the leather jacket.

“Only thing jaw dropping is how much it costs. Find something else.”

“This is the best thing in the store… don’t I deserve the best?” he whined.

“I think you can learn a lesson from Tao. He says cheap clothes become expensive when he wears them, not the other way around.”

Sehun’s eyes went wide with a “what did you just say to me?!” face and you pushed him back into the changing room.

The door opened a few seconds later and he had his signature “not having it” face on. “Maybe if you made more money, we could have anything we wanted.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a brat we wouldn’t have to get every little thing you see!”

It sounded like a real fight to the other customers in the store, but when you got to the car, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Sehun secretly liked it when you sassed him back… he liked it a lot. Almost as if it was a kink of his and he provoked you on purpose sometimes. Almost.


Originally posted by iyeolie

likingthistoomuch  asked:

Sherlolly. 33. For the theme n short fic ask

celebrity/fan au - Fun! Thanks, Gee!! This turned out a wee bit longer than I intended. Hope you like. ~Lil~ (I’ve got lots more to fill. I’m working on them and appreciate them all!)

John Watson was pissed. There were about a thousand places he’d rather be at the moment. (Like on a date with the lovely Miss Morstan, which he had to cancel when Sherlock had stormed into the clinic, demanding his presence just as he was getting ready to leave!) Riding in the back of a cab on the way to some book signing with his broody best friend was nowhere on that list. 

“Are you going to explain this?” he asked. 

When Sherlock had said ‘book signing’ John had waited impatiently for the upshot. Where was the murder? Where was the puzzle?

“No,” the detective answered.

The doctor clenched his fist and cracked his neck. He’s your friend. You will not strangle him in the backseat of a cab. John took in the other man’s appearance for a moment. That’s when he noticed the difference. Sherlock The Body’s Just a Transport Holmes always wore the most expensive clothes and took far too much care with his hair to really believe in that ‘beauty is just a construct’ nonsense. But today… today the man was polished within an inch of his life! Also, he was undoubtedly nervous. John couldn’t remember ever seeing the man so unsettled.

“Sherlock? Are you..?” 

The detective’s head whipped toward him. “What?” he asked with thinly veiled aggression.

There is something going on here. Though Sherlock often pointed out that his friend didn’t see ‘certain things’ - not observing, he called it - John had learned a lot about the man sitting next to him in their two years of friendship. That’s when it hit him; he had to force himself not to smirk.

“Does this have something to do with that book? The pathology book?” John asked, almost certain that he had it figured out. 

Baker Street was never quite ‘clean’ (even though John bitched at his friend like an old fishwife) but it was somewhat better than when he had first moved in and the man-child did make some effort to put away his toys. In the last month, however, John had often noticed a book sitting next to Sherlock’s chair. Then he noticed it in the kitchen late one night and on the settee the next afternoon. He even found it in the bathroom one day. At one point he had wondered if the detective didn’t own several copies of the damn thing. 

“This isn’t a case at all. You just want to meet the author of that book.”

The detective smirked, though it lacked his usual confidence. “It seems I’m finally rubbing off on you, John. Keep paying attention and soon you’ll know the difference between a suspect and a witness.”

“At least I know who the prime minister is,” he mumbled under his breath.

Twenty-five minutes later they were walking into a small bookstore in Soho. 

“Not much of a turnout,” John commented. There were no lines and the store wasn’t much bigger than the sandwich shop below their flat. 

“How many people do you suppose are interested in forensic pathology?” He said the word ‘people’ like it was tantamount to a single cell organism. And one that he didn’t particularly like.

“Still…” John started as they made their way to the back of the shop. That’s when he saw her. A tiny smiling woman sitting next to a mountain of books talking to a spotty faced teenaged girl in large, ill-fitting glasses.

“… if you’re really interested, leave me your email and I’ll send you some information,” the woman said. 

The girl gasped. “You’d do that?”

“Of course! I wish I had someone to point me in the right direction when I was younger. I’d love to help in any way I can,” the woman returned, smiling brightly.

“I… I…” the teen stammered. “I don’t know what to say. I mean… you’re my favourite pathologist of all time!” 

Favourite pathologist? Do people have favourite pathologists? For a moment John thought the girl was going to cry, but she managed to write down her email and shake hands with the author before hurrying off to join a group of girls standing to the side. They all squealed as they left. Weird

He was so distracted by the spectacle that he almost missed Sherlock’s approach. 

“Hello, Dr. Hooper,” the detective said as he handed her his worn copy of the book. 

I didn’t even notice that! Him and his damn pockets! John did notice, however, that his friend’s voice was even deeper than usual. 

“Hi!” the woman said as she took the book, smiling and blushing up at his friend. 

John had seen this before… many, many times. That man’s looks were such a waste! The woman I could have pulled with those damn curls! He could make a witness, of the right sexual persuasion, sing like a canary with the slightest hint of fake flirtation.

“It seems I got in right under the wire,” Sherlock said.

“Yes. You might just be my last victim,” she replied with a giggle. 

When he smiled John realised that something was off. That wasn’t Sherlock’s false ‘get what he needs from a woman smile’. The man looked genuinely happy. What the hell?

“You’re much better at forensic analysis than comedy, Miss Hooper,” he said with none of the bite of his usual commentary.

Her face started to fall, but Sherlock quickly followed up with, “That wasn’t an insult. This book is brilliant, doctor. But you know that, don’t you? How many weeks has it been a bestseller?”

“A few.” She bit her lip and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Um, whom do I make this out to?”

Ah, John thought, who will Sherlock be today? Nigel Britwistle? Ridgewell  Luckinbill, perhaps? Felix Pickles was one of his personal favourits.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, causing John to do a double take. 

“That’s an unusual name,” Dr. Hooper said as she began to write. “Old English?” 

“It is,” Sherlock answered, practically beaming.

When she finished, she handed him the book and stood up. “Well, I’m finished for today,” she said as she started to box up the books from the table. 

“Did you have a good turnout?” Sherlock asked and then he did the strangest thing of all… he started to help her! 

“I did, actually. About five hundred, since lunch. Yesterday’s turnout was better.”

“Yes, I had wanted to make it to your signing at Waterstone’s. Unfortunately, I had a case,” Sherlock said as he added another book to the box.

Waterstone’s? That store was huge! John was more than a bit shocked. It seemed that this Dr. Hooper was the J.K. Rowling of forensic pathology!

“A… case?” she asked. “What sort of case?”

“I’m a detective,” his friend responded far less arrogantly than usual.

“You’re a..?”

“I should clarify, I don’t work for the Yard. I’m a consulting detective. The only one in the world, actually.”

There’s the arrogance.


“Yes. I invented the job,” he explained as he finished up with the books. “I’d love to tell you more if you’re not busy.”

“Ahh…” She looked at John (possibly for the first time) and then back to Sherlock, seemingly a bit apprehensive.

“Coffee, I thought, if you like,” Sherlock said in a rush. “There’s a decent shop just around the corner.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before saying, “Just let me speak to the manager to let him know that I’m all finished.” She started to walk away but paused and gave them both a pointed look. “And where we’re going, of course.”

Once she was out of hearing distance, John turned to his friend. “All right. I’m flummoxed. What the hell’s going on?”

Sherlock was watching her as she spoke to the store manager. “I believe that I have a date, John. Do keep up.”

“A date? You don’t date! What do you need her for? A case?” he asked, then thought for a moment. “Oh! You found a mistake in her book and want to reopen one of her old cases.”

“That book is flawless, John. As is her work. It’s not a case.”

“Are you trying to recruit her to work at St. Barts?” Nearly everyone at the hospital basically hated the man! “I doubt she’ll give up a lucrative book deal to be your personal whipping boy, no matter how many time you use that voice on her. She seems too smart for that.”

Turning to him with a glare, Sherlock said, “Of course she’s smart, John! She’s brilliant! And I don’t need another whipping boy, I’ve got you for that. No, I need her for something else entirely.” His tone softened at the end and his face… well, that was a look John had quite literally never seen before.

“And what is that, exactly?”

Sherlock smiled brightly then turned his attention back to the woman across the store. “Pay close attention, my friend, because I believe you’ve just met the future Dr. Holmes.” 

After several seconds of stunned silence, John finally found his voice. “Are you screwing with me?”

“Or perhaps I’ll take her name, who knows?”

“You’re joking!”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking the woman’s name. Don’t be so provincial.”

“I’m not talking about that, you tit!” John hissed. “Are you winding me up, because…”

“No, John,” Sherlock interrupted. “Not about this. Not about her.” He picked up his signed copy of the book and looked at the inscription with a grin before turning back to his friend. “Come with us and have one cup of coffee, then make some excuse and bugger off. Got it?”

He nodded mutely still too stunned to respond. Sherlock didn’t do relationships and had never mentioned marriage in the entire time John had know him, at least not reverently. Not only that but he had just met this woman. Even having read her book, how could he possibly be contemplating spending the rest of his life with her? It went against everything he thought he knew about the man. Then there was the woman herself. What if she was married? Or gay? What if she had a deep and burning hatred for tall, curly-haired, cocky bastards who thought they knew everything?

Just then Dr. Hooper walked back up. “Okay, Thomas knows I’m going with you so if my body turns up in the Thames, he’ll know who to blame.” She looked at John and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Sherlock beat him to the introduction. “This is my best friend, Dr. John Watson.”

John paused before offering the woman his hand. Sherlock had never introduced John as his best friend before. Associate, blogger, assistant and even friend on the very rare occasion, but never ‘best friend’. Finally extending his hand he said, “Nice to meet you, doctor. Sherlock is a big fan of yours.” He was proud of managing that much in his shocked state.

She blushed as released him to pick up her coat and bag. “Nice to meet you too.”

Once she was ready, the three of them proceeded out of the store and onto the pavement. John hung back, letting the pair walk in front of him so that he could observe them. A tiny part of him wanted to see the detective crash and burn, knowing for a fact that Sherlock knew nothing about women, at least nothing about how to date them.

“So, did you have questions about the book?” she asked.

“Not so much, no.” 

She didn’t respond, just looked up at the detective curiously. 

“I’d actually like to know more about you, if I’m honest.”

“There’s not much to tell, Mr. Holmes.”

“I beg to differ. And please, call me Sherlock.”

“Oh, well, then you should call me Molly, I suppose,” she replied with an awkward laugh. “What would you like to know?”

John wondered as well. Sherlock usually knew whatever he deemed important about a person at first glance.

“Everything, I should think. But let’s start with how you got that scar on your left index finger. It’s not a scalpel cut, far too ragged.” He stopped walking and took her hand in his to study closer. “Too old as well. You were eleven? Perhaps twelve.”

“Yes,” the woman answered breathlessly.

Sherlock gently ran two fingers across the old scar then looked up. “A soup can,” he said with a knowing smirk on his lips.

Dr. Hooper had never taken her eyes off of his face the entire time. “How did..?”

“It’s my job to know, Molly. And I’ll tell you all about it.” He started walking but didn’t release her hand.

“You will?” she asked, seemingly unconcerned that she was now holding hands with the man that she’d just met.

“Indeed. But I believe that we have plenty of time for that.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Come now, you’re the famous writer, Molly. Can’t you see that this is just the first page of the book?”

John never knew why Sherlock had brought him that day and he certainly didn’t know why he’d been allowed to witness such an overtly romantic display, but he was grateful nevertheless. 

Besides, it made his best man’s speech a breeze to write.

Thanks again, Gee! Love you!

Because Adam Parrish’s bisexuality is very important to me and I felt the need to write down the Feelings I was having. This has no plot, just so you know.        


It’s really you on my mind

He’s fifteen years old and tired. Sitting in front of the trailer he calls home, he lets himself feel it for just a second. Allows himself to acknowledge the heaviness pulling at his limbs, his drooping eyelids getting pulled down by some invisible power; allows himself a moment of anger and exhaustion. Feeling sorry for himself and letting his misery take over his senses isn’t something he necessarily likes to do. He knows his life sucks, there’s no use dwelling on that. He also knows there are people who have it worse and that he will get out of here. One day one day one day. It’s a song that replays itself inside his head when things get rough, when he feels alone and his father tells him he’s worthless, with his fists and words alike, when his mom looks at it all with pursed lips or ignores it altogether. When the trailer park is suffocating and the dust invades his lungs, makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes doubt creeps in and then it’s almost impossible for him to believe it will ever happen; he’ll be stuck here for the rest of his days, become a copy of Robert Parrish because it’s his fate, it’s in his blood and he’ll have a son sitting in the exact same position, singing to himself one day one day one day.

Snapping out of that depressing train of thought, he suddenly remembers the free magazine he picked up at the grocery store earlier. From the rack next to the entry, filled with daily news and picked up by the busy fingers of housewives and old people taking their weekly stroll. He’s passed it numerous times and never felt the need to take one with him, until today. He doesn’t know what came over him, just that he desperately wanted to pretend to do something normal. And why not?

He takes it out now, from under his thin jacket, unfolds it and looks at the picture of some actress he vaguely recognizes posing on the front.

It’s been so long since he read something just for him. He used to go the library when he was younger, used to spend full days there, befriending the old, sweet lady behind the desk, reading everything he could get his hands on. But when he realized there’s a way to escape this, that the world is so much wider than the name double-wide suggest, that maybe there’s a way for him to not only read about magical places and people going on adventures, but actually live those things and see them for himself, the library turned into the last item on his list of things to do. He picked up several jobs and poured all his remaining time and energy into studying and getting A’s; the library was forgotten. At times, when the night is too heavy to sleep and the walls are too thin to not hear what’s playing in the bedroom next to his, he thinks of the old lady with her white hair that gave him pieces of her chocolate sometimes and wonders what happened to her. If she still works there, if maybe at times she wonders about him too after he abruptly stopped coming, if she’s even still alive.

Now he opens his magazine and pictures the one his father reads and notices the stark difference between the two. He rifles through it, not particularly caring about the content or finding it exceptionally captivating, but enjoying himself nonetheless. Skimming through it, he abruptly lets it fall open on some ad, perfume he thinks, featuring a man, a car and the gray sky above. The man is leaning against his expensive, fast car, wearing expensive designer clothes. Adam’s enthralled by how casually powerful the man looks and by the quiet authority he radiates. Like nothing can hurt him, like he’s above pain. At first, it’s just the power that evokes Adam’s wonder, then he pays closer attention to the guy’s face; zooms in on his high cheekbones, the strand of dark hair falling on his forehead, his pronounced jawline. The way his clothes fit him just right, accentuating the right things, the right way and Adam is in awe.

There’s a mixture of several things going through Adam’s head, the most prominent being want. Which he shuts down immediately without realizing why and replaces with one day one day one day. He looks at the car again. Without giving it second thought, he rips the picture from the magazine and folds it carefully, stuffs it into his pocket.

The picture is burned in his memory now and he thinks he’ll use it as motivation, to try to become that person one day. Because that’s what he wants. That’s the want overpowering his thoughts. Being that man, radiating the same power, being able to dress like that, owning a car like that and doing it all as effortlessly as if he’d been born into it.

He takes it out sometimes, from under his mattress. He’s not sure why he feels the need to hide it like that, it’s not like there’s something bad on there. He just doesn’t want his dad to find it and realize that Adam wants to be that man, he tells himself. He doesn’t want his parents to know that that is his goal in life, he tells himself. And he tries not to think of the why’s to much. Why he decided on that picture, why he hides it, why it makes him want.

Years later he’ll realize that maybe it wasn’t just the power the man radiated and the effortless way he looked like money and success and was everything Adam wanted to be but wasn’t. He’ll think that maybe it was a mixture of those things, combined with the fact that he was extremely attracted to the guy, but just didn’t realize it. That the want to be him, could’ve easily also been the want to be with him among other things. He’ll think that there have been so many more instances in his life where he interpreted his own feelings wrong, or simply repressed them and twisted them so that he didn’t have to face the real thing. Subconsciously of course, until Ronan started looking at him and the pieces all fell in their place and he realized something about himself that had been there for a long time, but was never allowed out.

When he gets together with Ronan, he analyzes the feelings he had for Blue and he realizes they were just as real as the one he has for Ronan. Maybe they weren’t as strong, but they were there. And something clicks inside him, because he knows now that Ronan wasn’t the first boy he was ever attracted to, which is what he thought in the beginning, and he knows that he’s still very much into girls too, but that it’s all fine. He’s got time to find himself and figure out what that means for him. Which he does in great detail. Adam Parrish, a man of science, likes to understand things, approaches this objectively, eyes on his goal.

He doesn’t doubt his attraction or love for Ronan because he is absolutely sure that those things are there. He does not doubt his feelings for Ronan once. He just wonders whether he’s the only boy he’s ever liked or if there were others.

When he was younger, he didn’t give his sexuality much thought. He always thought he was straight so there was no real reason to think about it and anyway, living under his parents’ roof, the possibility of being something else than straight, stepping out of line of what his dad thought was right, wasn’t much of an option. He liked Blue, he had a girlfriend before that, when he was fourteen. She gave him his first kiss, but other than that it wasn’t anything exceptional. She was a girl from his school he had to work with one day. She was pretty and she smelled nice. She had a gap between her teeth and he remembers finding that charming. They worked on the chemistry project in the library, she kissed him one day, he liked it, she asked him to be her girlfriend and eventually she broke it off, no doubt expecting dates and time spent together, but Adam simply did not have the money or time to spare. He didn’t like her that much that it really hurt or anything, but it stung a little. Knowing dating just wasn’t for him, yet another thing on his seemingly endless list of one day, something he’d do when he got out of here.

If he was being honest with himself, he was a little disappointed. It’s not like he expected butterflies to fly around and the sun to start shining just for them, but the couple kisses they shared didn’t really do anything to him. That didn’t stop him from wanting more of them, though. Her lips were soft and brought him affection he had missed his whole life. The feeling of her hands on his hips warmed his skin in a way he was not familiar with, so even if real feelings were missing, he also definitely didn’t want her to break up with him .

He figured it was better anyway. He put her out of his head and forget about her quickly enough, only sometimes allowing her to open the doors in his mind and wondering that if he could’ve been able to show her a little more attention, she’d have stayed longer.

Then he met Blue and he really liked her too. Her originality and fire drew him in and did things to his head. It was easier with her somehow because he saw her in the company of Gansey, because she was pretty affectionate herself and wasn’t afraid to say what she thought or let him know what she wanted or didn’t want. She took his hand and it was easy to lay his head in her lap. It was nice and he knew that if he were to kiss her, it’d be different than the kisses he shared with his former girlfriend. He thought maybe he’d feel something else than simply that’s nice.

It was good. While it lasted.

Because of course it didn’t last. He was Adam Parrish, why would he be able to love someone the right way? Maybe love was a big word, but why would he be able to – to be enough? Because that was exactly what it was. He was not enough.

The words it’s not going to be you echoed through his mind for days on end and the fear that he would end up exactly like his father encased him, held him captive. When those words came out of her mouth, he knew. He just knew that if it wasn’t him, it’d be Gansey. Because of course. Of fucking course.

When he gets together with Ronan, everything is great and his anger doesn’t matter because Ronan has his own anger inside to match Adam’s. They get together and every touch, every word shared between them leaves a trace in his skin, strikes a match until his insides are burning with want and need and love. Finally he can feed his hunger. Ronan doesn’t mind if Adam kisses him fiercely, barely giving him space to breathe, all but attacks his mouth with his own. He doesn’t mind Adam taking of his shirt and tracing the warm skin, following the trail of his tattoo with his mouth. Doesn’t mind the hickies on his neck, the scratches on his back.

The physical aspects of the relationship is explosive and wonderful. But that’s not all. Ronan is the first person to ever be truly gentle with him, the first person that looks at him as if he deserves everything.

He makes Adam laugh harder than anything ever has, sometimes so much he literally cannot breathe, until he has tears in his eyes. Ronan knows when to crack a joke, make fun of Gansey, draw out a grin with force if he has to after a shitty day at work. But also knows when to leave it alone and simply let Adam lay his head on his lap on the couch and gently run his fingers through his hair when he’s feeling down. Because the truth is, while Adam Parrish has always thought of himself as unknowable, somehow Ronan Lynch has managed to know him.

He knows him. He understands him. Like no one ever has. And Adam realizes that, even if he didn’t notice before, he had always understood Ronan the same way. Back when he couldn’t stand being in the same room with him for more than five minutes before one of them made a biting remark. Even then, they’d understood each other on some level.

So, no. If there is one thing in the world he is absolutely sure of, it’s his love for Ronan. While figuring out his sexuality is definitely confusing, that is not. It’s the surest and realist thing in his life at the moment.

Once, when Adam was about ten, he had a friend. Called Jason. The boy had curly black hair, dark skin and piercing brown eyes that glittered in the sun and made Adam feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was the first real friend he’d ever had, or as real as fleeting friendship at that age can be anyway and Adam cared for him deeply. When Jason smiled, he had a dimple and for some reason having it directed at him, filled Adam with an indescribable pride. There was something about him that made Adam want to be around him as much as possible and never let go. Seen as Jason was his first friend, he didn’t think much of it and figured that’s just what friendship was.

The whole thing was over pretty quickly, Jason moved away. Adam is pretty sure he never even knew his last name.

When he thinks back to that now, he wonders if it wasn’t something other than just friendship. And then he thinks back to the first time Gansey had laid his charming eyes on him and shown Adam his electric smile and the feeling that had evoked inside him and wow. That’s a whole other realization.

Now lying on his small mattress above the church that’s his home, next to the boy he thinks of when he thinks of home, he wonders how he never noticed what really, was there all along. He thinks it’s probably a mixture of wanting to survive and homophobic bullshit shoved in his head by the people that raised him.

Now, lying on his small mattress above the church that’s his home, next to the boy he thinks of when he thinks of home, he lets himself feel and think and understand something about himself.

‘Why the fuck are you thinking this hard? It’s two in the morning’, Ronan mumbles into the crook of his shoulder, sleep already pulling at his senses, one hand wrapped around Adam’s waist.

‘I’m not.’ It’s a lie, automatically leaving his mouth. Adam spends his life thinking too hard, over analyzing every little thing. He’s never had to share the inner workings of his mind with anyone.

‘Yes, you are. You’ve got that little crunch between your eyebrows. That means you’re thinking too hard.’ But this is Ronan and, again, Adam is taken aback by how good Ronan knows him. The inner workings of his mind may be a mystery to most people, but Ronan has never been like most people.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while, lets the silence fill the room. Ronan kisses his shoulder and Adam can feel his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Soft as a confession whispered in the dead of the night.

‘I’m bisexual’, he says then, finally, shattering the quiet.

And it’s out there. The nervous flutter in his stomach has nothing to do with fear or dread. He feels most comfortable around Ronan and this is nothing new really. It’s just that it’s the first time he’s ever said those words aloud, the first time he knows with a certainty they’re real. And that sensation is new to him, it flutters in his stomach, but a good kind of fluttering. One that’s as pleasant as the spring sun warming his skin after winter has gone to sleep.

Ronan makes a noise that could be interpreted in many different ways, but the way he pulls Adam closer to him and nuzzles his nose to his temple and drops a kiss on his ear, indicates it’s most likely one of encouragement and support. The gesture fills Adam’s body with warmth and his heart beats with the incredible love he has for this boy.

‘What brought this on?’

‘I don’t know. Just thinking back on my life. I have this ad in my car, for perfume or something. And I always convinced myself I kept it because one day I wanted to be the guy. But now I think I kept it because I was ridiculously attracted to him even though I didn’t realize it.’

Ronan lets out a small laugh. ‘Well, I’m fucking gay. I think I always sort of knew though.’

Adam wonders if Ronan has ever admitted to that before and he’s pretty sure he never has. He simply got together with Adam and that was enough for them. But here, in the safety and comfort of this room and each other, it’s okay.

He thinks of how Ronan used to hate himself so much and that, some of it at least, was tied to his sexuality. How he used to be so angry and scared and hidden from everyone. How self acceptance was a long and painful process for him. He thinks of how proud he is of Ronan, of how strong he is and of how far he’s come. To say those words without shame above the church he visits every Sunday. The church where he belongs but for a long time felt like an intruder, like he was wrong.

Ronan shouldn’t have to give up parts of himself because others won’t accept him. He shouldn’t have to hide. He’s gay, but he also believe in god with an intensity that Adam saw reflected in his eyes the few times he has accompanied him to church.

Adam himself is not religious, but he respects it and can see the beauty of it in certain things. But more importantly, he’s aware of how deeply rooted it is in Ronan’s life and how it’s a part of him. Adam loves all parts of Ronan, wants him to be able to love all parts of himself too. He’s glad Ronan feels comfortable enough saying those words above his church.

‘I’m glad you finally figured it out. ‘M proud of you,’ Ronan mumbles then, almost asleep, saying things he maybe wouldn’t have said wide awake, but that Adam would’ve gotten anyway.

Adam plants a kiss on the top of his head and closes his head. ‘I’m proud of you too.’

And that’s how they fall asleep, entwined like vines and trusting someone, finally, to accept them for who they are.

They’re growing still. And discovering themselves, but now that they’re safe and relatively happy, most of the time, it’s a process Adam actually is kind of looking forward to. Maybe he doesn’t have to be unknowable. Maybe he can just be Adam Parrish, loved by his friends and boyfriend, safe, attending Harvard in the fall, bisexual, in love and proud. Of who he is.

Proud of being Adam Parrish. He decides he rather likes that thought.

Thanks for reading! Title from Chanel by Frank Ocean, because that song is almost as Bi™ as Adam Parrish is 

anonymous asked:

I saw that a while back you wrote about who needs therapy the most in the RFA. Going off of that, since I see this discussed a lot in the fandom, who do you think might have suffer from mental illness? Everyone struggles and is deserving of help. That's obvious and I hope people know that. I just see a lot of different opinions on the subject, and since (with the exclusion of Rika) nothing's ever confirmed in-game, I'd love to get your perspective. Your analyses are so well-done!

This request was a little difficult mainly because I really don’t want to insult anyone or say something wrong that could hurt anyones feelings or such. Therefor I want to preface this by saying that I am, by no means, a professional. I wanted to become a Psychiatrist so I did learn a couple of things on my own, but nowhere near enough to be accurate about everything. I have a couple of ideas what kind of mental illnesses the Mystic Messenger crew might have based on internet research, but as always don’t quote me on this…


Zen =  Body Dysmorphic Disorder or BDD

Honestly I don’t really think that Zen has any mental illnesses, after all you can struggle in life without it being a full blown mental illness, but if I would had to say one that he might have I’d choose BDD. Not all people suffering from BDD are those stick thin girls that see themselves as overweight when looking in the mirror. There are many nuances to every mental disorder, including BDD. Let’s have a look why I think Zen might have BDD:

✓ preoccupation with physical appearance

✓ belief that one has an abnormality or defect in appearance that makes her ugly

✓ frequently looking in the mirror

✗ avoiding mirrors altogether

✓ believing that others take special notice of ones appearance in a negative way

✗ frequent cosmetic procedures with little satisfaction

✓ excessive grooming

✓ feeling extremely self-conscious

✗ refusing to appear in pictures

✗ skin picking

✓ comparing appearance with that of others

✗ avoiding social situations

✓ camouflaging (with body position, clothing, makeup, hair, hats, etc.)

✓ excessive exercise

✓ changing clothes excessively

As I said many times before, I feel like Zen’s excessive narcissism is nothing but a facade to hide that he really just hates his body and himself due to what happened in his childhood. In order to overcome one negative extreme he through himself into another extreme, self-hate to excessive self-love, even going as far as to pursue a career where everyone could and would see him. He constantly talks about his looks, is self-conscious about his albinism, constantly stares at himself in mirrors or phones, knows that people notice his albinism and fears it’s negative, constantly grooms himself, is self-conscious, has an excessive need to compare himself to others, exercises excessively and for his job he constantly has to camouflage and change clothing. Out of all the symptoms for it, Zen sure fits a lot of them.
There is even a good reason why he might have it:

?   having biological relatives with body dysmorphic disorder

✓ childhood teasing

?  physical or sexual abuse

✓ low self-esteem

✓ societal pressure or expectations of beauty

He got teased by his parents and hated by his teacher. He had low self-esteem because of it and then of course societal pressure got added to the mix later on once he became an actor. I’m not sure whether he suffered physical or sexual abuse, although I wouldn’t completely cut out the possibility, if you consider that it was hinted at that his teacher had a thing for him as well as the fact that his parents seemed like the abusive type and he was in a biker gang. I also don’t know whether his parents might have had BDD, but it is a possibility. Either way, looking at all this Zen could be suffering from BDD, although I don’t fully believe he does.

Yoosung = Addictive Personality Disorder

I already mentioned before that I think that Yoosung has quite the addictive personality and look there, the shoe kind of fits. I’m basically 99% sure that Yoosung has some kind of addictive personality disorder or something similar now let’s see why:

✓ Low self-esteem

✓ A tendency to impulsive behaviour

✗ An antisocial personality

✓ Difficulty delaying gratification

✓ A disposition toward sensation seeking

✓ Someone who values nonconformity to an extreme

✓ Someone with a weak commitment to the goals for achievement that are generally accepted by “normal” society

✓ Someone who is tolerant of deviant behaviour

✓ Someone who is socially alienated

✓ Having an increased sense of stress

Basically…almost all of the symptoms fit to some extend or the other. It is undeniable that Yoosung has low self-esteem, something that is mentioned in basically all of the routes. He is very impulsive and never thinks things through, like getting his eye almost cut out by one Saeran Choi, because he just had to safe you right then right now without planning. He barely makes any friends outside of his games and the people he already knew, namely the RFA members, when Yoosungs wants to play he needs to do it instantly without any patience to wait, he has given up on studying in order to pursue his addiction – gaming – tolerates a lot of deviant behaviour going on in the RFA, namely whatever one particular hacker is up to, and despite being a lazy fart who never cleans nor studies nor does care for himself properly he seems to be under constant stress. On top of that he is completely obsessed with the women in his life; first Rika then you. He latches on and is incapable of letting go until something new comes around that catches his attention. All of these are pretty fitting, don’t you think?

♨ Jaehee = Anxiety Disorder ♨

Just like with Zen I don’t really think that Jaehee has any disorders or illnesses in particular, just your every day stress of Korean workplaces wearing her down. However, if I had to pick one that might be fitting it would be Anxiety Disorder. To clarify, I don’t really mean the anxiety most people would picture; being afraid to speak in public etc – as we all know that Jaehee is capable of doing that – but more on the lines of being constantly stressed and on edge:

?  Irrational fears

✓ Muscle tension

?  Chronic indigestion

?  Stage fright

✓ Self-consciousness

✓ Panic, fear, and uneasiness

?  Flashbacks

✓ Perfectionism

?  Compulsive behaviors

✓ Self-doubt

✓ Problems sleeping

✓ Not being able to be still and calm

✓ Dizziness (mentioned in one of the bad endings)

The amount of question marks is precisely why I don’t really think she has it, but potentially could. A lot of those we cannot know for sure, as such things are never explicitly mentioned or even hinted in in the game, but I definitely could see being the case. I’m about 90% sure that Jaehee has compulsive behaviours as well as the kind of flashbacks connected to anxiety disorder. I also believe that while she is able to hold a meeting that speaking in front of people is something she had to force herself to learn and that Jaehee actually has stage fright. As for any physical symptoms I can’t even deduce whether she might have them or not, but as I said I could imagine it. Then again, I’m really not sure and this is all just me thinking of possibilities I don’t really think are true.

Jumin = Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder

This is something I have personal experience with, since I have OCPD. Just as a side note, OCPD is not OCD and has very little in common with what you see OCD being portrayed as in the media. Also, to make something clear, I am not giving my favourite my own disorder to feel connected to him. I feel connected to him, because I feel like he has the same disorder. Jumin is very similar to me, which is why I understand his struggles the best and connect to him. Now enough about me, let’s dig into what OCPD is and why I think Jumin has it:

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder is characterized by a preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and mental and interpersonal control, at the expense of flexibility, openness, and efficiency.

- may have such difficulty deciding which tasks take priority or what is the best way of doing some particular task that they may never get started on anything.

- prone to becoming upset or angry in situations in which they are not able to maintain control of their physical or interpersonal environment, although the anger is typically not expressed directly. On other occasions, anger may be expressed with righteous indignation over a seemingly minor matter.

-  may be especially attentive to their relative status in dominance-submission relationships and may display excessive deference to an authority they respect and excessive resistance to authority that they do not respect.

- Individuals with this disorder usually express affection in a highly controlled or stilted fashion and may be very uncomfortable in the presence of others who are emotionally expressive. Their everyday relationships have a formal and serious quality, and they may be stiff in situations in which others would smile and be happy. They carefully hold themselves back until they are sure that whatever they say will be perfect.

✓ Is preoccupied with details, rules, lists, order, organization and schedules

✓ Shows perfectionism which can interfere with task completion

✓ Is excessively devoted to work and productivity to the exclusion of leisure activities and friendships

✓ Is overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values

✓ Is unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value

✓ Is reluctant to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things

✓ Adopts a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes

✓ Shows significant rigidity and stubbornness

Is there really anything I need to explain about this? All of these fit Jumin like a glove tailored for him. There are really only two things that I need to clarify something on. For one we don’t know how Jumin acts about discarding things he has no logical need for, but I feel from the way he treats the pen his father gives him, that said point fits. Despite not needing a golden diamond pen and probably having a million more that work just the same he starts an entire search party to get it back, probably out of sentimental reasons but also because he can’t discard such things. As for the miserly spending style, something most people would disagree with, Jumin doesn’t waste money. He lives in luxury and he does like spending his money, but he doesn’t waste it. The things he buys or pays a lot of money for are practical for the better part; like a nutritionist and gym to keep him healthy. With the money he earns he could live a lot more extravagant than he already does, but he’s not wasteful and exactly like described values money and hoarding it. Other than that, everything else fits perfectly!

☼ Saeyoung/Seven = Major Depression ☼ 

Honestly guys, does this even need explaining? He’s flunking his depression in everyone’s faces all day, every day and yet no one seems to care. Despite the fact that he doesn’t have just ordinary depression but major depression. I’m talking hardcore bullshit here and rightly so. Let’s break this down once and for all:

✓ Fatigue or loss of energy almost every day

✓ Feelings of worthlessness or guilt almost every day

✓ Impaired concentration, indecisiveness

✓ Insomnia or hypersomnia almost every day

✓ Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in almost all activities nearly every day

✓ Restlessness or feeling slowed down

✓ Recurring thoughts of death or suicide

✓ Significant weight loss or gain

✓ Change in your appetite (not eating enough or overeating)

✓ Low self-esteem

✓ Feeling of hopeless

For a while I was torn between Saeyoung being just depressed or having manic depression aka bipolar disorder. I decided to depression, mainly because his ‘episodes’ of euphoria are mostly fake and don’t really happen in proper cycles. Then again, we only get to know them for eleven days and usually those cycles can take up to weeks when not regulated with the proper medication, so who knows. However, it’s a 100% clear that Saeyoung is majorly depressed. Other than his eccentric chatting behaviour he barely seems to have energy, even the smallest things can break his concentration, he never sleeps, other than his interest in cars he has no other interest or pleasurable activities left, Saeyoung constantly mentions how worthless he is, how guilty he feels over his brother, how hopeless he feels of getting out of where he’s got himself stuck and how he wants to die. As for the significant weight loss, he barely eats but what he eats is horrible junk. He should weight much much more than he does considering his diet, which I put into the same category as weight loss. Therefor Saeyoung shows all the symptoms of a majorly depressed person. 

☀ Saeran = Borderline Personality Disorder ☀

For a hot minute I thought about Saeran having depression as well, but I feel like his mental issues go a little deeper and more complicated than ‘just’ depression. Upon researching some of the symptoms he has compared to his twin brother I stumbled over BPD, not to be confused with bipolar disorder (happened to me ones). People with BPD usually experience symptoms like:

✓ Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

✓A pattern of intense and unstable relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, often swinging from extreme closeness and love to extreme dislike or anger

✓ Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self

✓ Impulsive and often dangerous behaviours

✓ Recurring suicidal behaviours or threats or self-harming behaviour

✓ Intense and highly changeable moods, with each episode lasting from a few hours to a few days

✓ Chronic feelings of emptiness

✓ Inappropriate, intense anger or problems controlling anger

✓ Having stress-related paranoid thoughts

✓ Having severe dissociative symptoms, such as feeling cut off from oneself, observing oneself from outside the body, or losing touch with reality

Much like with Saeyoung this case of mental illness needs very little explaining. The symptoms speak for themselves, as they perfectly fit to Saeran, all of them. Now some might say that he didn’t show those symptoms as a child and that is true, although I wouldn’t say that his BPD was caused only by what Rika did to him, although that surely played a big part. There are three main reasons that are considered risk factors: Genetics, Environmental and Social Factors and Brain Factors. The environmental/social factor is quite obviously what Rika did to Saeran. Most notable factors in that category are traumatic life events such as abuse (mother then Rika) and/or abandonment (his father then Saeyoung) during childhood. What Rika did to Saeran also works into the brain factors, as her torture probably caused structural and functional changes in his brain that changed his behaviour and way of thinking so drastically. As for the genetics, I actually wouldn’t be so surprised of the twins’ mother had some sort of mental disorder or even BPD that caused her to lash out on the boys like that and in Saeran’s case pass it on. It might even explain why he was sickly as a child while his brother wasn’t. Although that is purely theoretical, the rest isn’t as much. Poor baby…

📷 Jihyun/V = White Knight Syndrome 📷

Now I honestly have to say that I’m not sure whether White Knight Syndrome falls in the mental illness category or not, but it fit so perfectly to V and there was very little else I could have come up with, so I’m putting it into the list. Now what exactly is White Knight Syndrome or what are the symptoms:

✓ Fears emotional distance

✓ Is very emotionally vulnerable and sensitive

✓ Has a tendency to idealize the partner

✓ Has an extreme need to be viewed as important or unique

~  Tends to be self-critical or reactively blames, devalues, and manipulate others

In relationships:

✓ Is attracted to a needy partner or a partner with a history of trauma, loss, abuse, or addiction

✓ Fears being separated from the partner, losing the partner’s love or approval, or being abandoned by the partner

✓ Engages in controlling behaviour, often under the guise of helping

✓ Maintains or restores connection with the partner by being extremely helpful or good

✗  Responds ambivalently to the partner’s success

✓ Describes a sense of “oneness” with the partner

✓ Fails to recognize the partner’s manipulative behaviours

✓ Is seduced by the sexual or dramatic behaviour of the partner

✓ Evokes strong feelings in the partner in order to avoid his or her own emotional discomfort

✓ Maintains hope for a gratifying relationship by denying the reality of the partner’s issues

I mean…hello V? Other than the point about his response to his partner being ambivalent everything fits perfectly. That is precisely why I find it so irritating when people describe his feelings towards Rika as love. No, V did not love Rika or at least not in a healthy way. He loved her instability and he was obsessed with the idea of saving her. So much so that he was willing to manipulate, devaluate and fuck over the rest of his friends. The only reason I used ~ on that particular point is because while he is self-critical as well, he never reactively blames anyone but himself. Frankly rightly so. Anyone who thinks that V is in any way innocent is wrong. He didn’t stop Rika. Despite knowing of her plans all along he never once did anything to stop her and therefor he is almost as much at fault as Rika is. In fact my American law he would be charged with accessory to a hefty crime amongst other things earning him a couple of years in prison, just saying. I’m sure his White Knight Syndrome played into why he did what he did, but that doesn’t make him any more innocent nor excuses what torture other people were put through because he put Rika first and did nothing to stop her.

The Devil Wears Prada; This Newbie Wore Everything and Wore It Wrong

He stared at me lasciviously. The hostess stared at me disdainfully. It seemed every patron in the restaurant stared at me owlishly. My entire outfit, including the shoes, cost $80. I thought it was a superb ensemble when I left the house. I felt powerful, pretty. But as we waited to be seated those feelings slowly drained away. They all knew I was a newbie on my first POT date. And we all knew I was overdressed.

I didn’t truly understand as I got dressed that night that America is a very casual country. We don’t stand on the pomp and circumstance that our neighbors across the pond do. But this idea came to me instinctively when The Other One called me while I was in the uber on the way. He had somehow guessed that I was on a date with another man and wanted to see me. I could even wear the same outfit if I wanted. I immediately rejected that idea and then began to wonder why. The restaurant I had just left was on the list of 50 best restaurants in my city. So was The Other One’s restaurant. They were both Zagat rated. They were both heavily touted in local papers and magazines. Why did I dress as if I were going to an interview for one and not the other? It wasn’t because of the man. It was me. I didn’t truly understand the city I lived in before that night but something was beginning to dawn on me.

The Other One never told me where he was taking me. We could end up at a 5 star restaurant or a local bar. He did however always tell me that he loved how I always fit in perfectly. I acquired that skill after very careful observation of the other patrons of the places we went. No one was wearing a ball gown, a skin tight midi dress, super low cut tops. No one was wearing ripped jeans. The women were always dressed simply. Their denim was dark and their heels were only so high.

I took that knowledge and $75 to my favorite thrift store to buy what I call dating basics. Yes, I went to the thrift store. We all have at least one good one in our city that sells brands we recognize and maybe couldn’t afford if they hadn’t been donated by some kindly soul. That’s where I actually do most of my shopping.

I walked into the thrift store with only one rule in mind. Expensive does not equal: trendy, well dressed, stylish, or appropriate. I bought the following things:

  1. 2 pairs of dark denim jeans. The darker something is the harder it is to tell if it was well made. Besides the lighter the jean the more casual it is and while America is casual we haven’t relaxed that much
  2. Oxford or “button up” shirts. I got a white and a  blue striped. They go with my jeans and my next items really well.
  3. Skirts. I got an a line in a really cute floral pattern and a pencil skirt. The pencil skirt has enough stretch to show off my fantastic ass. They both can be easily dressed down with my next two items.
  4. Tshirts. Now v-necks aren’t for everyone but I love them. As a matter of fact they are one of the only reasons I go into stores like Forever21. I also love scoop neck and boat neck tees.
  5. Chambray shirts. These are my favorite things. He makes fun of me all the time because if we go into any clothing store, they are the first thing I look for. There is nothing you cannot wear them with. There isn’t a single pair of pants, or skirt, or shorts that it can’t work with. I currently own four. All of them but one are from the thrift store.
  6. Chunky men’s cardigans. These are my own personal things. I love how comfy they are and I love that they can make an outfit that might be too much (I’m looking at you black halter spandex midi dress) just right.
  7. A plain black maxi dress. It was five dollars. I wore it to a fundraiser in a $3 million historical home. Every woman in the place wanted it.
  8. A silk camisole. It has lace detail around the bust which added just the right amount of sex appeal. Works well with jeans and flats or heels. Under a chambray or with both of my skirts and it looks amazing under my next item.
  9. A leather jacket. This was my thrift store splurge at a whopping $25 dollars but it was a great buy. It makes even the simplest outfit really edgy and cool.

I’ve always been a bit of a shoe horse so I didn’t have to worry about that but I’d definitely recommend Nine West to the rest of my fellow newbies. They make less expensive and comfortable heels. I have the Love Fury heels in black leather and they are amazing. I can walk around in them all night drunk or sober and my feet are absolutely fine. I’ve also extended my wardrobe to include a form fitting black dress. I bought it from TJ Maxx for $20 and I love how I feel in it. Besides my $5 maxi dress, it is the one article of clothing I’m complimented on most.  I don’t own any “real” jewelry so I don’it wear any when we go out. He’s noticed and remarked on it several times. I’m sure, based on his comments, we’ll be going shopping for some pieces soon.

I try to put together the simplest outfits possible. I’m not always interested in being bright and flashy. In my opinion, black clothing was one of the greatest things to ever happen to humanity. I want to be well dressed but I don’t think that has to be complicated. Put on pants you love wearing. Add a shirt that makes you feel beautiful. Add shoes that make you feel sexy and, if the weather calls for it, a jacket that makes you feel like a badass. You’re done. Confidence has nothing to do with the tag inside of the clothes you put on. Confidence is about how you feel. If you’re wearing Chanel and all you can think is that it makes you look fat. I’m sorry darling, you wasted your money.  If that $2 tee gives you cleavage you didn’t have and those $10 jeans give you an ass you didn’t know you had? Then you can take over the world. Just don’t forget to put your heels on first.

I laugh about that first outfit now. I didn’t know anything about my city and how people dressed in it. I understand now that while my new wardrobe works perfectly in my city, I might need to spruce it up in others. Now I welcome the challenge. I also welcome the stares. I know that they happen because of who I’m with and not because of what I wore.

What about you babies? Did you wear something absolutely crazy on your first POT date? What was it? And what do you love to wear now?

Art and stuff

So about 2 years ago when I was at my art school(I’m still there but I’m not actually THERE there at the moment) I was taking my Drawing II class; on the first day I was kinda late so I just kinda tiptoed in and took a seat. For the most part of the first week I kinda just stayed in my spot and kept to myself like I usually do(until I make so friends). Then as the second week rolled in, I wasn’t late this time thankfully, but I noticed this cute asian guy come in and I suddenly felt my heart skip a few beats! Was this guy in the right class?! Am I in the right class?! Why haven’t I noticed him before?! He was so incredibly handsome! I’m sorry! *COVERS FACE* He was tall, and he had some long silky soft looking black hair, and he always wore hipster-ish laid-back kinda style of clothes. I just kept thinking “Wow he’s really cute!”

The weeks in class went on and I never really talked to him. I’m a pretty shy person so it’d be hard for me, especially if I’m trying to talk to a cute guy! Aaaahh but I really wanted to! I just couldn’t! Soon I started to realize that I would stare at him… A lot…! Sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. I’m just silently crushing on him while thinking, “I wonder where he’s from… Oh, he’s from Hong Kong? That’s cool!… He changed his name to a common american name but I wonder what his real name is… His hair is sooo soft and fluffy looking! I wish I could touch it without being weird… I like his clothes. So simple yet so stylish at the same time.. I wonder if he’d like me in any way…”! All of this is happening in my head until I realize that he happened to glance my way! We’re holding eye contact for a few seconds and wait… He smiled at me!! Just a cute little smile of acknowledgement, and I smile back! This happened a lot; sometimes I caught myself staring at him out of admiration and the fact that he’s handsome and other times I’m just thinking about something else like what I’m going to eat later and he just happens to be in my line of vision! But he always gives me a cute little smile and I smile back and quickly look away thinking, “Oh my god, this is the 8th damn time you’ve caught me staring at you today! I’m so sorry! Please don’t think I’m a weirdo trying to stalk you!” Sometimes if his hair would get in the way he’d get this hairpin stick and hold it in his mouth while he’d fix his hair up in a bun or a ponytail to put the hairpin in! I’d try not to stare! I honestly did but… *SIGH* 

Sometimes when I had to get up for something I’d have to walk past his drawing desk and I’d take a look at his work and his drawings were SO.FREAKING.GOOD! There was so much detail and shade and value and shit and I’m just thinking “Damn can you teach me?!” Even though I found myself still staring at him I noticed that he would sometimes already be looking at me too. I could feel my heart doing some crazy things when that would happen! One time the class had to gather around our professors computer to look at something and we both happened to stand next to each other! I wasn’t even trying to actually do it, but it just happened?! Girl, I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself blush before,(I’m light so it’d probably show up)but I probably was at that moment! My face was on fire! My heart was about to explode! Like I said before, he’s pretty tall! Well mostly everybody is gonna be taller than me, since I’m only 5'2 but still! Did he purposely stand next to me? Did the universe align for us to stand next to each other for these few minutes?! Am I just being stupid and this is all a coincidence?! I don’t know but I’m pretty happy either way! 

One day, I think it was around finals or something, he was talking to a friend about his drawing project and saying he didn’t think it was that good and that he could’ve done better(artist’s favorite set of words), and I suddenly said that I think it’s really good, that there’s a lot of detail and that I think he worked really hard on it… Wait.. Did I just say that out loud? To him? Without hesitation? Then he got adorably cute and shy and modest saying that he didn’t think it was that good enough for me to say that. That moment probably added a year or 2 to my life! Not much happened between us due to my shyness and him likely being the same way, but when the semester ended I’d still think about him and wonder what it’d be like if we were friends. 

When the next semester started we didn’t have any other classes together but sometimes I’d randomly see him. Of course my dumb self was to shy to try to speak or quietly get his attention! But one day my friend and I were walking and a guy from her class walked by and greeted her and stuff and I happened to look at the guy next to him and it was the cute asian guy I’m crushing on!!! My heart started beating so fast! And to my surprise he brightened up and smiled at me and waved! You could literally see his mood brighten up just be seeing me. Even though we don’t know each others names and have never really talked to each other, I never knew I could do that to someone! It was an amazing little feeling. After we went our own ways I told my friend about him being in my drawing class and how I had a crush on him. She agreed with me that he was definitely cute and that I should try to get to know him! I wanted to but… Arrrghh! 

So towards the end of a semester I get a call from my dad saying school was getting a little too expensive at the moment and I’d have to take a break for a while. NOOOOO!!! Ok I hate school and doing work but I didn’t want to leave my friends and this boy I’m so badly crushing on! Why is this happening?! Why?! On the last day, when everyones packing up to go home for the break, we happen to find each other again! He was standing with a small group of some friends, but kinda off to the side in his own little world, but still listening to them, and he looks up and visibly brightens up like the sun and smiles at me and gives me this cute little shy wave. The fact that he takes his mind off what his friends were saying just to look at me and wave really made me happy. Of course I do the same, but I was feeling sad since this would probably be the last time I see him again. But I was glad I somehow saw him again before I left!

I still wonder if he’s still there, but he’ll have graduated by the time I get back there. The Lord and the universe we’re probably throwing me all these signs, wishing they could just hit me, saying “Girl, I’ve been throwing y'all together randomly for a reason! Why aren’t you picking up my signs! This could’ve been your 1st boyfriend!”. But if I stick around in the art industry maybe we’ll see each other again? And maybe I’ll have some confidence this time!

Kinktober 31st: Costumed Confessions (KageHina)

Sorry this is late, my dears. And there’s not an ounce of smut in it! But it’s so romantic it probably needs a warning anyway. ;D

Pairing: KageHina |  Word Count: 2.7k |  Warnings/Tags: school dance, Kageyama is a spoilsport, cuteness

“Tobio, what the hell are you doing?”

Tobio turned to the exasperated voice, adjusting his volleyball in his hand as he navigated through the bottleneck of costumed students and into the gym. The cavernous room glowed with black lights and orange string lights, covered from floor to ceiling with white and green cobwebs and plastic creepy crawlers and fake blood and ghostly shapes. Everyone he saw was either barely dressed or barely recognizable under their terrifying masks, but Tobio spotted Hinata easily.

A small figure elbowed his way through the crowd, wearing a white and black striped sweater with black gloves, jeans and combat boots. Skin tight clothing gave away compact muscles, the shape of strong shoulders and solid thighs, a lean waist. He was wearing a black mask with his costume, but there was no use hiding the brilliantly orange hair that stood out on his head like a dandelion on fire – if Kageyama hadn’t recognized him from his body, he’d certainly know from his hair. Hinata glowed in UV purple, teeth glinting as he smiled and shook his head.

“Hey,” Tobio said over the music as Hinata approached him, tilting his head at the shape of Hinata’s jaw, which seemed more noticeable now that his big eyes weren’t so distracting behind the mask. Hinata punched him a little too harshly in the arm, nearly knocking his ball out of his hand, and made a gesture with his hands as if to emphasize, What the actual hell?!

“I told you to come in costume,” Hinata grumped, folding his arms.

Tobio looked down at himself. He frowned at his collared jersey and gym shorts, his knee pads and socks. He’d worn everything except for his volleyball shoes, choosing instead his black high-tops. It wasn’t like he was going to let a bunch of people step all over his expensive gym shoes and get them dirty. Tobio looked back to Hinata and raised his eyebrows.

“I’m a setter,” he supplied. “What are you?”

Keep reading

Seeking Roommate for Apartment in Brooklyn

Kind of loosely based on this anon request, but I tweaked it a bit (sorry anon!):

Can you write one where Bucky and Steve place an ad for a third housemate and they choose a 19 yr old girl that was kicked out by her family for being a witch? They make her feel accepted and invite her to work with the avengers. She’s a bit of a tomboy and I’d love it if either Bucky or Wanda fall for her.

Reader’s age is not specified and she has powers but isn’t specifically referred to as a witch. Otherwise, it’s the same general concept.

Bucky x reader. FLUFF. Word count: 2,439.

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy it!

Your name: submit What is this?

“’Two cool guys seeking roommate for apartment in Brooklyn. No pets, no smoking. Just need a third to help with rent.’ Not bad, Bucky. That was smart that you put my number as the contact, since you’re kinda bad at answering your phone,” said Steve as he closed his laptop.

“Steve, I’m lucky if I can even get the thing to turn on. I thought I did okay with the ad. Hopefully someone will answer it. Tell me again why we got a three bedroom apartment when there are only two of us?”

Steve stood and walked over to the fridge. “I thought we could have an office, but it turns out avenging doesn’t pay well and rent is really expensive,” he said as he grabbed a beer.

“Well, just make sure you keep your phone handy or else we’re gonna have to move back into the tower and deal with Tony Snark all the time,” joked Bucky. Oddly enough, Steve’s phone began ringing.

“Hello? Yeah, you’ve got the right number. You have a pet cockatoo? And you’re a drummer? I don’t think that’ll work out. Sorry, bro.” Steve hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is gonna be a process, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but good call on bird guy. Sam is more than enough bird for me, and I already have a hard enough time sleeping without Ringo making noise 24/7. Hopefully we find a new roomie soon, though.” As if on cue, Steve’s phone rang again.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Steve, you have the right number. You can afford your chunk of the rent, right? Oh, no job. Huh. Well, as long as you can get something lined up by the time rent is due, I guess that’s okay. You don’t play any loud instruments, right? Okay, and you’re okay with the fact that you’ll be living with guys? No, I promise we aren’t creeps. I think once you meet us you’ll be confident in that. We’ll be around if you wanna come take a look at the place later. Half an hour? Okay, see you then, Y/N.”

“Well that sounded promising,” said Bucky.

“Her name is Y/N and she’s trying to get back on her feet after some sort of falling out with her family. She’s pretty sure she can get a job lined up by the next time rent is due, and she seems nice, so I think we should give her a chance. She’ll be here in half an hour to look around, so maybe tidy up a bit? I’m gonna run to the store and grab some flowers or something to brighten up the place. And maybe crack a window, too? This place smells like pizza, and not in a good way,” said Steve. He grabbed his keys and headed out, leaving Bucky alone to clean. He threw out the soda cans and candy wrappers, tossed some scattered clothes in the hamper, and vacuumed. He opened every window and before Steve came back, there was a soft knock on the door. Bucky answered it.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Bucky. Steve is on his way back from running an errand. Come on in, take a look around.”

“Wow, this place is pretty clean for a couple of guys living here. I’m impressed,” you joked as you walked through the apartment. “Pretty nice kitchen, too. I like baking, so if this works out you can expect a steady stream of cookies.”

“Deal! Well, I mean, I should probably check with Steve, but if you like the place it’s cool with me. That room over there would be yours. There’s a futon in it, but you can swap it for a real bed if you want,” said Bucky.

“Futon is fine for now. I like it here, so if Steve’s okay with it I’d like to move in. I have a few interviews lined up, so even though I don’t have a job at the moment I’m fairly certain I’ll have something by the time rent is due, and I have a little cash saved up in the meantime. Hey, umm, this might sound kinda weird, but you look really familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? Your friend Steve sounded really familiar too, but I couldn’t connect the voice to a face,” you explained, hoping it wouldn’t come across as weird. Before Bucky could answer you, Steve walked through the door, flowers in hand.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re here early,” he said as he set the flowers on the kitchen counter. “I just grabbed these to kind of, uh, brighten the place up. Anyway, what do you think? You like it?”

“Shit! You’re Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes! What are two Avengers doing in an apartment in Brooklyn?” you asked, shocked that you stumbled into the apartment of Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

“Eh, we grew up in Brooklyn, and we don’t really like being on Stark’s payroll, so we could use a third to help with the rent. I told ya we weren’t creeps,” said Steve with a chuckle. “So, you wanna move in?”

“Yeah! Would it be okay if I moved in, maybe, umm, now? All my stuff is in my car already since I’ve kinda, umm, been living in it,” you sheepishly explained.

“Sounds fine with me. We’ll help you with your stuff,” said Bucky.

The two men helped you carry your things in and you settled into your room. There wasn’t much to unpack, which was good because you didn’t have a dresser. You didn’t have any job interviews until the following day and it was starting to get a little late, so you went out into the living room to hang out with Steve and Bucky for a little while.

“I think maybe it would be good for the three of us to set a few ground rules? You know, like a sort of roommate agreement. What do you think?” asked Steve. You and Bucky agreed that it would probably be a good idea.

“Okay, first rule—when Steve and I come back from a mission Y/N has to make us welcome home cookies,” suggested Bucky. You nodded affirmatively and gave a thumbs-up.

“No bringing anyone home to geek out over the whole superhero thing, please. We really aren’t too fond of the spotlight and like to keep a low profile when we can,” added Steve.

“If any of my relatives come around, please tell them I’m not home and I’ll call them. Don’t let them in,” you requested.

“Deal, but do we get to hear your tragic backstory or what?” asked Bucky.

“Buck! It’s not our place. Sorry, Y/N. Bucky’s social skills are still a little lacking from time to time. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” explained Steve.

“No, it’s fine. I mean, I wasn’t gonna say anything about it but I think if anyone will be understanding it would be you guys. The thing is, I was in a car accident a few years ago, and since then things have been a little…strange. I was living back home while I was between jobs, but my family kinda kicked me out when they realized I was different.” You stopped, not realizing a little more explanation would be necessary.

“Different, how?” asked Bucky.

“Well, umm, I can kinda, umm, move things…with my mind. I can also generate these sort of energy fields—it’s all really similar to Wanda Maximoff based on what I’ve seen of her on TV. I don’t really like using my powers though. I’m no Avenger. I just like to keep a quiet, calm life. My family thinks I’m some sort of monster though, which is why I split. I hope this isn’t gonna be an issue.”

“Y/N. We’re both like a hundred years old. I’m wearing long sleeves and a glove but I literally have a cybernetic arm. We’re all a little weird here, so it’s no biggie. We’ll keep our mouths shut about it, but if you ever decide you want to get into the superhero business, I’m pretty sure we can hook you up with a gig fighting bad guys,” said Bucky. You smiled and reached out to hug him, which brought a strange look to his face.

“Sorry. I’m a bit of a hugger. If I’m overstepping just tell me to back off. Promise I won’t be offended,” you said apologetically.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky paused and embraced you. “It’s just that people don’t usually hug me. It’s like they think I’m gonna crush them with my arm or something. Your hair smells wonderful by the way.”

“Way to make it weird, Buck. Anyway, I’ve gotta head out—I’m meeting Nat for some sparring practice. If you come up with anything else for the roommate agreement just add it in. See you later!” said Steve as he grabbed his jacket and keys.

“Have fun getting your ass kicked by Natasha,” teased Bucky. Steve tossed you a key from the dish so you could come and go as you pleased, and you and Bucky spent the rest of the evening watching TV together and talking.

Before you knew it, you had a waitressing job at a diner just a few blocks away from the apartment and life was good. Steve and Bucky had quickly become your best friends—especially Bucky. Steve was not a homebody and was rarely in the apartment, but you and Bucky spent tons of time playing board games together, watching movies, and you even got Bucky into baking and it turns out he’s pretty good at decorating cakes. You could feel yourself falling for him but didn’t think he felt the same way.

“Hey, Y/N, I wanna talk to you about something that’s been bothering me for awhile now,” said Bucky as you hung up your coat, having just gotten home from a shift at the diner.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, it’s probably gonna sound rude and I’m sorry if it does, but I think you’re wasting a lot of potential not joining the team. I just think that maybe you were given your gifts for a reason and that reason is almost definitely not so you can wait tables.”

“Actually, I’ve been kinda thinking that too, but it all seems so scary. All of the shooting and the bad guys—I don’t know if I could handle it,” you explained.

“Well yeah, but I’d be right by your side to help back you up and to protect you if things went sour. I’d never let anything happen to you, Y/N. I—“ Bucky stopped and there was an awkward moment of silence as Bucky looked longingly into your eyes before turning his head down and staring at his boots. “Maybe just give it a try?”

You agreed to give it a try. In your spare time, you went to the tower with Bucky to train. At first you were self conscious using your powers in front of him because they always made you feel so vulnerable, but soon enough Bucky’s encouragement made you become not only comfortable using them, but also very skilled. After a few weeks of training, you quit your job at the diner and became a full-time Avenger. Tony offered you a room in the tower, but you preferred your apartment with the guys.

For your first several missions, Bucky stayed right by your side for every minute, per Cap’s orders, but once you had been given free reign of the battlefield, you noticed Bucky was still your shadow. After a few missions like this, you decided to have a talk with Bucky about it.

“Hey, Buck. Can we talk about something?” you asked as you walked into the apartment with dinner.

“If that pizza you’re holding is from Gino’s, yes.”

“There’s something that’s been bothering me,” you said, setting down the pizza box on the coffee table and then sitting on the couch next to Bucky. “It’s just that Steve said I don’t need babysitting on missions anymore but you’re always right on my tail. Do you not trust me to hold my own?” At your words, Bucky’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.

“Is that what you think? Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! It’s not that, it’s just…” he trailed off, but you poked him and he got back in the zone. “It’s just that I know it was me who asked you to join the team but it is really dangerous and I just couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. I know you’re capable of holding your own but I love you and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

“Now when you say you love me, do you mean like ‘you’re my friend’ kind of love or like ‘I’m in love with you’ kind of love?” you asked, silently praying it was the latter option.

“The second kind. I have been for awhile, but I figured that since we live together and work together that if you didn’t feel the same way things would get really awkward, and I didn’t want to risk screwing up our friendship, but now that I’ve gone and run my mouth I guess there’s really no going back from that, so what do you say?”

“First, I’d say that that’s the longest run-on sentence I think I’ve ever heard. Second, I’d say that I love you, too.” You smiled, and Bucky leaned in and planted a long, soft kiss on your lips, followed by another quick peck. “So, what does this mean?” you asked, unsure of what the future would look like for you and Bucky.

“Well, despite my 1940s sense of romance, I think it might be kinda silly to ask you out on a bunch of dates when we already spend like 90% of our time together, so maybe I’ll jump a little bit ahead and ask if you will be my girlfriend? You know, make it official?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

The pizza grew cold as you spent the next 20 minutes making out with Bucky on the couch, only stopping when Steve walked in on you.

“Are you two finally an item? I hope so, because this whole awkward tension thing was getting really old. So, am I officially the third wheel or what?” asked Steve through a cheesy grin.

“Sorry Steve, looks like you’re a third wheel,” said Bucky as he reached out and grabbed your hand.

“Well, if that pizza over there is from Gino’s, then I guess I don’t mind.”

If you’d like to read more of my fics, you can find my masterlist here

To make a request, check out request rules

TAGS: If you’d like to be add/removed from my tag list, just let me know!

@marvelfanfichq  @4theluvofall  @akaneloki  @thoughtfullyoptimisticdisability  @treble-child  @winter-widoww  @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh  @annurska@zimniy-barnes  @thepurplephoenixfeather  @pickylittlebitch  @snake-eyes-sissies  @fangirlwithasweettooth  @eyeofdionysus  @buckysplums14  @melting-like-silver  @sebastianstanismyobsession  @ashtounding  @dreamer1495  @keeninterestinlarry  @chickenbat777  @emmaplum  @ralucabuzas  @buckymorelikefuckmebarnes  @hiddenavengers  @winter-childrens  @valentinachr  @lorinicole  @xenaathena  @fantasticimpaladoctor  @siriusblacksbitch @cdog9-blog  @ashtounding  @supersoldier-wifey@nennesse   @satanslittleofspring  @harleycativy @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli@lolyouloveme  @xoxoaudreymarie   @heismyhunter @pumpkinspicebarnes  @mysticwolfcub  @shotguncats  @msmarvelchick  @sharkbaitouhaha @amrita31199  @jade-cheshire  @awinterloveuniverse  @38leticia  @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th  @azaleawardrobeo  @buckyandsebsinbin @arabellaaurorabarnes  @kenobi-and-barnes  @aislinsekhem @theassetseyeliner @learisa @jarnesbrnes@redstarstan @scarlettsoldier @melconnor2007

Kinks A-Z ~ Peter Quill (STARLORD)

Originally posted by star-pratt

Ask: You did this a lot, mainly because you knew he liked it. You would always ask him if he could eat you out or if you could go down on him because you were feeling it. You could make him get all flustered easily this way, but the next thing you knew your panties would be coming off and his head would find its way between your thighs.

Bite: He loved nibbling on your ear, biting your lip and the inside of your thighs. You liked it, except when he would teasingly bite part of your labia while he was eating you out, you would end up accidentally kicking him in the face out of instinct. 

Cock: You loved his member more than words could explain. It was sort of a habit really, you would always be giving him head or jacking him off in some way, shape or form. One time you caught him masturbating, you were saddened that he didn’t ask you to take care of it, but he explained it was because he didn’t realize you were going to be home that night (which was the truth.) 

Dirty Dance: He fantasized about this. Peter loved dancing with you more privately and with fewer clothes on. 

Elephant In The Room: He had a habit of making it clear to the other guardians that he wanted a break just so he could get a quickie in with you. 

Frisky: Peter was like a dog in heat 24/7, no matter how many times he had sex with you, he could honestly just keep it coming. Rather he was horny or not. 

Grip: He would grip the headboard as he pounded into your ass from behind, he would grip the sheets as he brought you to your third orgasm that night. Honestly, he would grip anything he could get a hold of. 

Handsy: Peter could not keep his hands off you to save his life. Especially in public. You didn’t mind when he would snake an arm around your waist, but when his hand would slip down to your ass or even grab at your coochie - you always had to slap him away. 

Idolize: So many girls admired Peter for his name ‘Starlord,’ and yes you did get jealous of it. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you knew that some people would cross the line to show how much they love someone. You would mock his fans because you were annoyed, but in bed, he wanted you to idolize him as you rode him out. 

Jokes: You two would always be pranking each other, some pranks turning into rather sexual instances like when he would spray whip cream all over you. You would curse him for it and want to go clean it off, but he would insist that it shouldn’t be wasted and that he could easily clean it off with his mouth. 

Kleptomaniac: He was worse than Rocket sometimes, except Peter would only steal sexual things because he claimed they were ‘too expensive.’ You scolded him for this, but once he actually used them on you, you didn’t care as much. He was very good at picking out toys. 

Laughing: It was rare when there was a time the two of you didn’t laugh while having sex. Even after your orgasm, you would laugh it out because it was just a habit. 

Mixtape Vol ?: You made him another mixtape when he wasn’t able to be around you for extended periods of time. It included songs that were playing during special moments the two of you shared like the song that was playing in the bar that the two of you met in and others that found their way into your hearts. He would listen to it when he wanted to masturbate. 

Nickname: While his cock was deep inside you, he would ask you to call him by his “proper name,” ‘Starlord.’ While your hands clutched onto his back and you while you constantly cried out ‘my star lord,’ it was moments like these that he cherished. Whenever anyone else called him by that name, it didn’t feel the same.

Optical: Believe it or not, you were the one that liked to blindfold him during sex most. The less he could see, the more fun it would be which is why you did it so much. There was this game the two of you would play where he would be expected to explore your body without being able to see.

Porthole: His ship wasn’t the only thing he stuck in your porthole, he liked to try new things. He claimed that ‘experimenting’ was always a must when it was really just him wanting to see how wide your vagina stretched and he liked making you scream. 

Quagmire: Peter was very skilled at this, and he definitely used it to an advantage. He would come close to you when he knew you were already submitting to his good looks and sly comments, and eventually he would corner you until you were forced to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. He did this while you were sitting too, he would easily sneak his hand up your dress and tease you until you excused yourself to the bathroom. 

Rip: You couldn’t even count how many articles of clothing have been ruined due to his impatience, but you couldn’t just blame him. It didn’t really start to bother you until after sex, but even then it still didn’t bother you all that much. He didn’t like to bother with taking things off.

Sarcasm: Your relationship with him was filled with sarcasm that dripped after every word it seemed. He would especially get snarky with you during foreplay, making you blush at how quickly turned on you were but then made you slap him across the head when he would compare you with that of something inhuman.

Taste Test: This was more or less an excuse to sample batters and syrups off sensitive parts of your body, but anytime you would bake something, he always had to be the first to taste it. He claimed that tasting some things off your body added flavor.

Umbrella: You were a squirter, which was an embarrassment in your eyes but he loved it. He didn’t even care if it got all over him, in fact, he looked at it as a sort of trophy for being able to make you do that.

Virgin: When he found out you were a virgin, he had to ask you another 100 times just to make sure he heard right. Although, taking your virginity did make him nervous because that meant he was the sole person taking your innocence. Of course, that didn’t stop him from turning an important moment into a joke fest, but he did treat your body as a temple. Until you were over the whole ‘popping the cherry’ part. 

Wet: The real question is, ‘When are you ever dry?’ Just looking at Peter made your panties soak, and he sure used this to his advantage - which was a disadvantage to the rest of the group because you could never focus properly on a mission. 

X-Rated: Peter wasn’t very raunchy when it came to sex, which surprised a lot. That didn’t mean he wasn’t spontaneous and adventurous though. 

Yell: Whenever you would reach your limit and get mad, Peter would just feed into it. He enjoyed it when you got angry and called him names because you thought you were actually affecting him when in reality he found it quite amusing. He would try to have sex with you to make up for it, which you would usually oblige too. 

ZZZ: At the end of the day, Peter had a hard time sleeping unless you were right beside him - which didn’t make much sense because he would cuddle for a couple minutes then hog all the blankets the next. You would get him back by teasing his cock in the morning while he’s sleeping. 

Death Ever After - Part 9 - What The Hell Just Happened

Originally posted by fvckmxk

Death Ever After - A Modern Marvel Alternate Universe x Reader -  Reader is a Childhood friends with the Barnes Children; Richard, Bucky, and Rebecca. A terrible accident occurs forcing the Reader to move in with her biological father. Years pass and destiny decides to play a joke on the reader. Chaos Ensues.

Warnings: Abusive families; Accidents; Death; blame game; etc

Pairings: Modern Marvel AU X Reader; Slight Richard X Reader; Bucky X Reader

(A/N)  This is a Modern Marvel Alternate Universe. In this universe the Barnes parents, George and Winifred are still alive. I brought in Bucky’s comic canon sister Rebecca but added an older brother named Richard. Howard and Maria Stark are also still alive along with Jarvis. Some Characters may seem OOC at time but this is an alternate reality people, shit happens. I hope you all like it.


Bucky had been standing next to Natasha and her boyfriend Clint in a corner away from the rest of the crowd when Nat had spotted Steve and his leading lady walk inside. “Wow, Steve really hit the jackpot.” She says motioning to the doorway. Bucky looks from her over to the door where Steve was and his jaw drops. This wasn’t possible. Bucky’s heart starts to race in his chest as he unconsciously starts to walk toward them. It was her. There was no mistake about it. She was here.

A hand grabbing him pulls him back to the moment and he looks at it too see that it belonged to Natasha. He narrows his eyes at her as he silently asks what the hell she is doing. “Do you really think that going over there right now is the right thing to do? If half of what you told me about her reaction to how you acted all those years ago is true… you are going to send that poor girl into a panic. Do you really want to cause a scene at your sister’s rehearsal dinner?”

“She knew…” Bucky says barely above a whisper his eyes turning dark.

“Knew what?” Natasha asks her face filling with confusion.

“Becca,” He pauses his heart clenching. “She knew that this (Name),” he points across the room at her before he turns back to Natasha, “Is the one I’ve been looking for all these years, and she never said a word.”

“I’m sure she didn’t do that because she wanted too.” Clint says making Bucky’s eyes snap to him. He had obviously been reading Natasha and Bucky’s lips so he knew half of what was going on. “How do you know that (Name), didn’t beg your sister not to say anything to you?”

“Exactly,” Natasha adds moving slightly to the side so Clint could see her lips better. Clint was deaf, but he didn’t let that keep him from doing what he loved. Clint owned a café/Bar downtown. Clint usually only worked the day shift, mostly because of his love of coffee, also because working days freed up his nights for Natasha; who ran her own clothing line. “James, you can’t just run over there, guns blazing. You have to think this through.”

“You’re right,” He pauses his eyes moving back over to her. “It’s just that after all these years of searching; she’s right there.”

“Well at least your parents don’t seem to recognize her, that’s a plus.” Natasha says releasing his arm and rejoining her boyfriend.

“Yeah, if they knew who she really was they wouldn’t have let her step a toe out of the car.” Bucky replies grabbing a champagne flute at it passed by on a server’s tray. He downs it instantly and sets on a passing servers empty tray. He needed something stronger than Champagne. “Can you cover for me if my mother starts to ask where I am?” He asks the two of them and they nod.

“Yeah sure, but where are you going?”

“I need something stronger.” He replies and she nods. “I’ll be back.” He adds as he practically jogs up the stairs and heads off into the east wing toward his father’s office. He still couldn’t believe she was here. As he walked down the hall memories and thoughts of how her and Richard used to run through these halls with Becca and himself racing after them filled his mind. How stupid had he been to believe that she had been the cause of Richard’s death? Really fucking stupid, that’s how he felt about his state of mind back then.

He turns into his father’s office and quickly walks over to the liquor cabinet and opening it pulls out an expensive bottle of Whiskey. He moves back to the door and heads back toward the party. Just because he grabbed this bottle didn’t mean he was going to share it with anyone. He needed it more than anyone down there at that party. Twisting the cap off he takes a big swig and grimaces as it burns his throat on its way to his stomach. Deep down he knew he really shouldn’t be doing this but he couldn’t help it. SHE was here.

Speaking of, she, as he starts to near the main hall he looks across the way to see her walking down the hall of the west wing. He cocks an eyebrow as he has the sudden urge to follow her. Taking one last deep gulp of Whiskey, he puts the lid back on the bottle and setting it down starts off after her. He knew that he most likely shouldn’t follow her but his feet were moving on their own. As he followed her, her figure morphed from her now to her when she was a child. His throat tightened as the younger version looked back at him and smiled.

She suddenly stopped in front of a door and he tries his best to hide himself as he checks his surroundings. It took him a moment but he knew where she had stopped. It was Richard’s room. A room which hadn’t been touched or unlocked since his death all those years ago. He gulps down a breath of air as she reaches forward to open the door only to sigh as she finds it locked. Not able to contain himself anymore he moves from his hiding spot to stand behind her. She must have been completely zoned out not to notice him.

Suddenly it was like someone else took over his body making him reach out and wrap his arms around her waist and hold her tight. He buried his face in his hair as she leaned back into him. Did she know it was him? was she not scared of him? All that didn’t matter for some reason. He had ahold of her and he wasn’t about to let go. “I miss you.” She says the words shaky as they leave her mouth.

Oh god her voice sounded heavenly to his ears. Bucky doesn’t know what possesses him but he gently kisses the back of her head. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. It should have been me. Your sister is getting married, you should be here for her. You should’ve stayed away from me.” Bucky suddenly tenses everything he was responsible for coming back to him ruining the moment.  As if sensing something (Name) quickly pulls away from him and turning around her eyes fill with fear and panic as she says, “Oh god.”

“Please don’t freak out.” He says holding his hands up at his side to show he wasn’t going to hurt her.

“Um… I…” She says her eyes filling with panic as her breathing starts to become rushed.

“Okay (Name) just take deep breaths.” He says inching closer to her making it worse.

“Stay away…” She replies making him stop in his tracks and speak in a low voice.

“I will not hurt you again. I am just trying to help.”

“Why?” She asks her face becoming pained.

“Because I’m sorry. Oh god, (Name), I have never been sorrier in my entire life.” He says and her eyes focus on his. “I have so much I want to apologize to you for but I can’t do that unless you calm down.”

“It was you…” she says reaching up to touch the back of her head. “Why?! Why would you do that?!” She yells out anger lacing her words.

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly letting his hands fall to his side. “I swear I don’t know what came over me… plus I think I might be a little drunk.”

“And you think that gives you the right to do what you did?”

“Okay are we still talking my kissing your head or?”

“Why would I be angry about anything else? You made me think…” She pauses tears stinging her eyes are she reaches up to grab her necklace.

“That I was Rich…” He takes a step back and leaning against the wall lets out a heavy sigh. “Please don’t cry. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep from hugging you if your do.”

“Why would you hug me? According to you, I killed your brother.” She retorts angrily wiping the tears that had gotten through from her cheeks.

“Can you please just follow me somewhere else, if mom or dad-” He pauses seeing the fear on her face. “Please just trust me on this. I need to talk to you.”

“If I follow you, and you tell me what you want to tell me, how do I know it’s not going to make me even more fucked up than I already am?”

“I promise. I just want to talk.” Bucky says as he holds his hand out to her.

“I’ll follow you; but I refuse to hold your hand.” She replies reaching down to grab the skirt of her dress. Bucky’s hand falls to his side as he nods.

“Understandable.” He replies moving to let her walk beside him. “It’s not far. It’s just up here a ways.”

“Why do you want to talk with me?” She asks her eyes focused on the end of the hall.

“I want to apologize to you.” He says making her stop in her tracks.

“Apologize… To me…” She blinks her eyes as confusion fills her face. “Why?”

“For what I said all those years ago. I just want you to know. What happened to Rich, it’s not your fault.”

“But he died because he came to help me.” She says making his heart clench. Confusion and pain filled her (E/C) eyes. He had caused that pain. It was his fault she was like this. His head starts to pound making him reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“(Name), you had nothing to do with his death.” He says the pain increasing.

“But if he hadn’t-”

“It’s not your fault, okay!!” He yelled a little louder than he meant to making her jump in fear. “Look, I did some research of my own after you left. It wasn’t your fault or his.” He pulls his hand from his face and unconsciously reaches down to take her hand in his. “There was another car, their brakes failed and they hit you guys. No matter what anyone ever says, it was never your fault.”

“But, I…” he reaches out and pulls her into a hug making her tense. “Bucky… what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, you looked like you needed it.” It takes a few moments for her to relax but once she does he feels her body shake as she cries into his chest.

“You are the last person I ever wanted to see me cry.” She says making him grit his teeth.

“I know, I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything.” He answers making her shake her head.

“Thank you,” She pushes away from him and clearing her throat says, “I need to get back, but first I need a bathroom.”

“Oh it’s-”

“I remember where it is.” She says cutting him off as she moves away from him down the hall without looking back. He watches her walk away and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Reaching up he runs a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy sigh. He turns back to look at Richard’s bedroom door and feels his head start to throb again. “I need a drink.”

Will Continue - 


@learisa @lxdyred @elaacreditava @dugan365 @marvel-fanfiction @debzybrazy @nathallyal @vibraniumass @nikky-the-writer @lame-lozer

Saturday Night Plans (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

Characters: Mycroft Holmes X Fem!Reader

Universe: Sherlock Holmes

Warnings: Insecurities 

Request: Would you write an Mycroft x reader imagine. Where the female reader is really not the definition of grace. Like she plays football likes to watch boxing, working out and drinking beer and walks around in hoddies and so on. So when she sees the gracefull women Mycroft hast to do with she worries that she isn’t good enough for him. Some fluff please? :)

Originally posted by secretsquirrelleader

When your boyfriend is the government official who wears formal clothes and acts appropriately, it’s expected that you do the same. However, that isn’t your cup of tea.

Keep reading

I Should Know Better By Now (Requested with Peter)

Hi, I love your works! I was hoping if you could please do a Peter Hale 6b story? The reader Scott or Stiles’ sister. Thanks anyways :)

A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoy it :)  ♥ The reader is a human in this one.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, and implied sexual content. Oh, and there’s some angst that I should probably mention too, but I also added in some fluff. So, no worries.


There should’ve been something there, you think in frustration, how were they always so far ahead of you? Ahead of Scott and the others?

What were you missing?

You walk the darkened hallways of the school in thought, passing by the boy’s locker room on your way to the front entrance. You notice the tough smell of diesel and burnt rubber hanging in the air, the smells stronger at this point and more obvious here, until you felt a pulsing nausea creep up on you. You pause, tilting your head as you glance around you, and walk backwards towards the slowly closing locker room door. Your hand shoots to out to stop its path and you can’t help but peer in curiously. You squint through the semi darkness, seeing him standing with his back to the door. 

He peels off his shirt and lays it on the bench in front of him. The moonlight that pours through the windows splashes across his body in a haunting glow that draws your eyes across the lines of his torso. He pauses as if he’s listening to something, muscles in his back moving as he tenses for a brief moment. And then he goes back to undressing, shrugging down his pants to leave him in a pair of simple black boxers. You step to stand in the threshold of the room, the smell out in the hall intensifying, and you take in the ashy residue on his skin and hair. You crinkle your nose and lean casually against the door frame, arms crossed.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Keep reading

Costumes // A Phan One-Shot

Genre: fluff, domestic fluff, parent!phan

Words: 1.7k

Relationship status: married

Warnings: brief mentions of sex (but not bad; it’s like one sentence that gets cut off)

Summary: The Lester family goes out and buys Halloween costumes together.

Keep reading

Portrait in Red

First day of enjoltaire week !

How strange that we get “paiting” as a prompt the day I watch The Portrait of Dorian Gray. So of course….

Warning : character death

The brush slid on the canvas, leaving a glossy trail behind. The afternoon light was falling through the high windows of the studio, bathing the model in gold. His hair shone so brightly, it was almost painful to look at. But for nothing in the world, Grantaire would have turned his eyes away. First, because as a painter, he needed to watch his model closely. Especially for an order like this one. It wasn’t the first time that Grantaire was hired to paint the portrait of a lord’s son, but it was enough of an unusual occurence to make him kinda nervous. Especially when he first saw said lord’s son.

And there came the second reason he didn’t want to look away. High society boys weren’t bad to look at, all raised in cotton and silk and not damaged by the hardships of life like common people. But that one… That one was… Oh, he was something else. He looked like a statue, made of the finest marble, with cheekbones that could kill a man and hair spun from the finest gold. And those eyes… huge, lined with long eyelashes, and blue as the sky over Grantaire’s beloved Marseille. Too bad they couldn’t be as warm, but you couldn’t get everything. For now, the painter was quite happy to bask in the brilliance of Master Enjolras’ beauty.

After what seemed hours of work (but the sun was still shining on the blond hair and turning the cheeks a delicate, rosy color, so maybe it was just a moment), Grantaire finally put the brushes away, and wiped his hands on a rag. Taking this as a signal that he was done, the model broke his stance. As usual, Grantaire watched him, trying not to be too mesmerized, as he usually was, by that delicate statue suddenly coming to life and walking to him. He failed miserably, but Master Enjolras didn’t seem to notice his trembling hands, and the way he was staring.

They stayed side by side for a few moments, gazing at the now-finished portrait. To be perfectly honest, it was a masterpiece. The dull colors of the background, and the black and white of the clothes, perfectly enhanced the porcelaine skin, the golden locks dancing around the face, barely tamed by a black ribbon, an unique touch of red for the mouth, and above all, the piercing blue eyes. It wasn’t really the kind of portrait you hanged above the fireplace, not with an expression that fierce, a glare that intense. But then again, who was Grantaire to discuss ? He was but a painter, and if Master Enjolras wanted to be immortalized like this, more power to him.

Money went from one hand to the other. Grantaire refrained to count it, in fear of insulting the lord. But said lord was absorbed in the contemplation of his portrait. Maybe a hint of pride ? He hadn’t looked the vain kind, but then again, what did he know, really ? Maybe the man was as vain as he was pretty, and used his beauty to manipulate the hearts of everyone, from the noble court to the modest painters…

Grantaire went to clean his brushes and paints. Master Enjolras still hadn’t moved, and he was starting to wonder if he had to gently make him understand that it was time to go. But how did you say this to a lord ? Before he could find some polite words, though, the lord held out a hand, as if to stroke the portrait. His fingers stopped just short of messing the still fresh paint, and he stood like that, hand outstretched towards this other him, frozen on the canvas.

- Can you believe it, he sighed, that this will be how I will be remembered ?

Grantaire wasn’t sure it was meant for him, and so, stayed silence, in fear of upsetting the lord. Who didn’t pay the slightest attention to him, and added :

- I wish so much that this portrait would represent who I am really. Not that mask I have to put on.

- Do you want me to change it ? Grantaire asked, tentatively.

Master Enjolras blinked rapidely a few times, as if woken up from a dream, and just looked at the painter, who hurridely started cleaning again. They only exchanged a few words before the lord left, telling Grantaire to keep the portrait ready, and he would send someone to pick it up. And then, the painter was left alone in his studio, alone with that portrait still looking at him with those blue eyes.


Grantaire really thought he was done with that beautiful portrait or his noble model. It had been delivered, he had been payed, and largely at that, it was behind him. And still, two weeks later, he was awoken by a pounding at his door. He threw on the clothes he could find and went to open, trying to push his hangover at the back of his mind. It was a child, carrying a message. A message written on an expensive paper. A coin gave him possession of the letter. Which, upon inspection, summoned him urgently to the Enjolras estate. Quickly, he got dressed a bit better, grabbed his painting ustensiles, and ran out, combing his curls with his fingers to get them in order.

As soon as he reached the manor, he was hurried inside, his coat taken away, and he was led to the landing of the main stairs, where the portrait was hanged. Two persons were standing there, Master Enjolras, and his father, judging by the likeness between them. As soon as he saw Grantaire, Lord Enjolras lunged at him, grabbed him by the arm, and gesturing wildly towards the portrait, asked :

- Tell me, monsieur Grantaire, what is *this* ?

Grantaire looked at his painting. Enjolras’ fierce gaze was still perfectly pictured, the stance still proud, but there was a difference. A rather striking one. Where before the only spot of red was on the perfect lips, there was now an obvious dash of it on the left of the portrait. It looked like a long coat, or a sheet… A long piece of red fabric tightly held in Master Enjolras’ hand. Lord Enjolras was still raving and ranting, demanding that he fix it at once, and not to mess like that with people who could have his head without any effort. Grantaire didn’t pay attention (Lord Enjolras wouldn’t be the first to threaten to have him thrown in jail or get a few parts of himself cut off). He walked to the portrait, and watched closely. The paint was already dry, and from there, it looked like his own, precise strokes. Whoever it was who had fun with it, he was a master forger.

Per Lord Enjolras’ orders, Grantaire was all but thrown into a room with the portrait and ordered to fix it, however long it would take him. With a sigh, he set to work, hoping that the fix wouldn’t be too obvious. It was a shame, really. A beautiful portrait like this, having to be altered because someone found it funny to add a personnal touch… He was so absorbed, that Master Enjolras’ voice behind him startled him, and he almost traced a large, black streak across the canvas.

- Sorry, the young lord apologized.

- Don’t worry about it. I mean, you don’t have to…

- I don’t know what happened, Enjolras cut him. No one could touch it. It’s really strange.

And with this, he left the room, leaving a puzzled Grantaire alone with the portrait.


It started again one week later : the kid, the message, a furious Lord Enjolras… The red fabric was back, assorted to a tricolor pinned to the lapel of the black coat. Grantaire was set to work again, trying to hide it again. Once again, Master Enjolras promised him that no one could have done that, seeing at the portrait was hanged way too high for this, and there was not one drop of paint under the portrait. Grantaire just fixed it without saying anything.

And the next week, and the week after, … For two months, every week, Grantaire was summoned to the Enjolras’ estate, to fix the painting that kept being altered. First, it was the red fabric. Then the tricolor, who came back. Then a gun, two, three. And then, after one month, Master Enjolras’ coat had turned entirely red. By now, Lord Enjolras had finally admitted that maybe Grantaire wasn’t responsible for those strange modifications, and just asked him to fix it. Which he did, of course, you didn’t tell a lord no. After all, it was just minor fixes, and since it wasn’t his doing, he was getting paid for them, so he wasn’t complaining.

And working at the estate means that Master Enjolras hung around. At first, it was just a few words here and there, carefully distant, like he didn’t want to meddle with common people. But still, he prowled around, watching over Grantaire’s shoulder. After two weeks, he started asking questions. After three, they were having little chats here and there. And after five, Enjolras was talking about equality and justice, gesturing wildly while he walked back and forth. Grantaire couldn’t resist but needle him a bit. Who could blame him ? He seemed so passionnate, invested in subjects he didn’t know that well due to his upbringing, it was too tempting. And soon, those conversations turned into arguments that went on until late in the night.

Of course, it was scary, too. Enjolras was too passionnate, too full of fire, he was talking about changing things, about actions, about dangerous things that, Grantaire was sure, he didn’t grasp fully. He and his friends, all as decided as him, it seemed. And still, the painter couldn’t help but listen to him, and provoke him a bit, and listened to his rants and speeches. And every week, Grantaire went home with his mind full of beautiful blue eyes, hands moving gracefully, and a blinding smile that made his heart race faster.


The atmosphere was different when Grantaire entered the mansion that day. Tensed, almost… electric. The servants were talking in hushed tones, and neither Lord nor Master Enjolras was around. The portrait was in his usual place, on the easel, but it was covered with a black veil. Grantaire pulled it, and gasped. During the last weeks, the portrait had changed, more and more, and ended depicting a fierce, red-clad Enjolras brandishing the red fabric which revealed itself to be a flag, a gun in the other hand, against a background of furniture thrown together, and a dark sky.

The sky was burning now, the reds and golds of a new dawn. A new dawn that Enjolras would never see. The red that had taken over his coat was darker now, red as the blood blossoming on his chest. Eight wounds were piercing him, nailing him to a wall. The flag was still grasped in his hand, but only the stiffness of death was keeping it from falling.

Grantaire watched with horror the scene unfolding before him. He extended his hand, remembering with a twinge of pain that Enjolras did the exact same gesture so many weeks ago. This time, his fingers grazed the canvas, and he flinched. The paint was still wet, and stained his fingers like blood. Did it mean that the painting just changed ? Did Enjolras just get…? Or… Was it a future that he could still prevent ? With trembling hands, he threw his coat back on, staining it in his efforts to get faster, and ran out of the room, then down the stairs. Maybe there was still a chance, a tiny little chance that he could save him, prevent this scene from becoming reality. And if there wasn’t, well… at least, he wouldn’t let Enjolras die alone.


It was only the next day, while the servants were going around, covering all the mirrors in the mansion for the mourning, that one of them entered the room where the painting supplies were still strewn around.  And of course, in the middle, that fateful portrait. Undoubtedly, their master wouldn’t want to look at that cursed thing, that horrid painting that kept showing his son’s terrible fate. She picked up the black veil, and stopped. Because the portrait had changed again. Where their master’s hand was grabbing a broken gun, was now the hand of another man, with wild, curly black hair. He was lying at the master’s feet, as dead as him. As she went to put the veil back on, she noticed that, for the first time since the portrait had come into the mansion, their master was smiling, as did the other man.

Be Lonely With Me - Chapter Three (Bughead AU)

Summary: A young single mother and a successful author meet at a creative writing class in New York. Betty is trying to get the education that she had to sacrifice to bring up her daughter and Jughead has run out of inspiration for his new novel. Can they help each other?

A/N:Thank you to everyone who gave me such amazing feedback on my previous chapter!! I wonder how the Betty and Jughead/’James’ interaction is going to go here… I hope it lives up to expectations! Thank you to my amazing beta @allthingsbughead​ (I don’t know what I would do without you)!! AO3 is down at the moment so I’ll update that in the morning.

Approx. 2450 words

chapter list here 
read on AO3 here

“You don’t have to organise the whole bookstore you know” Kevin teased from his seat on the counter as he watched his best friend manically reorganise one of the bookshelves alphabetically by author and title. Betty poked her head around the precarious stack of books that she was balancing in her arms and glared at him, Kevin just laughed.

“You can always help me Kev” she muttered, gesturing to a further five piles of books on the floor and raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“Nope” Kevin smirked, “That’s what I pay you for. Besides, I quite like the random and disorganised shelves, it adds character to the old place” he said, looking around the shop proudly.

Bookshelves of all different colours and sizes lined the walls of the store and zigzagged across the room in no particular formation, like a multi-coloured labyrinth. Potted plants sprang from corners, flowery vines snaking up the shelves and walls, and classical music played with the quiet buzz of interference from ancient speakers that needed replacing years ago. Since Betty had started working there, she had set up a small café in the corner of the store - just a couple of sofas with coffee tables - where she served tea, coffee, and homemade cakes. Customers often nestled down in the comfortable sofas and lost themselves in the books they had just bought. Within the café, Betty had also placed a small bookshelf of second-hand books that customers were welcome to read for free with their cup of tea. It added a homely feel to the place that encouraged customers to stay and browse.

Kevin had inherited the bookstore from his grandmother a few years ago and, even though he had little interest in reading, he had wanted to continue the business in her memory. He had met Betty soon after when he was advertising for a store manager but couldn’t afford to pay someone professional. Betty had turned up to the interview, having burnt through her savings, with a six-month old baby in her arms and Kevin had fallen for the little girl almost immediately, insisting it wouldn’t be a problem for Betty to bring Josie with her on her shifts and had even built the children’s section of the store specifically for her. Together, him and Betty had painted a corner of the shop with brightly-coloured jungle animals, fairies, and dragons, as well as furnish it with bean-bags and tiny chairs for kids to lounge around on while their parents shopped. As it turned out, Josie was brilliant for business as she sat in her high-chair and gurgled at customers, sending them into a baby-obsessed daze and encouraging them to come back and play with the gorgeous green-eyed toddler. Sales had increased enormously. Betty was convinced that, even now, some of the regular customers still visited the store specifically to see Josie as she frequently joined Betty on her Saturday shift. Mrs Everstone - one of the store’s regular customers - always brought lollipops for Josie on a Saturday, even if she didn’t have the time to browse.

“Betty, can you please stop organising the shelves? Mr Jones is going to be here any minute and I don’t want you knee-deep in a stack of books when he arrives.” Kevin reasoned.

“Fine” Betty muttered, carefully placing the remaining books back on the shelf and brushing herself off as she stood up. Her dark-green skater dress reached her mid-thigh and was pulled in at her slim waist by a thick brown belt, matched with a loosely knitted black cardigan, black tights, and black ankle boots with a small heel. Betty had also worn her hair down so loose blonde curls brushed her shoulders and Kevin could faintly smell the expensive perfume that Veronica Lodge - Betty’s only other friend in New York - had bought for her the previous Christmas. Kevin smirked at her knowingly.

“What?” Betty demanded.

“Oh nothing, you’ve just made quite an effort today I noticed” Kevin said, still smirking.

“I make an effort every day” Betty protested, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I know, I just haven’t seen you in a dress since last Christmas” Kevin remarked smugly, winking at Betty as he gracefully hopped off the counter and headed to the shop’s tiny kitchen to refill his mug of coffee. “I hope you haven’t written a list of questions to ask James Jones” Kevin called from the kitchen, “We won’t be very popular if we don’t let our customers speak to him.”

“No, of course not” Betty replied as she nervously pushed the sheet of paper further into her pocket to hide it from Kevin. She wandered over to the middle of the shop where she had set up a desk and a pile of new copies of ‘Sweetwater’ ready for the author to sign, she straightened the table cloth for what seemed like the one-hundredth time and plumped the cushion on the chair gently. Just at that moment, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Veronica.

Keep reading

Dangerous Stranger Part 2

Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s your first day or work and it’s making to be a very interesting day.

Word Count: 3148

Warnings: Suggestive language. Explicit language.

A/N: Sorry that it’s so long! I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t like being kept waiting, (Y/N),” he said grimly.

You pressed your thighs together to suppress the hypersensitive feeling between your legs. Your office chair creaked with the adjustment. You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

“That’s not something I’m interested in.” You looked around the office inconspicuously. You didn’t need Hailey, the receptionist, to overhear.

A static crackled over the phone. You imagined him in a fancy chair in a luxury office defeated by some ad and marketing assistant. It was almost like a small victory.

“Let’s agree not to lie to each other, (Y/N).” The tone in his voice told you he was serious.

“Are you implying that I’m lying?” You bristled, leaning on your desk for needed support.

A sinful chuckle sounded from across the line causing a delighted shiver down your spine. Your awareness of him heightened causing you physical discomfort.

“I’m challenging what you believe is the truth.” He made being blunt polished and refined.

Your fist bawled up, drawing your attention away from that heated ache between your legs. You hated how cavalier he was. You could only imagine how his dominance carried over from his business into the bedroom.

“I will admit that I am attracted to you. That is where it ends. I am not interested in pursuing you or any other man in this building.”

“Would you prefer to pursue me out of it?”

Your jaw flexed. “No. I am telling you right now –“

“(Y/N),” Henry smiled at you, holding out a black folder.

You took it with ease, holding the phone away from your face.

“I need you to deliver this up to Mr. Barnes’ office. He wants to see the broad aspects of our marketing design before we present it to him next Monday.”

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, but you maintained your smile professionally.

“Absolutely, Mr. Langley. Right away.”

“Thank you, (Y/N), and please call me Henry.”

You nodded as he walked away. You winced putting the phone back up to your ear.

“We’ll continue this conversation upstairs,” he smiled.

With a click, he disappeared. You hung the phone back on its port and leaned your head back. You needed a moment to prepare yourself for what awaited you on the twentieth floor. You collected the folder and ran through your escape plan mentally.

Hailey gave you a wave as the elevator doors closed. It wasn’t long before the light for the twentieth floor dinged. It was inaccessible without a key or being buzzed in. You rode the elevator up trying to ready yourself for this conversation with James Barnes.

When the elevator door opened, you felt the air sucked from you. The marble floors complimented the beautiful chandeliers hanging overheard. The lobby was decked out in chic furniture that you were positive had only been sat on a few times and by select people.

A redhead sat at the receptionist desk typing away at something. You wondered how busy her days were up here. She gave you a curious look and turned back to her work without a smile. You brushed off her indifference and focused on an apprehensive looking young man standing by.

“You must be, (Y/N),” he said with a pleasant smile.

His friendliness warmed you significantly. You didn’t know how such a pleasant looking person could work with a man like Barnes. The receptionist on the other hand – you glanced back at her – made sense. You shook his hand firmly.

“Mr. Barnes is waiting for you.” He gestured toward the office door.

The view you had from here was beautiful, you could only imagine what his office view was like. You clutched the folder tight, collected your courage, and walked through the door.

You hadn’t been wrong. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave an impeccable view of New York City from two sides of the room. The remaining walls were glass. A third wall adjacent to the door and opposite Barnes’ desk was laden with TVs airing news channels from international places. He had a massive mahogany desk that was regrettably turned away from the view. He had a bar that reminded you of a high-end sushi bar and a black leather sofa that looked comfier than any sofa you’d ever owned. You were convinced this office was bigger than your own apartment.

Barnes was sitting at his desk scribbling off his signature on some papers. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows revealing muscle definition along his forearm. The size of his hands caused you to adjust your skirt. The veins running through them denoting strength.

In that moment, all you could think about was him bending you over that wooden desk and ripping those expensive clothes off his body.

He lifted his head as if to address your lustful thoughts. Anxiety prickled along your skin. He gave you a debonair smile.

“I was wondering how long you were going to keep me waiting.”

With his eyes on you, he leaned forward and pressed a button on his phone port. “Alex, hold my calls.” He pressed one more and the glass frosted over.

He leaned back and clasped his hands on his lap. You couldn’t help but imagine sitting on his lap and distracting him from all his important work.

You cursed yourself for being so weak of mind. He was just a man. You reminded yourself that he was human like all the others and maybe even the most arrogant.

“The folder Mr. Langley prepared for you,” you placed the folder on his desk indignantly.

In one fluid movement, he was out of his chair and gesturing toward his large couch. “Please, sit.”

“I have to return to work.”

“I also have business to attend to.” He glanced toward the papers on his desk, “Which we can both get back to as soon as we sort this out.”

You looked up, your brows furrowed slightly,” Sort what out?”

He sighed and picked you up with ease before dropping you onto the sofa. You immediately missed his warmth and hard muscles holding you.

“This thing between us and what it’s going to take to get you to go to bed with me. I need to know your objections.” He looked at you with a straight face.

He was really trying to discuss sex in his office. Unbelievable.

“It’d take a miracle. There is nothing between us.” You scooted to the very end of the couch and away from him. You busied yourself with smoothing out your skirt and regretting not wearing your new pinstripe pantsuit. “You’re incorrigible. Your tactics are offensive.”

You’d never admit it, but it was a major turn on.

“It’s called honesty, (Y/N).” He studied you with an inscrutable gaze.

“It’s blunt.” You huffed.

“You don’t seem like the kind of girl who likes to be bullshitted. I took you for a girl who wants nothing but the truth, no fluff.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up.

“I am not a sex doll. I refuse to be regarded in such a manner. I have a lot more to give than that.”

His brows shot up,” Well then.”

You stood,” We’re done here?” You added an inflection of inquiry but you meant none of it. You weren’t staying.

“Not even close.” His fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you back down to the couch. “We have undeniable attraction. An intense, sexual attraction best not ignored. Neither of us have an interest in a relationship. So what is it you want? Seduction? Would you like to be seduced, (Y/N)?”

You caught yourself leaning into the conversation. Damn him. Damn yourself. You were tempted. So tempted. Who wouldn’t be? The man was stunning and all he wanted to do was get hot, bothered, and sweaty with you.

“It’s a business transaction. You’re planning this out like a meeting or a luncheon. It’s a turnoff.” You folded your arms across your chest.

“Rules make it less likely you’ll expect this to become a storybook ending. It saves disappointment at the end.”

Your face turned up in revulsion. “Do you hear what you’re saying? It’s like setting up an appointment. I’m not running sex by my assistant to make sure I can pencil it in. Like a preapproved date with my vagina.”

He struck a nerve when he began laughing. He was infuriating. The warm sound washed over you, full and husky. The awareness heightened from your core. You made a clandestine adjustment of your legs. It reminded you that he was human and not some sex god – or machine. That was both astonishing and aggravating. You might have forgiven a god. Zeus was uncontrollable, but this was just a man.

You stood again, ready to go. This conversation was over.

“Sex should be personal. I’m not saying chocolates and love letters. I’m saying it should be friendly at the very least. No, I take that back, there should be mutual respect at the very least and friendly otherwise.”

“You and chocolate?” His eyes darkened with a mischievous grin. “Delicious.”

You gave an exasperated groan. You marched to the door and tried to tear it open. You wanted the whole office – whole being the two people on this floor – to know that Barnes did not win everyone over. The knob wouldn’t even turn.

“Let me out, Barnes.”

The mischief in his eyes fled. The light humor gone. It was replaced with a towering, dark stature,” You’re asking me to abandon my rules. My private affairs are straight forward. There are no mixed signals. You want me to blur the lines. I can’t think of any good reason to do that.”

“I said let me out.”

He placed his hands on the glass door on either side of you. You couldn’t think.

That intoxicating aroma encased you. You closed your eyes trying to fight through the fog. You couldn’t think with him this close.

With him so close, you could feel the strength of his determination. He had iron will. It engulfed you and closed you in. It was like a bubble in which nothing else existed but you and him. The magnetic pull toward his body was almost irresistible this close.  The effect he had on you made your head spin. It also made you peeved.

“Turn around, (Y/N).”

His authoritative tone caused an upwelling of arousal which you fought back by squeezing your eyes shut. He leaned close enough that heat welled from his body. Heat and hunger radiated from him which stimulated your lust for him.

You were trying to figure out why you wanted him so bad? What he said should have been so offensive you slapped him and split. He was trouble. Nothing good could come from this. He’d ruin your life, which you didn’t need any help in doing.

“Let me go.” You leaned your head against the cool glass. It brought relief.

“I will,” his lips brushed against your ear. You shivered. His hand pressed to your hip, his thumb applying enough pressure to encourage you to lean into him. You could feel his arousal against your back when you complied. “Just turn and say goodbye.”

You turned reluctantly. You were disappointed. You couldn’t tell if by the situation or that you really wanted him. He towered over you. His forearm now leaned against the glass, bringing him closer. His hair framed his striking face. You couldn’t breathe. His thumb stroked across your hip. His gaze was intimidating and passionate.

“Kiss me. You could give me that much.” He said throatily.

You practically whined. You gave into your primal desire. It was his lips that found yours first. He sealed his mouth over yours. His lips surprisingly soft, yet firm. His moved an expert tongue along yours. His kiss was pleasurably aggressive and skilled, turning you on.

Your hands tangled in his hair. You closed the space between you leaving no space. You could feel his hard on against you. It drove your arousal further. He growled against you as you gripped his hair. Your heart clashed against his as they beat wildly out of control.

One arm circled your waist and the other pulled you up from your butt. It was effortless. Breathless, you tore away from the kiss. His hard, muscled body pressed against yours. You felt all of him all the way to his erection. It made you achingly aware.

“I want you.” He kissed up your neck. “Trouble or not.”

Your skin was feverish and your breasts tender. Your clit throbbed with wild arousal, craving attention. You kissed him with ravenous passion. He lowered you onto the couch, levering over you. The couch was momentarily cold against your back.

One hand kept him supported over you while one glided over your thigh with firm possession. He reached the garter that kept your silk stockings up. He passed it up to push your skirt up. You pulled his head back down to kiss him. He growled against your lips, his hand now rubbing seductive strokes across your bare hip.

He tore back and looked down at you. “Jesus, (Y/N).” The words vibrated in his chest. The low, primitive sound causing a shiver and goosebumps.

You opened your legs instinctively, letting his hips maneuver between them. You bucked your hips up to reach contact with him that was lost between your lips. He lowered himself to kiss down your body. He slid further down, kissing along until he hit your bare skin.

He kissed along your thighs. His hands on either side of your thighs rubbing comforting circles. You moaned in anticipation. Your hips bucking impatiently. You strained for the contact you’d been craving since you saw James Barnes.

Then the warmth and touch of his body was gone. The contact was lost. Cold replaced his presence. You laid their gasping, wet and willing. You opened your eyes to find him standing there smoothing a hand through his hair.

You realized why he reacted so sternly.  

A voice sounded over the intercom. “Rodgers is here with Mr. Daniels, sir.”

You burned with embarrassment. Damn it. You were supposed to be working. What kind of fucked up mess was this?

You scrambled up and yanked down your shirt. You were going to get fired.

“Fuck.” He ran both hands through his hair. “It’s the middle of the god damn day in my fucking office.”

You stood straightening yourself. You were coming undone from the inside out.

“Here.” He moved to you and straightened your skirt. Pulling it up and adjusting it.

You smacked his hands away. “Leave me alone.” You were furious that you almost let that happen. Where was your head?

“Shut up, (Y/N).” He said sternly. He smoothed out your blouse and tucked it back in around your skirt. He pulled it straight to align the buttons down the center of your breasts. He did it with calm, expert hands.

“Fix your hair.” He mentioned while he grabbed his coat and shrugged into it. He adjusted his tie calmly.

You made a beeline to the door only to be met at the same time as Barnes.

He lifted your chin. “Doll,” he said softly,” Are you okay?”

You had lost your damn mind. You were embarrassed, angry, and aroused, which infuriated you more. You lost your cool with James Barnes, no less. He thought of sexual intimacy so casually and disconnected.

“What does it look like?” You tore away from him and stood facing the door. You didn’t want to look at him. You were afraid of losing your cool again.

“You look radiant. You look,” his eyes admired you from your toes up,“ fuckable. I’ll be the first to admit it. I want you so badly I’m in physical pain. I’m inches from taking you back there and making you cum until you’re begging me to stop.”

His raw desire for you was a serious turn on. It was like an aphrodisiac. You needed to get the hell out of here. You needed to get back to work and when it was over you needed to sit your butt on your couch and drink a glass – no a bottle – of wine.

“Well, I have to work. And there is a man outside waiting for you.” You sighed, resisting the urge to give him what he – and you – wanted.

He smoothed his hair back again and nodded,” I’ll be done with work by five. I’ll come get you then.”

“The hell you will. What happened doesn’t change anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Get over yourself, Barnes. I lost my head for a moment, but it’s never been clearer: I don’t want what you want.”

His hand fastened on the knob, holding it shut. “You’re lying. You want it just as bad as I do, just not in the way I want to give it to you. We’ll revisit and smooth out the details.”

You felt sick. You needed out of this room. Between him, your stepfather, and every other man you’d met in your life, you were sick of the rich, entitled businessmen.

You put your hand on his and yanked open the door. You skirted under his arm and smiled at the two gentlemen. Barnes was quick on your heels. His hand flattened against the small of your back, maneuvering you.

“Good afternoon. Steve will show you in. I’ll be just a moment.” He smiled at Steve and then the stranger.

You let him lead you to the elevators. You pushed his arm away as soon as his office door closed.

You jammed the elevator button.

“Five o’clock, (Y/N). Six latest.”

“I’m busy.”


“I have plans.”

“With who?”

“None of your business, Barnes. I -”

He stepped in front of you and clasped a hand over your mouth,” Stop. Tell me when you want to meet. Before you answer, tell me if I look like a man who is easily discouraged.”

Determination darkened his vivid blue eyes and his face was hard. A shiver chilled you. You didn’t think you could win this battle.

You pulled his hand away,” We need to think about this. Cool down.”

“Tuesday. Five o’clock when work gets out.” He held his hand on the open elevator door to keep it from closing.

You stepped in and faced him,” Lunch on Tuesday.”

That would give you a surefire escape. It was an hour max.

“I’ll take it.” He smiled, taking his hand away from the door.

With a straight face, bold as brass, he said,” This is going to happen. You and I.”

And with that the elevator doors closed.

You let the words sink in. They were a promise. Maybe even a threat. Either way, you knew Barnes would have his way.


@theariel85 @bovaria