it was boring as hell but at least it was pretty

So this is a totally useless rant, but as a skinny girl, I’m getting extra, extra tired of fat-shaming.

I work for a corsetier at a Renaissance Faire. We sell corsets. Not flimsy bullshit costume corsets; like real, durable, waist-training corsets. Today a woman came in with her boyfriend, so I helped her pick out a corset and try it on. While her boyfriend—who was decidedly enthused about the whole corset thing—sat watching me lace her in, he told me, grinning, “Of all the good jobs at the Renaissance Faire, I think you have the best.”

I shrugged in agreement. “I touch butts and reach down cleavage all day; I mean…” Because we like to be a bit rakish at the Faire, and, y’know, it’s true. Tying people into corsets pretty much invariably requires getting handsy.

The couple laughed at that, and the boyfriend said, “That’s the job I would want!” But then he chuckled again and said, offhand, “Or maybe not; while we were looking at the racks, there were some pretty big sizes on there!”

Our sizes are all done in inches, and the biggest we make is a 46. And you’d better believe our large sizes sell. For a second I wasn’t sure what to say to the guy’s comment, but I answered him casually. “We get a lot of beautiful big ladies in here.” Because we do. “We make corsets for real women, not Barbie dolls,” I added. Wasn’t trying to be smart, just kind of tossed it out there because that’s the line we like to use when people ask about larger sizes, and because, again, we do.

The boyfriend went quiet at that; I didn’t think anything of it, I just kept on lacing. A moment later, he said, a little awkwardly (but sincerely enough), “Didn’t mean to be offensive.”

I quickly smiled and brushed it off, said he wasn’t, said I was just saying. (Don’t want to make the customers uncomfortable, you know?) And that was the end of it. His comment had rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn’t a big deal. Now, I wear a 20-inch corset. I’m a few cup sizes short of being one of the Barbie dolls. Like his girlfriend, I’m one of the “hot chicks”; he doesn’t have to worry about offending me by implying that I wouldn’t be fun to poke and pull at.

Honestly though, of all the people I fit sexy technically-undergarments to in a day, fat girls are maybe my favorite people to lace up. Because they are just so damn happy that we have stuff that fits them. They are so damn happy that the corsets we make in their sizes are all the same pretty, shiny colors and cool flower/dragon/skull/etc. prints that the smaller corsets are, not ugly beige and boring “granny” colors. They are so goddamn happy that at least one (of several on the grounds) corset shop carries things that they can wear, that they actually want to wear, and that they look fucking awesome in. This is only my second season working, and we’ve fit 60+ inch waists and double-K busts. The only people we’ve ever had to tell sorry, we don’t have anything that fits them, are twelve-year-old kids.

It’s half-wonderful, half-heartbreaking how excited those women get. Women who say with sad smiles, when we ask if they want to get fitted, “Oh, no, you don’t have anything that fits me,” and then are stunned when we’re 300% confident that yes we do, and we have options. Women who can’t stop smiling and looking at themselves in the mirror after we’ve got them laced in.

I had a lady last week whose waist I measured (cinching the tape tight, as per procedure) at 41 inches—honestly not all that big. So she picked out a 41-inch corset to try on. I could tell halfway through getting her laced that it was going to be a bit big for her, so I mentioned it and said she might do better to try a smaller size. She started crying on the spot. She was so overwhelmed; she couldn’t believe someone had just told her that a 41 was too big. She told me about how hard clothes shopping was for her, how her mother would tell her she needed an XXXL instead of an XXL, how she had recently lost weight but still couldn’t wear certain colors because they didn’t fit or she wasn’t confident enough.

She did end up getting her corset, and after I checked her out she asked if she could give me a hug, so we ended up standing there hugging each other for a minute. While we did, I told her, “Do not ever let anyone tell you any bullshit. You are gorgeous.” She said, “I have a new boyfriend and he keeps telling me that.” I told her he was right, and to just keep telling herself she’s gorgeous; it was okay if she didn’t always believe it, but to keep telling herself anyway. (That’s how I talked myself through shit when I had bad anxiety.)

We all know fat-shaming is bad. The stupidity, fatphobia, and misogyny of it has pissed me off since I first became aware of it. But working with clothing, especially as figure-hugging and precise as corsets, has given me a new perspective on it—how much it affects people and just how shitty it is. Like, what does it say that I had a grown, only average-big woman crying into my shoulder because she was so overjoyed not to be the uppermost extremity of what a manufacturer can clothe?

My job rocks and it’s really rewarding, but sometimes it highlights some of the ugliest shit about society. I’m so glad I work at a shop that’s not bullshit about body types and operates with more people in mind than just scrawny white chicks like me. The fat women I work with are a ton of fun to lace up, and they’re so much more than their size—they’re cool, they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re sweet, they’re great to talk to, and yes, they’re hot. I’m so damn done with them getting short-changed and shamed by petty fucks who refuse to make them nice clothes, who refuse to even try to work for them, who refuse to consider them pretty. This whole rant was useless and won’t get read, but I had to vent because it’s been driving me nuts.

So actually, screw you, random dude. Fat girls are the highlight of my job.

I never pranked my parents again after the incident.

by reddit user Eigengraulogy

I was 11 years old when it happened.

As a kid, I knew that something wasn’t quite right with the events that unfolded at the time. Even though it was never brought up again under any circumstances by either one of my parents, it’s something that always stuck with me. I can’t say it’s a memory that I tried to suppress seeing as it was always there at the back of my mind, bothering me like an itch that wouldn’t go away unless properly scratched.

Keep reading

The night starts with a big, spicy Philly cheese steak. It’s about 6pm. I’ve been wanting to try the cheese steak from this corny, 50’s retro place for a long time. I gobble down the big greasy bowl of meat, hot sauce, and cheese, then head to the coffee shop for my weekly draw group. A little after I get home, about 10pm, a stomach ache comes on. “Damn, guess spicy foods are out.” I’ve been getting stomach aches every time I have spicy Thai or hot wings. I google search about spice pain- possible stomach ulcer? “I guess I have been stressed lately, but no more than usual I don’t think…” File under “Will investigate further later.“ According to the comments on this health website, a glass of milk will help. Gulp one down, go to bed.

Wrestle to sleep for about an hour. Realize the ache is just over the required pain threshold to keep you from sleeping. Do some work on my comic, more tired, but stomach worse. Will play batman until I fall asleep. I feel like I’m just running in circles… How many times have I failed this mission? Batman, batman, stomach now hurts too bad to enjoy an active task like video games. Deliriously tired. Would be great to sleep through the rest of this abdominal temper tantrum. Try the old “hot shower will make you sleep” trick. Take some Pepto-Bismol, and some generic acetaminophen. Out of the shower, hurts to walk around now, and to lie down. Guess I’ll have to wait it out with my eyes open. Call and leave my Doc a message, maybe will get a spot in there tomorrow. Need to get that ulcer discovered… Time to enjoy a passive task like watching TV. Breaking Bad feels like the right mixture of funny and painful, just like me and my burning spice belly. Damn, I can’t even enjoy that part where during Hank’s interrogation of that meth head, Wendy, she accuses Hank of trying to buy sexual services from her on behalf of an underage “football player” (a misunderstanding involving Walter Jr. from a few episodes before). Oh hell. Time to look up what time emergency medical clinics open. Guess I’ll have to pay out of pocket since I can’t wait for my Doc tomorrow.  It’s about 4am now. Earliest clinic opens at 8. Now hungry again, but can’t eat what with all the pain. One hour down. Man, this is really starting to hurt. Can I really wait 3 more hours? Sitting is starting to hurt as much as lying and standing. And I’m still not enjoying TV. Okay, I’ve come to a decision…. 

“Hey, Kayla, my stomach still hurts, I’m thinking about driving to the ER, do you wanna come?” “Oh! Ya, sure. What time is it?” “It’s 5:30”. I  call the hospital “Hey, I’ve had a pretty bad stomach ache all night, I’m thinking of coming by.” Operator: *long pause* “Haha, well, okay! We’re open all night, so just come on in.” 

Driving with a stomach ache is not so bad, because you’re already hunched over. Wish Kayla could drive, but she doesn’t really know how, probably would have a panic attack and would definitely crash. Interesting that they have ER parking, I wonder how many ER patients drive themselves here… All bodily positions hurt my insides now, signing in to this place sucks. Give Kayla half the paperwork to fill out, glad she’s here, or this would be really boring. Man, they sure take a long time for someone trying to get into an empty emergency room… Signing in with a nurse, she ask me my height and I say “ ‘5’’8”, but I notice she puts down “ ‘5’’7”… They want to look at my pee, they always want to see my pee. I pee, no blood, so whatever that tells them means I’m getting an ultrasound first. Then a young nurse named Ken, a cool Asian dude with screws through both ears, squirts so much morphine into my IV that I lean back and audibly say “oh my god.” I feel it ripple like a shock wave from my arm down to the ends of my body. My belly is feeling alright now. 

The ultrasound technician tells me that babies are the least common thing she uses ultrasounds for. My joke has fallen flat. Back in the room, the doctor and his manila folder tell me “Good news! No gallstones, there are kidney stones inside your kidneys, but since they are inside, you shouldn’t be feeling the pain from those.” “Wait, does that mean I have to pee those stones out at some poin–” It is not discussed again. Seeing that neither organ has the appropriate stones, Doc would “rather not expose me to more radiation than necessary” and is working on discharging me. But, “I won’t leave here without a diagnosis.” 

In I go to the CT scan tube. That hot squish of contrast dye spreading through my veins. “Okay, we’re moving you into a room upstairs.” Says a hippy technician. Upstairs in my sweet and swanky single with couch, a person I’m pretty sure is just a businessman disguised in medical scrubs types on a computer. He takes down my answers to what seem like pre-surgery questions. “Do you have anybody specific on file in the event you are medically unable to yield consent  for yourself?” This, combined fact that they won’t feed me, makes me wonder what it is I’m going into surgery for. I saw this same thing about a year and a half ago with the whole brain debacle, but that’s a story for another time. Several medical people dip in, sprinkle breadcrumbs of information; it’s like a game show challenge that combines a scavenger hunt with a jigsaw puzzle. You have to gather the pieces of information from their hiding places, then assemble them in the correct order to reveal an answer. A tech comes in and spoils the game, “You seem to have a lot of questions, so I just want to make sure, you know you have appendicitis right? We’re about to take it out.” “Thank god,” I think. “It’s not the spicy foods. Spicy foods are still in.” Downstairs, in pre-op, I complain to my plain-clothes surgeon about how analog tests like pressing on my stomach are remarkably inaccurate, since a doctor’s subjective interpretation of my poor description of say, “the pain is slightly higher” can rule out appendicitis, the same appendicitis that a machine might spot an hour later. I tell him that I almost got sent home. My surgeon tells me he’s been doing analogue tests for 30 years, and not to worry about it. I start to tell him how “my deadpan reaction to pain also causes a lot of people to misdiagnose me, that a lot of people laugh when I describe how I’m in pai–”, but he walks away in the middle to get dressed for surgery. The operating room has big TVs and lights, it looks like a set, and I consider the possibility of fake hospitals as the anesthesia takes the wheel.

In the recovery area, the nurse tells me how big, inflamed appendixes can be agitated by spicy foods, foods high in fat, and dense foods like heavy cheese. I see an image of a spotlit cheese steak appear in a black void. Nurse feeds me ice chips and tells me she craves ice chips when she’s dehydrated. I suggest that she only craves ice chips because she works in a hospital, that ice chips are too unsatisfying a thing to crave at random, and that most people would just crave water. She agrees. Back upstairs in my room, it is now 8pm, and it has been 26 hours since I’ve eaten. I’ve been hydrated only through IV’s. The driest mouth and the clearest pee. Because the lingering anesthetic can cause nausea and vomiting, they will only give me jello. I go nuts on the jello. They continue to give me every jello I ask for, one at a time, like a test. Way past where I though the cutoff point would be, the nurse tells me “That’s it! There’s no more jello! You ate all the jello on this floor.” You’re damn right I did, you’re damn right….

Scavenger Hunt

Stiles/Derek, T, 2500 words, Meet Cute AU

Written for the following prompt:

“i picked up your bag at the airport but i can’t find your number so i’m about to embark on the largest scavenger hunt of all time by using your strange belongings to track you down” au

“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles calls out as he wrestles his roll bag over their entry mat.

“That’s still not funny,” Scott says, without looking up from his textbook.

“Once again, we disagree.”

Scott snorts. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” he says, plopping down right in the middle of the living room to start unpacking. “Typical conference. Some sessions were actually interesting, most were boring as shit.”

Scott hums, already absorbed again in his reading. Stiles reaches for the zipper on his suitcase but then freezes—this is definitely the same brand as his suitcase, but he doesn’t remember this extra zippered pocket on the top.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

Stiles grimaces. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t my suitcase. Goddamn it.”

Scott finally looks up, frowning. “Shit, really? How’d you manage that?”

“It was a redeye,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. “I was exhausted, in fucking LaGuardia, and I was just trying to get out of there as fast as humanly possible.”

“Is there a name on it? Are you sure it’s not yours?”

“Pretty sure,” Stiles says, feeling around the sides for the pocket. He sighs when he pulls out the little card and sees that it’s blank. “Motherfucker. This is definitely not my suitcase because I’m actually smart enough to put my name on it.”

“Sorry, man,” Scott says sympathetically as Stiles falls back on the rug with an anguished groan.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Open it,” Scott suggests. “Maybe there’s something with their name on it.”

Stiles fiddles with the zipper. He’s nosy as hell, in general, and normally he’d be jumping at the chance to rifle through someone else’s personal belongings. But… 

“What if there’s like, dead bodies in there or something?” he asks, and Scott just stares at him for a second. Stiles rolls his eyes—that’s a perfectly valid concern. Or maybe he watches too many police procedurals, whatever. “Okay, fine.”

Stiles holds his breath as he slowly unzips the suitcase, but nothing happens when he lets the top part flop back onto their crappy, threadbare rug. There’s a Dodgers hat on top, and Stiles grimaces. “Well, they have shitty taste in baseball teams.”

He sets the hat carefully aside and keeps digging. The person is neat, whoever they are, because everything is folded, and all the dirty clothes are even all contained in their own zippered bag. At first glance, there’s nothing too out of the ordinary—phone charger, American Gods, Calvin Klein briefs. Fancy, he thinks. There’s a monogrammed leather toiletry bag (DSH, he commits those initials to memory), and he pokes through it.

“I’m gonna make an educated guess that it’s a guy.”

“Why’s that?” Scott says, finally looking somewhat interested in this mystery.

Stiles holds up an electric razor. “And that he’s maybe not totally straight,” he says, brandishing a little bottle of lube that’s about three-quarters full.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Lots of people use lube.”

“Yeah, but do you travel with it?” Stiles counters, and Scott sighs.

“No,” he admits. “Did you find anything with his actual name on it?”

“Not yet,” Stiles says absently. He continues to rifle through the bag until he’s pretty sure he has his plan of attack. “Okay. I’m gonna find out who it is,” he says with a determined nod, and Scott frowns.

“How? This is New York City! There are literally millions of dudes here.”

“It’ll be like a real-life scavenger hunt,” Stiles says dreamily, ignoring Scott as he carefully lays his three chosen items out on the coffee table. “This is awesome.”

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imagine vampire yoongi.

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

  • just when you thought he couldn’t get any grumpier, min yoongi is cursed to walk the earth for all eternity.
  • yikes.
  • so done with the world’s shit by now, honestly he stopped caring a long, long, looooong time ago and if anyone expects him to give a flying fuck about a hashtag or the panda’s dying they can think again.
  • political scandal? “is that a new band?”
  • global warming? “good, it’s kinda drafty here.”
  • the sun will one day grow to encompass the earth? “great, i’ll be waiting.”
  • whenever he gets bored or impatient with everything he’ll just go to ground and hibernate. 
  • by which i mean he will literally dig himself a hole and go to sleep in the earth for anything from a week to a century (ok that was one time.)
  • and he’s cold all. the. time. like, yeah i know he’s technically dead but he actually feels the cold all the time, because he lowkey starves himself.
  • so he’s always very bundled up, and doesn’t really notice the temperature shift from inside/outside or winter/summer.
  • and yoongi is old, okay, he doesn’t need much blood to keep him going. 
  • he’s got a short list of donors he can have a few sips from during the week, and that way nobody has to die because of him.
  • because ugh slaughter is such a pain to clean up.
  • so, not only is he technically dead, but he looks kinda malnourished, a little sick, and like he hasn’t slept. ever. 
  • and yet he’s very pretty, flawless, stoic, and distractingly magnetic.
  • because he’s so old however, he’s not weak, just lethargic af.
  • there’s just one thing he cares about. wanna take a wild guess?
  • music.
  • the only reason he hasn’t sunk to the bottom of the ocean, flung himself into a volcano, or walked into the sunset by now.
  • and when you don’t need to eat, sleep, or pee, you get through a lot of music so yoongi has pretty much heard it all.
  • these days he just kinda hibernates and wanders around while he’s waiting for new releases.
  • and you work in a record shop. wow isn’t that a nice coinkydink.
  • his usual place shuts down and he has to find a new shop that’ll let him sit around and listen to music in the evenings. 
  • and your place of work is exactly one such place.
  • he comes in late, depending on the season, just when the sun has gone down, during the last few hours of your work day.  
  • he doesn’t say anything, just sits and listens until you have to lock up.
  • and you just assume he works all day and this is the only time he has to go browse, although you notice eventually that he rarely buys anything, but you decide to leave him alone because he looks like he’s had one hell of a day.
  • anyway it’s nice not to be alone in the shop at the end of the day when it gets dark and all.
  • you tried to offer him coffee once, because you got some for yourself and he always looks like he just got in from a snowstorm. but he just shook his head no.
  • and at first he would stop by the shop once a month or every two weeks.
  • but one night, when you play something over the speakers that he hasn’t heard in decades, he suddenly feels???? nostalgic ????
  • and with wide eyes he asks you the name of the artist and you trip all over yourself and your words trying to tell him because you don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak and wow is that what his voice sounds like
  • and after that he starts coming every night to rediscover all the old stuff he hasn’t listened to in ages, because somehow in all his grump he had completely forgotten he could do that???? 
  • and he’s lowkey very grateful that he rediscovered his love of music through you, so whenever you try to make polite conversation with him after that he doesn’t just grunt or shake his head, he gives you actual answers, and you start learning more about him.
  • you let him stay after closing time, just a little while until you have to go, making small talk whenever he’s not absorbed in the music.
  • that way you learn so, sO much about music, everything from little technical details to great historical context, and you don’t understand how one man can have such a large range of knowledge.
  • and then you start playing whichever album he chooses over the speakers so that you can both listen and talk about the music together.
  • and stay around longer so he can finish whichever album he’s listening to that evening.
  • and he begins to walk you home because that way you can continue your conversations, and also it’s late and dark and he knows exactly what kind of monsters lurk in these shadows.
  • and by that time you’re already head over heels for him, but he’s very careful about keeping his distance, so you just assume he’s not attracted to you and that’s fine as long as he keeps keeping you company.
  • yoongi has probably mentioned he’s a vampire.
  • like at least twice he’s proclaimed to be dead and you just assumed you didn’t get the joke.
  • but the real joke is he’s dead, he doesn’t care who knows, and it’s not like anyone will believe him anyway.
  • “you’re too thin, when was the last time you ate something, yoongi?”
  • “a couple centuries probably, what year is it again?”
  • and
  • “you’re so pale, yoongi, you should get more sun.”
  • “i’m already dead, a little sun isn’t gonna help.”
  • or
  • “you look tired, yoongi, do you get enough sleep?”
  • “i took a ten year nap before this, don’t worry.”
  • or
  • “hey, yoongi, how are you today?”
  • “dead. could be worse, i guess.”
  • lmao rip.
  • and then, you go and get a dang paper cut.
  • before you can so much as bring it to your lips yoongi is already at your side, pressing a tissue (where did that even come from?) to the cut so firmly it cuts off circulation to the entire finger anyway.
  • and he’s so,,,,, close. 
  • you’ve never seen him so close, and all you can do is stare at him like an idiot and wonder how many people have specks of red in their eyes, because you’ve never seen that on anyone before.
  • and he doesn’t even breathe. he can’t.
  • and that’s when you realise “yoongi, you’re so cold!”
  • “i’m dead. i told you, i’m a vampire.”
  • and you’re like hha,,, hah,,,ha? w-what? 
  • so he takes your other hand, and holds it to the side of his neck and he’s completely cold and there’s no pulse.
  • and now the cat is out of the bag so he may as well lean in and sniff you because life’s too short amirite.
  • “you smell……….. incredible.”
  • that’s when you see his lil fangs.
  • and at first you’re freaking out because hol ?? ?y STHIT???
  • but then you realise, this is yoongi, who’s walked you home for months now, he’s had every opportunity to drain you dry and he hasn’t and you’re desperately in love with him.
  • so you just kinda,,,,, chill.
  • and yoongi looks surprised, expecting you to kick and scream, and asks why your heart rate suddenly slowed again and you tell him it’s because you trust him.
  • so, he asks “but what if i bit you?”
  • and you say “you wouldn’t.”
  • “then,,,,,,,, what if i kissed you?”
  • your heart damn near beats right out of your chest.
  • and in response he gives you the smuggest grin, fangs and all.
  • anyway, nsfw under the cut.

Keep reading

Our Little Secret-Part One

Summary: After a hunt and quite a few drinks the boys learn that you aren’t as ‘experienced’ in one department as they thought you were. Dean thinks he can rectify that

Series Masterlist

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Square Filled/Kink: Oral Fixation for @spnkinkbingo

Word Count: 4700

Warnings: Smut, oral (male and female receiving), insecure reader, language

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. This is the first part of what I hope is a lengthy and smutty series. Any feedback is always appreciated. This is also for @emilywritesaboutdean and @wheresthekillswitch ‘s Do It Like TFW Challenge (The gif is near the bottom)

A thank you to my beta @ayeronda for betaing at an ungodly hour and being so wonderful.


It’s been a long ass day and an even longer hunt. You were more than happy to be sitting on Dean’s bed in the boys’ motel room, sipping on your second, or maybe it is the third beer. And that was just here, it wasn’t counting the four or five shots you had had down at the bar. So now you were here and Sam was riding Dean hard about his strikeout at the bar.

“Dude, you were never going home with her.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”

You can’t help but chuckle, “What? Two whole minutes?”

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The Kissing Booth

A SnowBaz fanfiction


Simon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “Well, well, well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “Great, well you’ve done that.”

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

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

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

           “Then go away.”

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

           “Baz, I’m warning you.”

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

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

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

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

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

           I should punch him.

           I should spit in his face.

           I wanted to see what you’d do.

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

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

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

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

           “Was that what you wanted?” I growl.

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

           His soft, soft lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           “When have you ever been fair?”

           “Touché.”

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

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

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

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

           “When you paid the fee.”

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

           “It does.”

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

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

           “No.”

           “Then what?”

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

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

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

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

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

           One of us has to get hurt, right?

           And suddenly it makes sense.

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

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

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

           “How?”

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

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

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

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

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

           “Tell that to the rest of the world.”

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

           “About what?”

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

           Baz returns my gaze a moment, searching my eyes.    

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can try.”

Some Ilvermorny headcanons
  • First and foremost, every day is cranberry pie day
  • While students do have robes, the clothes they wear underneath the robes are not uniforms. There is an eclectic mix of tastes, from the very serious horned serpent who wears button-downs and ties every day, to the wampus who has enchanted their graphic t-shirt to move, to the thunderbirds and pukwudgies who mutually exist solely for sweater weather.
  • Every year on James Steward’s birthday, there is a school-sponsored cranberry pie bake-off. Pukwudgie house nearly always wins. Once, thunderbird won and good lord you would think it was the civil war all over again
  • There are a lot of local professors, of course, so you get some really thick Boston accents, but there are also professors with southern belle accents who serve iced tea in class, professors with Canadian accents, professors with midwest accents, several Native American professors with smooth, lulling accents, and some Mexican professors who slip into Spanish when they get super excited about their subject. There was a visiting professor from Ireland once, and 96% of female students (and some male students) had major crushes on him.
  • Wampus house is where you go to get body-crushing, soul-lifting hugs
  • Horned serpents may be scholars, but they are also some of the keenest observers. They watch the whole school from afar and quietly play matchmaker to all of their friends. No one suspects them because - what, horned serpent? No. They don’t know about emotions. Meanwhile, the house president makes a killing on the bet she made to predict the homecoming king/queen. 
  • Thanksgiving at Ilvermorny is a spectacle that has to be seen to be believed. It’s almost bigger than Christmas. The thanksgiving feasts at Ilvermorny put Hogwarts to shame. Turkey, ham, real cranberry sauce, pies - oh my god so many pies. They’ve got cider, and tea, and cocoa like you wouldn’t believe. There are New English dishes and Southern dishes and Native dishes and Mexican dishes and Canadian dishes and West Coast dishes - essentially it’s a gigantic continental potluck, and it goes on all day long. Also, their pumpkin juice tastes 1000 times better.
  • While things like dueling and fighting with wands may be frowned upon at Hogwarts, at Ilvermorny it’s kind of just assumed that stuff happens, and the profs are very chill about it. “Just don’t kill each other okay” “just take it outside” “no casting destruction spells indoors” “bring some band-aids with you” “if you break your nose don’t bleed on your homework”
  • Pukwudgies are a pretty agreeable house over all, if not a bit salty and surly around the edges, they’ll still help you with your homework and bring you soup when you’ve got a cold. But all bets are off when they step onto the lacrosse field. Maybe its a pride thing, but pukwudgies are frikkin animals when playing lacrosse.
  • Wampus beats pukwudgie at lacrosse fairly often. They don’t actually practice that much, they just kind of win.
  • This fact has fueled a sports rivalry - friendly in wampus’ eyes, bloodthirsty in pukwudgie’s eyes. 
  • At wampus/pukwudgie games, horned serpents sell special blends of popcorn. Thunderbirds purchase, hoard, and eat 89% of this popcorn.
  • Horned serpents and pukwudgies often, though not always, end up having an unspoken rivalry in potions class.
  • Contrary to popular belief, wampus is not full of athletic jocks. However, they are the most body-positive of all of the schools, and, somewhat ironically to the stereotype, will never judge anyone for their athletic ability. They want everyone to be able to enjoy athleticism and bravery and adventure in the ways they are most able and gifted.
  • That being said, they do have the kind of student body who, if called upon, could become a minute militia.
  • When there is a freak hurricane or tornado headed headed for the school, it will be a wampus student who is patrolling the halls and telling students where to go for safety. If there is a bully in school, you had better bet your bottom dollar that s/he will be beaten to a pulp by the next day, and it will be a wampus student sporting mysteriously bloody knuckles.
  • Pukwudgies are the ones who patch up the bully; they might accidentally wind the bandages a little too tight.
  • Thunderbirds love a good game of hide-and-seek. They have a tradition of, every halloween, playing hide-and-seek in the dark in the woods.
  • Horned serpents are the students least often caught for sneaking in contraband into school. Caught being the key word. Most students learn at some point in their education that if you want a nice stiff drink, you go to horned serpent. During secret designated holidays, horned serpent common room turns into a speakeasy. 
  • Unexpectedly, it is pukwudgies who carry the most weapons and dangerous materials on their person at any given time. If a group of Ilvermorny students were going through a security check, it would be the pukwudgies held at the line while they emptied their pockets (bigger on the inside, of course) of various poisons and weapons. When asked, they would just shrug and say “just in case”.
  • The town around Ilvermorny is home to several franchised chain restaurants that, although they are no-maj brands, have been taken over by Ilvermorny alumni and thus serve predominantly wizarding patrons. Cups levitate to customers in the Starbucks, there are magic-only options on the menu; the chik-fil-a floor sweeps itself; at dominos the pizzas assemble themselves while the one clerk waits, bored, at the register. There are in-house cues for magic patrons whenever a no-maj walks in. The clerk rings a bell or taps loudly on the counter, or yells out an order than is actually a code word for stop doing magic stuff. It’s like red light green light.
  • There are some old service tunnels beneath the school left over from WWII and the Cold War. They’re like a labyrinth, and Thunderbird has a monopoly on the maps to the tunnels. Some of the more obscure tunnels have large rooms that are perfect for parties and impromptu speakeasies (lookin at you, horned serpent). Thunderbirds will rent out these rooms to fellow students at a fair and competitive rate.
  • Unlike hogwarts, Ilvermorny students are more apt to use modern technology. Electrics can be weird around witches and wizards, but they still enjoy a lot of no-maj programming. They use computers instead of quills (but still have to print off their essays, ugh,) and listen to music, and watch TV.
  • Star Trek has long been a school cult favorite. Pukwudgies have adopted Bones as their pop culture mascot; Kirk is Thunderbird’s, Spock, horned serpent. Wampus vacillates on which of these three they like most, though it must be said, when they start watching Next Gen, many wampus students find themselves enamored with Worf,
  • There has only been one no-maj to ever make it past the magic shields of Ilvermorny unaided. This instance was in 1985. His name was Chad, who at the time was 1) stoned out of his mind and 2) delivering chinese takeout to a horned serpent pulling an all-nighter. School admin found out later, and there was hell to pay. They never did track down Chad to wipe his memory.
  • Pukwudgie house does have more than its fair share of healers, so they are definitely the ones to go to for cold remedies, home made soup, the best cures for menstrual cramps, and really good back rubs.
  • However, they are also the ones to go to for less medical remedies: the best hot cocoa, the most gourmet teas, and home made food.
  • Each house has a class president who is elected for a two-year term (unless they’re a final year student, in which case they will serve one before being taken over by their VP). They have some influence within their houses, but never as much as they’d like. For instance, the thunderbird president once attempted to institute mid-day dancing parties, but school admin said no.
  • Pukwudgies are usually not super athletic, but are often very good at things like darts, archery, and waterbaloon fights.
  • Wampus takes ultimate frisbee very, very seriously.
  • Thunderbird hosts an ongoing scavenger hunt throughout the semester.
  • The women of horned serpent blow off steam and the stuffy acadmic pressures of their house by making pillow forts and watching rom coms with each other.
  • Back in the eighties some wizard created a magic version of D&D, and it has become a weekend favorite of many students across all of the houses.
  • After graduation, instead of having a class ring, it has become tradition for Ilvermorny students to make a pendant out of their golden cloak buttons.
  • Ilvermorny may be separated by inter-house squabbles much like at Hogwarts, but at the end of the day, they all leave school wearing the same blue and cranberry robes, sporting the same skill with a wand, raised to the same scrappy, witty, mod-podge tenacity that American witches and wizards embody so well.
Cute Bus Stop Guy

Sterek, Teen, 2K words, Meet Cute AU


Stiles groaned and took a very long swig from his travel coffee mug as he hitched his messenger bag up higher on his shoulder. It was barely eight in the morning, and consequently, he could barely keep his eyes open. He was a grad student for fuck’s sake, and it was understood that in order to make up for the shitty stipend and the whole working-around-the-clock thing, he got to sleep in until 10. At least. After all, if he was up until 3 working, it was only fair. But noooo, his advisor—fuck you, Finstock—had insisted on an early meeting today.

He passed the bus stop and realized that at least he was lucky in that he lived close enough to campus that he could walk instead of dealing with public transportation at rush hour. Small condolences, really, though.

He yawned and accidentally bumped into someone walking past him. Stiles tried to apologize, but the word got stuck in his throat when he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the person he’d nearly knocked over. He was about Stiles’ height but bigger, all broad shoulders and muscles capped off by really great hair and an unfairly attractive face. “Uh.”

The guy gave him a curt little nod and neatly sidestepped him, continuing on his way. Stiles snuck a look over his shoulder, and yep, the rear view in those tight slacks was pretty good, too. The guy stopped at the bus stop, leaning against the sign, and Stiles sighed. It was a dreamy sigh, even he could admit that.

He had a feeling he was going to become a morning person.

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Testosterone Boys

Reader x F*ckboi!Yoongi ft. Taehyung
Synopsis: 
A little end of the year party tradition gets taken too far.
Genre: Smutty, Angst
Word Count: 7.1k
Part 1 of 2


Originally posted by dreamyoongi


“No! It’s not happening.”  

“C'mon. It’s harmless. Seriously, it’d be like a chill thing.”

“No, Yoongi. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“Why not? There’s seriously no ill feelings behind it, I only need them for a little bit and then you’ll get it back.”

“Why can’t you take no for an answer, Loser. I’m not giving you my underwear. Bye.”  

Yoongi sighed as he followed you outside of the house party to the backyard. The music pounded through the walls from inside, blaring fast beats and obscene profanities, echoing past numerous houses down the street. The cold air hit your cheeks that were tinted red from the alcohol and the heat of the copious amounts of bodies ‘bumping and grinding’ on one another.  

Even outside, the yard was filled with scattered groups and couples. Each of them drinking from those infamous red, plastic cups, taking hits off of each others blunts, or connected to their partners lips. Pushing past them was no easy task, consistently bumping into intoxicated bodies as you made your way to the empty swinging loveseat.

You ran your hand through your hair as you sat, attempting to catch a breath. The party was suffocating. It seemed as though people flooded every room, corner, crevice and pocket the household had. The bathroom; occupied by two girls from your Literature class going down on the All-Star Quarterback whose only response to the disturbance was “Do you wanna join?”

The bedrooms were either locked and if they weren’t you wouldn’t dare go into them anyways. Oh no, you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d ever gone to a house party of this size. Turns out, High Schoolers were a lot kinkier than you could ever have thought.  

Any other room was full of people trying too hard to impress their peers when in the end it didn’t even matter. You never saw the point in these fiascos. High School lasts 4 years and then it’s over with and you don’t ever see these people again. They weren’t important to you in the long run.

So, why were you here in the first place? Well you could thank your 'best friend’ for that. Park Jimin. After well, years, of begging for you to try another party saying, “It won’t be like the first one, I promise. I won’t leave your side and we’ll have fun, just the two of us, okay?” He finally got you to agree to try it once more making him swear he really wouldn’t leave you alone at any point during the party. But, here he was; weak as a kitten as soon as his ex walked in, begging for some alone time to 'talk’.

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Wanna Bet? (M)

Rich Fuckboy!Jimin x Tutor!reader

PART II  |  PART III

Word Count: 2,782

Summary: Working as a private tutor at the most prestigious university in the region, you had to put up with a lot of bratty kids. Though none were as bad as Park Jimin. Just as your luck would have it, you’ve been assigned to be his full-time tutor for the year….great. After many failed attempts to get his grades up, Jimin comes up with a bet to raise his marks. What’s the worst that can happen, right?

A/N - This is my fic, just re-posting on my sideblog!


You were grateful for this job, you really were. Some days, it was just really hard to be grateful. You worked at the wealthiest, all boys university this side of the country. You’re a private tutor, working with a maximum of five students a year. Things have been going well for you, you’re known as the best tutor at the school, so parents are flocking to you to help their precious spoiled brats. Hey, at least the money is decent.

Your whole week, scratch that, year has gone downhill the moment you get a call from the Dean.

“Y/n? Yes, hello. We’re going to need you to take on a student full time at the start of the new school year. I know this is a lot, so the pay will be increased, and you won’t have to take any other students. You will be tutoring five days a week for this student. Can you do it?”

“Um, yes, I don’t see why not…” growing a little curious as to why the dean himself is contacting you, you ask, “who is the student, Sir?”

“Park Jimin.” Shit.

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deal | pt 3 (m)

Originally posted by sugamysavagebaby

summary: the years spent working hard had really paid off and was it so wrong to want to rub that in a few faces? The cliché mean girls that often teased you for not doing anything with your hair or clothing, wouldn’t it be great to show off someone like Jungkook? High school reunion au + ceo!jeon

word count: 3,292

warning: slight voyeurism, usual filth etc

part one | part two

Monday. A fresh start to the week, bringing a close to deadlines as new deals began. The office as always was bustling with life, colleagues sharing mundane details of their past weekend and plans for the next. However, an interesting topic or rather rumour was making it’s way around the office at a frightening speed. You’re preparing your first cup of coffee that morning when you hear it, feminine sniggers to the right of you.

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The Friendly Wager (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,528

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, bad date, implied sexual situations (no smut)

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?” I think this will have at least seven parts, so Kait, please feel free to disregard it till it’s completed :)

Part 1 - 2

Originally posted by talkinboutmyimagination

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All Or Nothing - Smut

Originally posted by dylanmysunshine

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Reader
Words: 6,244
AN: College AU, all human. This was never meant to be published tbh but you can thank @writing-obrien​ for it getting done. Also shout out to @hardladyheart​ for her late night motivation and @sarcasticallystilinski​ for spitballing title ideas with me.

The song that’s sung is obviously not mine, it’s by State Champs. Listen HERE.



You transferred into Berkeley college in the beginning of your sophomore year. You hated starting a new school, but at least it was college and not high school. You’d been here a few weeks. You hadn’t made any friends yet, just your roommate, but you were more acquaintances. She was an art major and a little quirky, plus her boyfriend lived off campus so she wasn’t around much.

Being a music major had it perks. There were a lot of hot guys in the music department, but most of them were too involved with their own projects to notice you. You were pretty quiet, always lost in your own head. No one would have guessed that you weren’t the least bit shy. And you liked to keep it that way.

However, life had become boring. You finally had the hang of your classes and schedule but you needed to find something else to do with your time. Which is why you found yourself in the music building, standing in front of the bulletin board. Most of the notices were the same, people selling instruments or looking for them, people looking for practice space, advertisements for open mic nights. But one flier in particular caught your eye.

It wasn’t fancy at all, maybe a little creased and wrinkled from being in someone’s pocket. It was plain white, written on with black Sharpie.

GUITARIST WANTED

FOR COVER BAND

MUST LIKE/PLAY ROCK MUSIC, POP PUNK.

CALL SCOTT

310-422-1124

There was a crudely drawn Chewbacca next to it, holding what looked to be a guitar. You chewed your bottom lip in thought. You could do that. You fit the qualifications. You pulled out your phone, typing the number in and saving it to your contacts for later.

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10 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 5,308

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as violence and alcohol

Originally posted by eatupbangtan

masterlist | ask | prev | next


Two small red pills, one of the white ones and a fresh bottle of water.

Caring for your brother had become somewhat second nature to you, Jackson and Bambam were recovering quicker than Yugyeom expected; which left Jimin in the false hospital wing alone. Both you and Sung took it in turns to keep him company, the other one catching up on sleep when you swapped over. It was safe to say Jimin hated his younger sister and girlfriend looking after him, he was supposed to be taking care of you two not the other way round.

Another week had passed since the night that stole Jimin’s sight, the manor house was quiet because albeit nobody could find the right words to say. It was awful to observe the usually strong warrior men resemble lost sheep, without their leader in good health the boys would wander aimlessly down the halls; occasionally escaping the confined walls only to return to the same stone cold silence mere hours later.

It was a Thursday morning when Sung announced she and Jimin were taking off for a week, after endless research and countless sleepless night she had managed to find an ophthalmologist who claimed there was a possibility Jimin’s sight could be restored with stem cell treatment. You were ecstatic to say the least, throwing your arms round her petite frame as you were both overwhelmed with hope.

“That’s amazing! Are-, he thinks he can do it?!” You gasped, squeezing her even tighter.

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Android Companion AU

Lucis is an advanced civilization, the crown city of Insomnia is self sustaining and generally safe, but the limited land with which to build on can barely fit the growing population. You are an independent adult who had landed a dream job in the heart of the city, your parents bid you farewell from their farmhouse just east of Lestallum, and now you are living alone in a very crowded, claustrophobic, and constantly noisy business district.

One day, you find an offer of comfort in your solitary life:

Model: NOCT-1.5 (limited number of units produced):

  • This model is the cutting-edge technology of all companions available in the market, the be-all end-all royalty of the trade. it is never advertised because very few people can afford it, but you’re a tech nerd and you’ve heard of the legends
  • It’s usually ridiculously expensive and waaaay out of your range, for some reason, this one is on sharp discount in your local computer shop
  • the clerk tells you it’s on a discount because it has been taken out of the box by a previous owner and returned, but is in top shape otherwise
  • it’s a small investment even after the price cut and you’re seriously trying to talk yourself out of it, but the more you look at the android behind the sheer plastic, the more you are entranced by the sharp features and slim design.
  • a part of you hungers to see what the eyes look like once turned on, and what kinds of apps and functions you can install on such a rare product
  • you take it home, and the moment you plug it- him in, bright piercing eyes glow red for three seconds, and then mellow out to a soft crystal blue

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anonymous asked:

phil’s been grumpy & having an attitude all day so dan wears really pretty short black lacy rompers that shows his bum perfectly and phil is drooling but dan walks around and is all “nah don’t touch me” and teases but never gives in until phil just looses it and rips it off of him and fucks him on the nearest surface until he couldn’t walk the next morning

I’m so sorry this took so long but it’s done! These are the pair I wrote him in, if you’re interested. Also I threw in some dirty talk for good luck.

Phil’s been in a mood all morning and frankly, Dan’s over it. He could tell it was going to be one of these seasonal Grumpy Phil days from the moment the older boy woke up. Dan was already down in the kitchen making his first of many coffees when Phil came padding down the stairs, looking like a hurricane had taken him during the night; black hair mussed up in a sort-of quiff, glasses askew, and a face like thunder. Dan’s greatest fear was confirmed when he had handed Phil his mug of coffee and hadn’t received his usual kiss of thanks, but instead a vague grunt. He’d then just shuffled into the lounge and collapsed onto the couch, and when Dan asked if he wanted to watch the new Attack on Titan episode he’d just grumbled a ‘sure, whatever’.

It’s not that Phil is particularly nasty when he’s in these moods – not like Dan, who can make you cry with one look when he’s shitty – but he’s just no fun. He just sulks quietly to himself for a day or so before bouncing back to his energetic self as if nothing happened. Admittedly, Dan thought it was horrifically cute the first few times it happened, cooing over Phil’s jutted bottom lip and furrowed eyebrows. But they’ve been together near on eight years now and Dan still hasn’t figured out what puts Phil in this mood or how to get him out of it, and that’s probably the most frustrating part of it all.

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Pen Pals

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The Reader takes up a Pen Pals writing program at her school, and soon finds herself falling for the military man who’s been sending her letters. What happens when she graduates? Will the letters still come after, or is she just a random person who was strung along just to blow off some steam via words? 

Word Count: 1.7kish

Warnings: AU, Fluff, Light Cursing

Author’s Note: Heyy my loves! This is my entry for @revwinchester‘s Birthday Challenge. I got the prompt “Soldier” with Dean (obviously). This was meant to be a one shot, but then I thought, why not make the other half in Dean’s POV? It’s only fair, right? Second part will come next weekend. And the third the following weekend. I really hope you guys like this! Feedback is definitely welcomed!!

*Part Two*



Chapter One: First Letters

Pen Pal - a person with whom one becomes friendly by exchanging letters, especially someone in a foreign country whom one has never met.


I never thought I’d be the one to do these kinds of things. When I signed up for it at the beginning of freshman year in high school, people thought I was insane. They didn’t think I was going to go through with it, you see.

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buzz | 1.0 (m)

Originally posted by bwiyowo

 pairing: min yoongi x reader
• genre/warnings: smut, masturbation with a twist, non-penetrative sex toy usage 
• words: 4,851
→ summary: in which you’re unsure if you’ve ever received an orgasm and when you finally pluck up the courage to use the vibrator you bought that one day on a whim, Yoongi barges through the door…
• note. sometimes I should never be left alone with my thoughts…

» 1.0 | 2.0 | 3.0  ✓  
yoongi’s pov +

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anonymous asked:

RFA + V and Saeran react to overhearing MC's family scold her because they despise who she's dating? Maybe they think they aren't successful and responsible enough or not loyal or trustworthy or feel like MC deserves far better than what she's getting our of them? Specifically I'd like to see Saeyoung's reaction given his insecurities.

And we’re back! Did you guys miss some scenarios?

Hope you like this! ^^

RFA + Saeran and V finding MC’s family disapproval

Zen

  • “Sweetie, I just think he’s playing with you.”
  • He heard that coming from your father when you two were washing the dishes in the kitchen, Zen noticed you two forgot a plate and was bringing it to the kitchen.
  •  “And what makes you think that, dad?” “Well, he’s handsome, I bet he has tons of women running after him. Maybe famous women? What makes you think he won’t dump you for some famous actress? He’s a public figure, honey, his image is everything. Plus… he sounds shallow like that.”
  • Shallow? Zen could deal with being called narcissist, workaholic, but… shallow? He was sounding shallow to your father?
  • He wanted to walk into the kitchen, maybe subtly, maybe not. He wish he had some really witty and smart statement to give so your father would realize he wasn’t just image
  • And he was about to step into the kitchen when he finally heard your voice: “If he sounds shallow, maybe you didn’t pay attention enough to what he was saying, dad. Have you listened to his story? His problems with his family? The way he struggled when he started his career as an actor? Have you heard when he told you how much he loves me and how guilty he feels that we’re still not married? Come on, dad. Either you weren’t listening, or you don’t know what shallow means.”
  •  “But, honey…” “His family is broken enough, dad. Let’s not break ours too just because you’re seeing Zen as just another actor, not as the man I chose to share my life with.”
  • Zen could almost cry right there. How did he manage to find someone who can see so deep inside him? Yeah, he definitely likes being known for his looks, but the fact you see beyond them is really overwhelming.
  • When you two are saying goodbye to your father, he gives a firm handshake to the man.  “I hope we can spend more time together, sir.”
  • “I would like that a lot. I see you have a bike, what brand is it?” that goodbye turned into a long conversation about bikes, which was super boring to you, but seeing them bonding was worth it.

Yoosung

  • “I honestly thought it was a joke when you introduced him as your boyfriend, sis.”
  • He heard when you and your sister were in your bedroom trying to find something for you to wear, Yoosung accidentally spilled wine on you.
  • “Shut up.” “No, I’m serious! What are you thinking, MC? He seems like a teenage mama’s boy. Look at what he did to your shirt, he’s so clumsy and… nerve-wracking! You’ll have to play his mommy all the time!”
  • Well, it’s not like he haven’t thought about himself like that before, but listening when it comes from another person, that person being someone who grew up with you hurts a lot more.
  • His first instinct was head out of there without anybody noticing he’s gone. But… then your sister would be completely right.
  • “He just spilled wine on me because his spatial notion is still a little compromised due to his eye. Have I told you he hurt his eye trying to protect me, sis? And yeah, he’s still a little nervous because he doesn’t know my family too well, but your hostility definitely won’t help him calming down. If you’ weren’t such a bitch, maybe you would have noticed by now he’s an amazing smart man that makes me really happy.”
  • “You just called me a bitch because of that guy?” “I did, just so you know how serious I am about him, to the point I’m fighting with my favorite person in the world.”
  • Well, he’s glad he didn’t run and stayed to listen to this. You made him sound like a really cool reliable guy, the type of man he’s trying to be for you.
  • After you and your sister go back to the living room, she makes sure to sit next to you two. “So wait… you asked her to be your pre-girlfriend before you got together? Oh my God, that’s so adorable…”
  • Then you two kept squealing over that photo of his with the roses, and though he’s super embarrassed, he couldn’t help feeling a little smug when your sister said ”Huh, I wish my boyfriend were like this.”

Jaehee

  • “She seems a little cold, MC. Are you sure she really likes you?”
  • She heard when you and your brother were setting the table while she was talking to your parents in the living room, she decided she needed to help as well.
  • “Ugh, don’t even start, bro.” “I’m not saying this to be an ass! Come on, MC, she’s so formal! She’s almost like a granny, you’ll get bored if you stay with her! This if she doesn’t dump you first, she seems cold like that.”
  •  You warned her about your brother’s brutal honesty, but this still felt unexpectedly hurtful.
  • She was really trying to loosen up, and she honestly felt she was doing a good job, at least next to you and to your friends, maybe she wasn’t and people close to you were feeling she wasn’t real about your relationship?
  • “She’s been working her ass off on a very strict company basically since she graduated, she’s still learning to loosen up. You would have noticed this if you weren’t so desperate about finding something to complain about my girlfriend, as you typically do.”
  • “Jeez, MC, calm down! I’m just worried for you.” “I appreciate it, but you’re the one boring me right now, let’s end this before I stop feeling bored and end up getting angry.”
  • She can’t help feeling this warmth growing inside her. Knowing that you are willing to fight for her like this is amazing! Not only because she never had that before, but also because it’s you.
  • Your brother decides to talk a little more to her. “Whooooa, so you’re a judo blackbelt? That’s awesome! You gotta teach me some moves!”
  • Well, giving this guy an ippon after he pissed you off would satisfy her more than she cared to admit.


Jumin

  • “Are you sure this is a healthy relationship, honey?”
  •  Your mother asked you when you two were making dinner while he was setting the table, as you asked him, but he didn’t know where to find the forks.
  •  “What do you mean, ma?” “I mean, he seems so intimidating and, everything is happening so fast, you barely know each other and are already engaged, he seems very intense, for that matter.”
  • Well, he was indeed very intense, but… intimidating? He never wanted to come across as intimidating, not to you, not to the woman who raised you.
  • Was he intimidating you to the point you were feeling pressured to get married?
  •  “Mom, I know what you’re trying to say. He’s not like dad, okay? Yes, he is very intense, just because he never had the chance to express his feelings like all of us do.“
  • “Well, your father wasn’t good at expressing feelings either, then he expressed with actions…” “Ma, Jumin would never hurt me, emotionally or physically. I know you might be thinking I’m on a cycle, that I have daddy issues, but… just give him a chance, okay? Let him prove he is nothing like my father.”
  • He was really sad for you and your mother. Two amazing women were suffering due to a man’s behavior, this was awful in so many levels…
  • He walks into the kitchen, pretending he didn’t hear a thing. “Why don’t you just rest while MC and I cook, maam?”
  • “Oh wow, what a gentleman… nothing like her father.” He smiled genuinely, neither of the women were feeling intimidated by that smile.

Saeyoung

  • “Your mother and I think you deserve better.”
  • Your father says when you were helping him changing a light bulb, Saeyoung decided to help when he heard this.
  • “Why would you think that, dad?” “Sweetie, he’s a train wreck! He’s immature, irresponsible, you told me how rude he acted with you. How can you be sure he won’t start pushing you away again?”
  • Of course he knew how immature and irresponsible he was, but he never really thought about what if he started getting snappy to you again. He promised he wouldn’t, but… was he good at keeping promises? Ask his brother.
  •  If he had any good sense, he would walk away and pretend he didn’t listen to any of this. He was already immature and irresponsible, he didn’t need o be nosy as well.
  • “He just pushed me away because he was worried and pretty sure he would die at any moment back then, dad. He was scared, he’s been scared his whole life! Have I told you what kind of hell he and his brother grew up at?”
  • “Sweetie, it still doesn’t justify…” “It does to me. He is scared and willing to change for me, I know that because I trust him. Can’t you trust the man your daughter loves? Not even a little?”
  • Well, if you asked him anything with that tone, he would oblige without thinking… ugh, you’re so sweet, so lovely, so caring… he can never push you away again! Not right now his life is so great with you and his brother, but it isn’t perfect, since your parents don’t like him…
  • “I’ll be honest with you, son. I still don’t trust you, but my daughter does and she never failed her judgments, that, and only because of that, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You looked at him and smiled.
  • “Thank you, sir. I’ll prove it will be worth it.” Not so immature and irresponsible right now, is he?

Saeran

  • “MC, listen to me, this guy is trouble!”
  • He heard this through the baby monitor when you and your sister went to check on her son.
  • “Why are you saying this?” “MC, he is… creepy! Are you dating him to punish dad? Look at him, he looks like he’s on the edge of a mental breakdown! Are you sure you want to play his nurse forever?”
  • He wasn’t on the edge of a mental breakdown! At least not now… at least not since you came along, but there were a few says, though…
  • Your sister is so right! He’s so weird and creepy, he doesn’t deserve you at all! Why did he even think he could handle trying to be normal and do normal things with you?
  • “I’m not playing his nurse! I like to help him because I love him, and he had mental break downs in the past, you would have too if you were locked up and forced to drugs after growing up with an abusive mother. All he needs is support and a loving family, not this… judgment from you!”
  • “MC, calm down, I was just…” “I know you’re concerned, but focus your concern on helping me give him what he needs. If you have nothing else nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
  • Saeran didn’t hear any of this, he hid in the bathroom when you two left the bay’s bedroom and kept talking as you walked into the living room.
  • Then you two heard the baby crying through the baby monitor, but he quickly stopped, you two found it odd and went to check on him.
  • He was fine, Saeran was holding him. “Am… Am I doing this right?” Making yours and your sister’s heart explode from sweetness? Yep, he was doing this right.

V

  • “What are you even thinking dating this guy, MC?”
  • Your brother asked you when V went to the toilet, he got lost and tried to get back to ask your brother where was it, exactly.
  • “What do you mean?” “I mean, he’s an old blind man, MC! You’re wasting your youth with a guy like this, he won’t be able to keep it up with you!”
  • V already thought about it, yes, you were so young, did you really need to take such a responsibility by dating him?
  • And that coming from your brother, who sounded so worried… he hated being a burden and provoking this arguing between two family members…
  • “He’s just one year older than you, so chill. And what century are we in? Do you think just because he’s blind, he’s not able to have a normal life? Dude, we’re planning a trip to Italy for my birthday, I think that’s pretty normal, don’t you?”
  •  “MC, take I easy, I’m just…” “You’re concerned, but you don’t have to.  He’s pretty good by himself, and he’s independent, he doesn’t need me, yet he wants me, and I want him, so there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
  • He needed you, maybe not to do things for him, yes. But he needed you because he loved you, and he was so happy that you were so sure about him not being a burden.
  • You were saying goodbye, when your brother said: “I’m sorry, dude.”
  • “If you want to apologize, apologize for stressing her out. As for me, don’t worry, I’ll make sure to bring you a gift from Italy as a peace offer.”