look at the shape of his lips

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

Lipstick

(Also posted on AO3)

Draco found the tube under his bed. He knew it was the lipstick Pansy had lost and had been bitching about for days to anyone within earshot. He also knew that she had owl ordered a new one although, that wasn’t why he didn’t give it back.

He waited until everyone was in the great hall for dinner, spell locking the bathroom door behind him before he even dared to take the lipstick from his pocket. He opened it carefully, setting the outer tube on the ceramic counter with a soft click that seemed to fill the empty room. He twisted the tube and the deep red lipstick rose, feeling accusing just by being exposed to the air, in his hands, alone in this room.

A single faint tremor went through his hand. If his friends, if his family ever found out- He couldn’t bear the thought. But it was just curiosity, nothing more. Once he had done it, he would just leave the lipstick in the common room somewhere and be done with it. It was just once.

Draco bit his bottom lip thoughtfully and then lean forward. He hastily dried his lip with his thumb and then carefully traced his bottom lip, leaving pale red in its wake. He blinked, his heart rate picking up as he carefully went over his lip until the color was as deep and rich as the lipstick itself. He was a little too hasty on his upper lip and had to use some tissue to clean up the line until it was perfect.

He pressed his lips together and let them go. It was like looking at someone else. He had never paid much attention to his lips before except in passing.  They had a nice shape and the lipstick made them seem fuller and bigger. Draco leaned back from the mirror, shivering when he took in all of himself. The red was so stark against his pale skin, stark and bold. His cheeks were flushing with excitement and nerves.

He liked it. He liked everything about it.

Keep reading

Movie night

Pairing; Park Jimin x Reader

Words; 3.2k

Genre; Angst (if you squint), PURE SMUT, Fluff (if you look real closely)

Summary; You and Jimin have been in a 6 month long relationship and the most you’ve done is make-out. During a movie night you deicde to push the boundaries but things don’t go as planned.

A/N; I’m still low-key sick so this isn’t perfect but I tried!

Keep reading

Red

I am FINALLY done with this. Hope you guys enjoy it, please let me know if you do, your comments are very much appreciated. Lots of love, B xx

Originally posted by hotsauceharry

Red.

It’s all he can see when he looks at you. It’s the color that paints your lips and it’s the only thing he’s been able to think about all night long.

When he picked you up earlier tonight, on your way to a dinner with a group of friends, his eyes had zoomed in on your lips the second you opened the car door to greet him - while you stepped inside and leaned in to say hello, placing a chaste and pert kiss on his cheek, his eyes followed your lips as you came closer.

“What color is that? Crimson? Bright red?” Is what he thinks, the shades of it swirling in his mind. He doesn’t know and he’s tempted to ask you but to do that was to show he’s been paying more attention to you than he’s got the right to and maybe it’d give you the wrong impression - he’s not interested in your lipstick but more on the way the color makes your lips look full and incredibly inviting.

Biting onto his bottom lip after greeting you quickly, his eyes fleet to his rear view mirror, spotting the patch of skin close to his jaw where you had placed your kiss - a lipstick mark remains, the shape of your lips stamped onto his skin in a bright shade of red.

The sight gave him goose bumps and he couldn’t explain why, but when you leaned forward on his front seat, the visor pulled down so you could look in the mirror and make sure your lipstick was not smudged, Harry felt his stomach sink - images of you on your knees, eyes hazy and lips swollen while you suck on his cock with greedy, swollen and red painted lips, leaving a stain on his length, invaded his mind without his permission and he feels his cock twitch in his pants, heat rising underneath his skin.

Keep reading

Detention

Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 892
Plot: Peter gets put in detention with the reader. Cute note passing ensues.
A/N: I know I said I’d write more Alex Summers but GUYS! SPIDERMAN! I saw it at the movies and it was so good, so pure. I know most of you are out of high school now so this is a #throwback. I tried to make it totally cute.

Originally posted by vintagejosh

Peter slumped against the desk; pushing his forehead against the cool plastic of the table. Detention again; somehow, he always managed to end up back in detention. It wasn’t like he was trying to be here: he just couldn’t catch a break. Turns out fighting crime and writing his biology paper were incompatible things.

The clicking of a pen made him grogilly open his eyes.
A few desks away from him; a girl perched awkwardly on her chair, scribbling doodles onto her notepad. Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her before; he wondered if she was new or just way above his social radar.
Who wasn’t?
But something about the way her mouth pressed together made his head spin. She was unconventionally beautiful; lush hair and kind eyes that tugged his gaze, made his blood prick in his skin. And he thought-
She raised her brow, curiously returning his gaze. Ah, shit. He’d been staring at her like a creepy stalker. How’d he always manage to screw up this bad?
He shifted his gaze immediately to the ceiling; pretending he was checking out the old pieces of tissue that had been lodged into the gaps in the paneling until he thought it was safe.

Something tapped his shoulder; a crumpled piece of paper bouncing across the carpet at his feet. The girl was hastily writing in her notepad again; attempting to look nonchalant, no doubt.
Peter bent down, unfolding the little scrap at his feet.

What are you in for?

Peter bit his lip, rustling into his backpack for his science book. It wasn’t hard to tear out a spare page in a vaguely square shape. He clicked his pen awkwardly, nerves building in his chest.

Busted for no biology homework. You?

He crumpled it, his eyes darting around the room to see if the supervisor was watching. He wasn’t, as usual; he looked about as bored as Peter felt, and seemed to be watching Netflix on his laptop or something of the like. With minimal effort, Peter threw the little piece of paper and managed to get it to roll onto her desk.
She smiled to herself, looking up at him for a brief moment.
Wow. 

Made a model of a volcano. It may have exploded.

Peter looked over, laughter playing on his lips
“Seriously?” he mouthed.
She nodded, a look of disbelief on her face as she thought about the incident.

“(y/n)” the supervisor called, looking up with absolute neutrality plastered across his features “you can go whenever.”
She tapped her fingers on her desk awkwardly.
“I might stay here to study for a bit” she breathed. Peter detected a hint of an accent; her voice was every bit as lovely as he expected “it’s…quieter here than the cafeteria”.
The supervisor shrugged. “Suit yourself”.

(y/n) smiled to herself, wrinkling her nose as she tore off another note and tossed it to Peter.

So, who are you, other than the guy who doesn’t do his homework?

Peter swallowed.

Other than the guy who doesn’t do his homework, I’m Peter Parker. But I prefer the first one.

She laughed, and he felt his heart sing.

“Alright Peter, you’re good to go” the supervisor called out, yawning quietly. Peter stood up slowly, his chair sliding across the floor as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.
(y/n) stared at him, her notepad pressed to her chest.
Peter motioned towards the door, raising his brows nervously.
She nodded, swinging her hair back and throwing her bag on.
Peter felt his heart stutter awkwardly as he made it into the hallway, her footsteps directly behind him.

“I think that guy might have been the most chilled out detention supervisor I’ve ever seen” she laughed, stumbling awkwardly as she tripped over her laces slightly. Peter held out his hand to catch her elbow; the places where his fingers met her skin felt awkward and clammy. 
“Sorry. Clumsy” she breathed, grabbing at the straps of her backpack as they walked in tandem through the corridor.
“Oh, yeah, me too. I’m always…tripping over things. Y’know?” he stuttered, words leaving his mouth in a slush of anxiousness.
Oh my god.
“You’re good at the words thing” she teased, a half-smile tugging at her lips as her eyes lingered on his. Oh man.
“That’s what they say” Peter grinned, slowing his pace so that he didn’t get to his locker in a hurry. He wanted to spend longer just talking; he didn’t want it to end here.
“Well, this is me” she added, scratching the back of her head as she stopped by the doors to the chemistry labs “but it was great to meet you, Peter. I get the feeling it won’t be the last time”.
Peter felt the breath leave his lungs for a second, his face growing hot.
“Yeah, it was nice. I hope you…explode more volcanoes. So we can hang out.”
She grinned, awkwardly spinning on her heels “okay, great”.
“Great”.
And with that, she strode into class, glancing back just once as he waved slightly like an absolute moron.

“Tell me you got her number” Ned gasped, appearing behind Peter and breaking his trance “she’s amazing”.
Peter shoved Ned’s shoulder slightly, turning him to face the other way as they both walked down the hall.
“I’m working on it” he muttered.

Coffee and Crosswords

Request 3!

Tags: muggle au, coffee shop au, Hermione is a great wingman, Pansy is a tolerant wingman, crosswords, the smoothest pickup line of all time.

(Also posted on AO3)


“This is my favorite new coffee shop,” Hermione said, the bell over the door chiming softly as they stepped into the bright, high-ceilinged shop. “Go sit down,” Hermione pointed to an empty table near the counter, “I’ll order for you. I promise you’ll love it.”

Harry made his way over to the table and slid into a seat. It was the only empty table in the busy store, through everyone seated already had their drinks so of the two baristas only one was actually working, a young woman with her short black hair cut into a blunt bob.

The other employee was bent over a newspaper, folded in half at the crossword. He was tall and lean with impossibly white blond hair that would fall over his eyes whenever he bent over to fill in an answer. He rolled a blue pen in his long fingers, his brow creasing faintly in thought. Harry watched spellbound as the gorgeous blond tapped the pen on his mouth and then bit the end absentmindedly, his eye teeth sinking into the plastic.

“Harry?”

Harry started and flushed, “Y-yeah?”

Hermione followed where Harry had been looking and grinned, “He’s cute.”

Harry groaned, “Please, no, ‘Mione.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re no fun.” She dug around in her massive shoulder bag and pulled out a book, settling back in her chair and opening it to her place, “Don’t mind me.” she shooed at him with one hand, her eyes already glued to her book, “Go back to your staring.”

Harry felt himself flush, but despite his embarrassment, found his eyes pinned on the blond again. He had paused from chewing on the pen to press his lips together into a thin line and slowly relax them, tracing the shape of his bottom lip with the end of the pen.

The blond looked over at the black haired girl, “Hey, Pansy, what’s a ten letter word for 'smitten’?”

Pansy had her back to him, finishing their drinks, and shrugged dismissively.

“You’re absolutely no help whatsoever,” he retorted with airy dismay.

“Says the one doing the crossword instead of working,” Pansy muttered just loud enough to carry.

Harry bit his bottom lip and impulsively blurted out, “Captivated.”

Harry didn’t think the blond could be any more attractive until he looked over at Harry with the most amazing pale grey-blue eyes, framed by pale lashes only a little darker than his hair.

Harry swallowed hard, “A ten letter word for smitten, captivated.”

“Hmm…” the blond looked down at the paper and shook his head, “No. The 'ed’ at the end is right through,” he leaned over on the counter, “any other ideas?”

“Fascinated?” Harry said, his mind already winging ahead for other words that might fit, his hand under the table counting out letters of words.

The blond glanced down and then back up, a smirking smile on his mouth, “Nope.”

“How about….” Harry’s brow furrowed and he chewed his bottom lip, “…Infatuated?”

He glanced down and smiled triumphantly, “That’s it!” the pen scratched across the newspaper filling in the missing word.

Pansy bumped the blond with her hip and pushed two cups into his hands, “Be useful Draco,” she nodded at their table.

“Your name is Draco?” Harry asked as the blond walked around the counter carrying the two cups.

Draco nodded with a grimace, “Constellation names are somewhat of a tradition in my family.”

“Um, I’m Harry,” Harry said hurriedly as Draco slid the cups onto the table.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Draco smiled.

Hermione pulled out her phone, which absolutely hadn’t gone off, and said, “Well, would you look at that, it’s Ron. Sorry, Harry, I have to get going. Wouldn’t want to keep my boyfriend waiting.” She pulled her bag over her shoulder and put her book away in one smooth movement. She was was out the door before Harry could say a word. 

He finally managed a groan and glanced over at Draco, his cheek feeling hot.

Draco was looking faintly flushed himself, “Well. That wasn’t subtle at all.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Harry agreed.

Draco went back to the counter leaning over and grabbing his crossword and pen. “I’m going on break, Pansy.”

“You’re an arsehole, Draco Malfoy,” Pansy retorted without looking up.

Draco came back to Harry’s table, “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” Harry said.

Draco sat down across from him, sitting the crossword down in front of himself and helping himself to Hermione’s abandoned latte, “A ten letter word for hopeful starting with P.” He tapped his mouth with the pen and then carefully wrote in, “P-e-r-s-u-a-s-i-v-e.”

“You do a lot of crosswords?” Harry asked.

“There’s a lot of downtime working here,” Draco said, one side of his mouth quirking up in a smile. He barely glanced down at the paper and said, “I need a four letter word for dinner and a movie.”

“A date?” Harry said after a half a seconds thought.

“I’d love to,” Draco said.

Harry let out a startled laugh.

“Too cheesy?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head with a grin, “How about tomorrow?”

Draco smiled, “I get off at seven.”

sad boy + justin foley

plot : after his mum’s new boyfriend kicks him out, Justin only has one thing to do

word count : 1403

notes : for two people who wanted Justin Foley but I forgot their accounts so I’m sorry for not tagging

+++

Running out of his house, bag slung over his shoulder, Justin wiped his wet eyes on the sleeve of his varsity jacket, only for the tears to be replaced with new ones. He didn’t stop until he couldn’t run anymore, legs aching, throat burning. He had no idea where he was, he couldn’t tell with his blurry vision. It was almost nightfall, not a person In sight. He fell to his knees, bag dropping with a loud thump, as a quiet sob passed his lips.

There was one thing Justin could think of doing. One person he wanted to talk to now, he needed to talk to right now. He reached into his pocket, hands trembling as he did so, retrieving his phone. He somehow found your contact, a picture of your beaming face on his screen, the image alone calming him down the tiniest bit. He shakily pressed the dial button, holding his breath while waiting for you to pick up. Begging you to answer.

One ring. Two ring.

More tears gathered in his eyes.

Three ring.

You were probably busy. You didn’t need him as a burden.

Four ring.

More and more tears fell as another sob racked his body.

“Hey”

The world stopped. Justin’s voice was caught in his throat, no words forming.

“Justin? You there?”

He couldn’t help the cry he let out of his mouth.

“Justin?! Are you okay?”

The sound of your panicked voice, filled Justin’s heart. You cared, you were the only one who cared.

“Y-Y/N”

It was only a whisper, something you shouldn’t have caught but you did.

“Justin? What happened? What’s wrong? What did they do?”

“I- I can’t. I-”

The words wouldn’t come out, as much as Justin tried.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up” you stated.

Justin heard the jingling of keys through the phone.

“I- I don’t know. There’s houses and- and a-” he stuttered, trying to speak through the suffocation he was feeling.

“Justin. Stop. Breathe in. Breathe out. Now tell me, can you see a street sign anywhere?”

He did as you instructed, following your smooth, familiar voice.

“Risely Avenue” he said after a while.

“Stay where you are, I’m coming. And Justin?”

He blinked back more tears as he listened to you talk.

“Yeah?”

“Everything will be okay”

It was a mere 10 minutes before your familiar car drove up the street, headlights illuminating the otherwise dark road. Justin looked at the ground as he stood, ashamed to look at you in his current state. He heard the click of the car door opening, followed the by the clicking of your shoes on the gravel road. He managed to look up, eyes meeting with your warm ones. You stood right in front of him, inches away. You held your arms out and in less than a second, Justin fell into your arms.

“Hey”

He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“Hey” he replied, his voice a tiny squeak.

You pulled away, much to Justin’s dismay. You picked up his bag from the floor and he didn’t have the energy to protest, taking his hand in yours, you walked back to your car, settling them in. And then you drove.

“Y/N”

You turned to look at your boyfriend of more than a year for a second before fixing your eyes back on the road.

“I- uhm I-”

“You don’t have to explain Justin. Not now anyway”

You pressed your lips together, gently placing a hand on his knee while keeping the other on the steering wheel. He flinched at the sudden contact, but your hand stayed where it was.

“I’m sorry, I just I-”

He immediately started to apologise, even though you thought nothing of it and completely understood.

“Sh, Justin. Just relax, you’re with me now” you assured, running a thumb across his jean clad knee.

He nodded, swallowing thickly, shutting his eyes and focusing on your soft touch. You flicked your eyes to him, watching his long eyelashes fall on his cheekbones. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, dried tears on his cheeks.

Soon enough, you reached your house, parking the car in the driveway. Justin opened his eyes, blinking a few times. You silently hopped out, grabbing his bag from the backseat before opening the passenger door.

“You don’t have to do all this” Justin mumbled.

“Come on” you urged, ignoring his statement.

The two of you walked into your house, the warmth engulfing you both. You took his hand in yours, leading him to the spare bedroom.

“Have you eaten yet?” you questioned.

Justin shook his head, like you expected.

“Well, you know where the showers are, I’m going to heat up dinner okay?”

He nodded, looking at the floor. You could tell he was on the verge of another round of tears. You frowned, walking up to him and wearing your arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his cheek. You felt him smile, even if it was a small one.

You stepped away, smiling at him softly, before leaving the room. You walked to your kitchen, getting the leftovers from Robert out to heat them up. Nobody should be treated how Justin is. Justin didn’t call you about this, usually going to Bryce’s house or Alex’s but not yours. He never wanted to bother you with his problems, thinking he would be a burden to you. It took Justin almost a year before he even told you about his condition at home and that was only after Zach accidentally mentioned it.

You took the food out of the microwave, placing it on the dinner table while waiting for him to arrive. Your parents were big business people, meaning they were out of town a lot of the time, so they bought you your own little house to stay in which they occasionally visited.

Ten minutes later, the sound of water running stopped, meaning Justin was out of the shower. Another ten minutes later, Justin padded into the dining room, where you were waiting for him. His hair was dripping wet, droplets trailing down the back of his neck. His eyes were redder, even puffier while his bottom lip quivered. What you noticed now was the significant bruises that had formed around his neck and the sight of all of this made you shatter a little on the inside. He tugged at his sleeves, still looking at the floor. He had changed into a pair of sweats and a t shirt.

You went to him, pressing a slight kiss on his shaking lips. You gripped his jaw with a feather-like touch, tilting it upwards to expose the purple and blue skin of his neck. You gingerly touched the large bruises that were vaguely in the shape of fingerprints. He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing under your thumb. You sighed and pulled away.

“Sit, Justin”

He listened to your words, taking a seat next to you. He picked up his fork, staring at his food with no intention of eating it.

“I’m not that hungry right now Y/N, I’m sorry for making you go to all this trouble-”

“It’s fine Justin, I understand. Want to go to bed?” you offered.

He nodded, standing up from the table with you following suit. You put his plate back in the fridge before taking his hand and walking back to bed. You got in first, opening your arms and inviting him to lay with you. He complied immediately, putting his head on your shoulder, intertwining your legs.

“You have to report them Justin. Those bruises… they look bad. It’s the worse it’s gotten so far” you gulped, your own heart becoming heavy with the thought.

“I can’t Y/N, I’ll be shipped off to some foster home with people I don’t even know and I might even have to move away. I’m not risking that”

You nodded, it was a hard decision for anyone.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine”

As the words left his mouth, you felt wetness on your shoulder.

“Oh Justin, you don’t need to act strong now. It’s okay to be human” you whispered into his ear.

And those were all it took before he broke down for the third time that evening. His body shook violently as you held him tight.

“It’ll all be okay Justin. I promise”

And in that moment, Justin realised that the only real place he felt safe was with you.

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Twister (M)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3,009

Summary: You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t expected a game of Twister with your boyfriend Jungkook to turn into something much less innocent.

Requested by @0bluewater2

Keep reading

Sick of Losing You

Plot: Harry and Y/N lost each other when he found someone else.

Warnings: None aside that it kinda broke my heart.

Playlist to the one shot: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2S-tehb1XqDqkmE4xnz7-SciJy61soVf

Thanks to @interfectorems for being such a good friend, supporter and for requesting this. 
Songs that are mentioned but not on the playlist are “Out of the Woods” by Taylor Swift & “If You don’t Know” by 5Sos.

Pic of this beauty isn’t mine.

I watched from a far how he held on to her hand, his fingers grasping and squeezing hers gently while his eyes never left her pretty face. He watched her speak with such an intensity in his green eyes, as if he literally saw nothing other than her. His girlfriend. Not me.
I took a deep breath, swallowed the thick lump building in my throat and turned away from the sight.
Exactly three weeks ago, Harry and I had shared a kiss. Our first kiss, which had been exactly how I’d secretly always wished for it to be. Of course it had been. Every time you get to kiss the person you love is special and like fireworks painting colors into the sky.

He’d been talking and listening to me all night, similar to how he now was with her and had at some point reached out to hold my hand, just like he was holding hers in this moment.
When the time felt right, he’d leant in and had captured my lips with his. Needless to say, Harry was a phenomenal kisser. He knew when to press further, when to use how much tongue and was very attentive to how my body responded to his. Whenever I thought about it now, my cheeks tingled with the memory of his hands cupping them gently as he cradled my face to keep me close. He’d been so soft, so perfect. Harry had touched me with a tenderness, I thought it’d break my heart. I remembered wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling like they belonged there, like I was meant to hold him close.
Only that I wasn’t. The girl he was with now only proved how insignificant I was.

I couldn’t help peaking and looking over at him again. Harry’s lips. I knew exactly how they felt when pressed against my own, knew their taste and shape. Their warmth. Harry’s touch was impossible to forget.
I watched him kiss his girlfriend with a mesmerized stare, before moving away and into the kitchen, leaving the small gathering of our friends with a murmured excuse that I needed to get a refill of my drink, when in reality I couldn’t bear seeing the man I loved sharing affectionate kisses with someone else.
But not even the kitchen was a safe area for me. t had been this exact kitchen, the one in Harry’s house, where he’d pulled me aside and told me about her for the first time.

“It’s difficult” I think he said. “It’s my fault that this situation has become so messy.”

Was it silly that I could actually still remember every word he spoke to me? That I’d engraved every pause, every take in of breath he made, deeply into my head?

“Listen, Y/N… You’re important to me. I care about you. Need you, it’s just… There is someone. Someone who could be a chance for a relationship and I really want to give this a go. Give her a go, I mean. You can understand that, right?”

At first it’d felt like none of it was real. Because how could he be serious?
Harry. My best friend, Harry.
Only three days after our magical first kiss, three days full of us talking and flirting and texting constantly, he was telling me that he wanted someone else. Her name was Ira. And though he was seemingly behaving the same way with her he had been with me, we weren’t the same. In fact, she was everything I wasn’t. So when he told me he wanted her and not me, that he was picking her over of me, how come I’d been surprised?

I would never be his first choice, not when there were thousands of others he could choose from. And it was time for my brain to learn to not interpret every kind gesture, time to learn to stop overthinking every word. It was time for my head to accept, that there was no way Harry Styles could possibly want me.

So… I had been understanding. Kind even.
I’d lied and told him that yes, I agreed that our kiss had been a mistake. We shouldn’t have done any of that and instead thought of our friendship first, rather than our impulses. I’d kept a smile on my face throughout the entire talk and even finished the short chat by wishing him good luck with her. Another lie.

My fingers shook and so I set the empty glass of my drink down quickly, worried for a moment that I might otherwise spill the last few drops. I didn’t think much when I reached for the bottle of vodka on the counter. There was no getting through this night if I didn’t have something proper to drink. If only I remembered the recipe….

“Need help?”

My shoulders tensed. It couldn’t be him. Please… anyone, literally anyone, but him.

However when I turned around, Harry was there. He stood tall and beautiful, his short hair soft and wavy. Harry’s compelling eyes held my gaze with such a tender rawness in them, my knees weakened. All my body burned for was to wrap my arms around his shoulders and have him embrace me, have him tell me that everything would be okay again. I felt like I needed it, but knew that this was a wish I would be denied. Harry must have felt it, too. It was in the air around us. It had changed and… buzzed. As if being in each other’s presence made the world halt still for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckled lowly when I didn’t say anything. How could he smile like everything was alright?

And what was it he was apologizing for? Abandoning our friendship? Ruining any hope I’d had to find a partner in him? Shattering my heart? Hardly.

“For scaring you,” Harry elaborated, a sudden hint of guilt in his eyes, almost as if he’d read my thoughts.

“It’s fine, Harry,” I muttered, bearing a false smile, “All good.”

It was hard to look at him. Especially his eyes. They burned a whole into my chest whenever my own orbs found them. They reminded me of the Harry he once was, the one I could always come to and rely on.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his head nodding towards the bottle of vodka. His forehead furrowed in a worried expression and I quickly set the container back down.

“I wanted to make myself a drink, but the recipe slipped my mind. I’m not as much of an alcoholic as it must look like.”

“Good to know,” Harry chuckled, then, visibly thinking about it first, took a step forward. “I remember what you like in your favorite drink. Could make you one.”

From how close he was standing, it was easy to notice every detail of his skin. Every curve of his lips, every hair of his barely-there beard. My stomach turned.

“That’d be nice.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

We avoided any touching. I was leant against the counter, he stood with a safe distance between us and only came closer when he needed a different ingredient that happened to be near me. It was awkward and… weird. It didn’t feel like ‘us’. The friends we’d been once seemed to be two completely different people. I knew him and felt he was familiar, but there was a emotional distance between us I knew neither of us could overcome. And still, I was with him and even if we behaved like strangers, being with Harry was nice.

“I think that’s it,” Harry said, breaking the silence. His eyes were set on the pink-orange liquid in my glass, then they drifted to my face. A proud smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“You 'think’?” I challenged shyly.

I took the glass from him (cautious not to touch his fingers) and took a sip. It tasted great.

“M'not big of a show off,” Harry grinned, “S'it good?”

I nodded and stirred the colored liquid once more. “Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” His voice was soft and his gaze shy.

The air around us shifted once more. My eyes teared up. What had happened to us? Harry and I… we used to be the kind of friends who didn’t stopped talking to each other for hours. At first, we’d be loud. We’d laugh and giggle so much eventually both of our tummies hurt. That was when we’d change the subject and speak more quietly, until several hours later our conversations drifted to topics only we were allowed to hear. Then we’d be whispering and sitting closer together, always an eager sparkle in the other’s eyes as we both listened with interest about what was being said.

I quickly turned away and pretended to yawn. My eyes blinked rapidly and I willed them not to cry in front of him. Not because of embarrassment, but because I couldn’t do that to him. I’d given him my okay. I had no right to be mad at him for having found someone else. Harry remained standing close and with his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans.

“I think I should go,” I muttered.

I held my head low and took a deep breath before looking at him briefly. Harry’s eyes held concern and his fingers twitched, as if he longed to reach out for me.

“Y/N, love,” he began lowly, “Do you think we could talk for a bit? S'been a while since I got to see you. Hear your voice. I missed you.”

This time when my eyes met his green orbs, I didn’t look away, even though I could feel the tears forming and coming closer to spilling over. Harry’s whole expression changed. His cheeks paled and his forehead furrowed deeper.

“I miss you, too, Harry,” I admitted, my weak voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly, sorrow deeply set in his eyes. His feet stepped closer and his warm hands touched my flushed cheeks before I even had the chance to back away from him. The unexpected closeness caught me off guard and had more tears coming, this time because of how much I hated how uncommon this sort of care from him had become.

Harry embraced me. His head buried itself into my neck and both arms wrapped themselves around my waist so he could lift me up from my feet. “Please no, Y/N, Sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

I couldn’t help it. My heart, the final bit that had been whole still, broke in his caring hands and I was overcome and pulled under a wave of grief. That was what I was doing. I was grieving our friendship and the lost hope I’d had for a relationship with him. And he allowed it. He let me cry against his collarbones without any complaint and instead began to hum quietly, knowing how much his voice always soothed me. Pain shot through my chest. He probably did the same when she was upset.

“I can’t-” I cried, but got cut off by my lungs that burned with need for air.

Harry hushed me, his hold tightening, “Don’t, Y/N. It’s going to be alright.”

I shook my head and loosened the hold I’d taken around his neck. My hands momentarily brushed his soft hair, then I pulled away. Harry hesitated but allowed me to step out of his hold.

“I can’t take it anymore, Harry,” I confessed, my voice breaking halfway through the sentence. I reached up to brush my cheeks with the end of my sleeve and hiccuped. My head felt numb and I knew if I didn’t get out of this kitchen soon, he’d witness a break down I wasn’t comfortable with him seeing.

Harry’s hand reached for my arm. I didn’t fight it when he pulled me closer to him, but avoided his eyes when he leaned down to find my gaze.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice rough with emotion, “I promise you, it’ll be alright. M'not leaving, okay? M'not. We’ll figure this out.”

I wanted to scream but all I could was shake my head rapidly. “Figure this out how? What have we become, Harry?”

Another sob wrecked through my chest.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “But we’re going to find each other again, okay? I promise. Let me say goodbye to the others and then we’ll go for a walk or something. We’ll talk. About everything and nothing at all… Just like we always used to, yeah?”

Used to. So long ago, it seemed.

“Okay,” I whispered, my burning eyes set on my feet. My skin shivered under his warmth and my lips hurt from how much I was bitting them.

I flinched when his mouth pressed a kiss to my head. The skin was left with a burning sensation. “Wait for me here, love.”

Harry’s quick feet carried him out of the kitchen and left me standing by the counter with my heart at the pit of my stomach. I stood up straight and brushed the few remaining tears from my cheeks. My skin tingled and I felt the hint of a smile on my lips, even though my body ached.
Looking back now, I wish I would have stayed put by the counter and had waited for him just like he’d asked me to. I wish I hadn’t been impatient and eager to reunite with Harry, because that eagerness drove me to exit the kitchen shortly after him and turn the corner, allowing me clear view into the living room.
There he stood. His arms around her thin form, his hands in her long hair and his lips kissing hers. All air was knocked right out of me. I could see how his hands gently moved against her neck, bringing her in closer and their bodies flush together. When their lips parted for a moment, I could see how he let his tongue run along his lower lip, as if he wanted to make sure he got all of her taste. And I could see him smile warmly at her, right before he leaned back in to connect their mouths once more. This sight… it burned.
I didn’t wait for him. Because I had been wrong before. My heart wasn’t truly broken until that moment, witnessing the man I loved with my everything, kissing a woman who wasn’t me. And if he wasn’t going to leave me, if he was just going to keep me close and allow my heart to shatter over and over again, then I supposed I would have to be the one to go first.
So that’s what I did. I walked back to the entryway, slid on my jacket, picked up my bag, and left the house. Left, to never come back to Harry Styles.

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Steal His Look: Forces of Destiny Anakin

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Harry Fake Dates Kendall but is in Love With You

A/n: This is an updated version of an imagine I’ve previously uploaded. I know Hendall is so 2015. I get it.

Masterlist linked in bio.


The red wine leaves a particular stain on Harry’s lips that he hadn’t noticed until Kendall pointed it out to him.

“It looks like you’re wearing lipstick” she laughs, “I didn’t know you were going to dress up this much for the party.”

They are currently sat at his mum’s kitchen island, drinking red wine while munching on some chips left out for the guests. The house is filled with familiar faces, friends and family all throughout London coming together for Anne’s birthday celebration.

They hosted one every year for as long as Harry could remember, a time of year where nearly every one of his family members, including his step family, would unite. It was their favorite time of year, believe it or not. Despite all the excitement for the holidays, Anne’s birthday celebration was certainly something special.

It was Kendall’s first time attending, considering the fact that Harry had only really talked to her whenever he was assigned to be with her for publicity. It wasn’t always ideal, however, he built a stable friendship with her, so he didn’t mind the extra company with him from time to time.

She was invited last minute, of course, since his management called last night to ask if there was any way for them to be seen together. With Harry’s new movie coming out and his solo album just released a couple weeks ago, it was almost a given for him to be rumored with a girlfriend. That’s how it’s worked all throughout his career.

He normally wouldn’t have minded, however, this was the worst possible date for him to be with Kendall.

Because it’s Anne’s birthday party, this means that it’ll be the first time in one year that he’ll be seeing Y/n. They have been best friends since they were five years old, basically growing up in the same house as they went through school together. But as time went on, and as they both went to their separate ways, it was hard to keep in touch with each other all the time.

She remained in the small towns of London while Harry was traveling world wide, where his name became known everywhere as Y/n’s was only known through people she attended school with. Of course, they still talked, considering they both admitted to having more than friendship feelings, but their lives were busy in their own ways, preventing them from being more than what they wanted to be.

For the past couple months, Harry planned that this would be the day he’d finally move forward with Y/n. Or, at least attempt to. With the loss of her over the past year, it made Harry realize just how much he couldn’t imagine a life without her. It had been so long—too long, and he couldn’t stand how long he’s lived without keeping in touch with her.

But now, everything he planned for the two of them is becoming impossible. He can’t begin to imagine how Y/n would feel knowing he brought Kendall to his mum’s birthday party after they both confessed their love for each other. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame her for giving up on him. He keeps doing this to her, even if it’s unintentional.

He watches around the kitchen at the guests he hasn’t seen in quite a while. His leg bounces with impatience when each new person walking in to attend the party isn’t Y/n. It’s been nearly an hour and has never been so late to anything before.

And as horrible as it sounds, he almost wishes she doesn’t come, just so that she can avoid the heartbreak that will come when she reunites with Kendall again.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Harry’s head whips around when he hears the voice he’s been deprived of for the past year. The first thing he notices are her lips, and the way they move around her words so softly. They’re slightly glazed with a lipgloss, painting her lips with a rosy shade of pink. They look so much fuller to him now, but he knows not a trace of them are artificial.  

His eyes only drift from the shape of her lips when her fingers reach to tuck loose pieces of hair behind her ear. It’s then he notices just how much shorter her hair has gotten. What was once so long and lank is now falling just above the shoulder, set in luscious curls he can only imagine twisting around his fingers.

His jaw goes slack when he sees the pale pink dress she’s wearing. It’s made from silk, the metallic fabric glowing with each step she takes. He gulps when he notices just how much the dress accentuates the curvature of her body and how much of her legs are put on display for him to see, and he can’t help but to wipe the sweat off his palms when he watches her greet his mother with a proper kiss on the cheek.

He notices that his eyes haven’t shut since he’s seen her, but he’s so completely intrigued by how much has changed in her. Something about her seems so much more real—so much more vibrant—and he can’t seem to stop himself from praising how time has done her so goddamn well.

“You never told me she was going to be here.“

His body jerks at Kendall’s sudden appearance, her body slowly occupying the seat next to his at the kitchen island. If it wasn’t for her, he swears he would have caught himself drooling.

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says with a shrug, “she’s been my best friend since we were five. She’s basically apart of this family, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Y/n hasn’t missed a single one of Anne’s birthday celebrations since she’s known Harry. Their bond is irreplaceable—so irreplaceable, in fact, that Anne has been convinced Y/n is a miracle for their family. She was there for them through all the troubled times; helping them through their hardships and family instabilities.

When Anne and her husband first got divorced, Harry and Y/n were seven. Harry didn’t understand much of what was happening, all he knew was that his mum and dad weren’t going to love each other anymore. He was hurting, even when Gemma was there to try and keep him together. He started to believe everything between his parents was a lie.

She understood the whole separation process. Her mum left her at a young age, leaving her alone with her father. They were close, of course, but she always missed having a mother figure in her life. It made her upset to know she could only listen to one voice in the house, but as she grew older, she accepted it more.

By the time she met Harry, he kept bringing her over to his house as the years went on. Anne was the closest she had to mother, and their bond became unbreakable by the time Y/n was a teenager. Nearly seven years of Y/n being like another member of the family, Y/n started buying Anne Mother’s Day cards.

So when Y/n watched her second family fall apart, along with Anne’s heart, and she was determined to patch them back together again. Even at her young age, she’d pick flowers from her garden and give them to Anne everyday after school. Y/n said they represented her, and how she felt being a woman with such love and beauty could die all too quickly. Harry never understood what it meant, but Y/n did, which is why she never stopped until she heard Anne laughing again.

She also started to draw pictures and write her letters, reminding her of how loved she was by everyone. As much as Anne was heartbroken during the time, she took the letters everywhere she went and kept every flower alive for as long as she possibly could. Anne would always tell Harry “That girl came into our lives for a reason, my love. She’s a special one, our little miracle, never let her go. You hear me?”

Harry didn’t understand what it truly meant to let someone go, but he did his best to do anything but that. And now, as Harry sits on his mother’s kitchen island and seeing Y/n for the first time in a year, he feels he’s done just that.

“Guess not.” Kendall mutters, taking her last sip of the red wine left in her glass. “She’s just so strange, I guess. I can barely hold a conversation with her without her making an excuse to leave.”

Kendall and Y/n never really got along, it was extremely noticeable to everyone who held a conversation with the both of them. They just don’t see things in the same light. Y/n is very outgoing and lively; an extreme extrovert that seeks adventure—and Kendall can’t stand it. She thinks Y/n does it for attention, especially because she’s remained a small town girl while being surrounded by well-known celebrities. And even though it may seem like Y/n likes the attention, that’s not her purpose. She gives all her attention to others, never to herself, and it has always been something Harry loved the most.

And when it comes to Y/n, Kendall was that one thing that was constantly in her way of Harry. No matter how many times Harry and Y/n discussed how there was something between them, Kendall always found her way back to haunt her. She was her worst goddamn nightmare. She was perfect for Harry in the public eye, and nothing made Y/n feel worse than knowing she’ll never be her type of perfect, especially when it came to Harry.

But Kendall doesn’t know that. All she knows is that Y/n is extremely stand-offish with her, and she’ll never understand why.

“She’s not used to our lives. It’s extremely difficult for her to understand how we live, you know? She’s normal.”

Kendall scoffs, eyes rolling around the room because she hates that word. She feels so divided, like she’s in a categorization in society and everything about it makes her teeth clench.

“We’re normal, too, you know. I don’t understand why she feels so intimated and feels like she has something to prove.”

Harry’s jaw clenches slightly at the negative connotes Kendall has about Y/n’s life. Something about it makes his stomach twist the wrong way, and he can’t help the underlying growl in between his words.

“We’re not normal. Deep down, you and I both know that. You also don’t know Y/n, so stop making irrational assumptions about her.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at Harry, a gaze full of confusion and disbelief at the undeniable grumble in his tone. Any rational conversation they have about Y/n always end the same—with Harry quick to end the discussion and jump to her defense. It’s times like these Kendall never understood the true extent of Harry and Y/n’s relationship. They always claimed it was platonic but there has always been a sense of something stronger in them, like unaddressed or unchased feelings, or a past they shared that was kept between the two.

Either way, it annoyed the shit out of Kendall because they both were hiding something that she’ll never be able to get answered.

“Fine, whatever.” She sighs dramatically, scooting her chair back until she has room to stand properly. “Want some more wine? Getting some.”

Harry slides his empty wine glass so that it’s in front of her, muttering a small “yeah, thanks” before she’s on her way to the counter across the room, retrieving extra wine and mingling with some of Harry’s family.

Harry sighs while his head rests at the palm of his hand, eyes gazing directly to where Y/n is standing. His lips tug up lightly when he hears her laugh from the living room, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly as he watches her mouth lift and her eyes squint shut as she catches up with one of his uncles about his grand annual weekend fishing trip.

And as his eyes stay so transfixed on the woman in the other room, he can’t help but imagine seeing that type of perfection every day for the rest of his life.

“And everyone thinks Sweet Creature is about me..”

Harry’s head snaps to Gemma’s figure leaning over the edge of the island, her elbows hitched on the counter as a small smirk plays on her lips. She found it abnormally amusing how he didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke, too invested in hawking over Y/n’s every move.

Harry grumbles, but the smile from Y/n’s laughter is permanent on his lips when he does so. Gemma even notices his cheeks brighten with pink, another hint of confirmation to the words she spoke.

“Shut up, Gem.“

She puts her arms up defensively, “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m just making an observation.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Gemma wraps her arm around his neck, hunching over so that her lips are close to his ear and eyes are directed toward Y/n again.

“She has gotten hotter, hasn’t she?”

She has no idea. All Harry can think about is how someone already so beautiful has grown to be so perfect. Everything about her makes Harry want to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her body. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thinking how much of a wreck he wants to make out of her.

“I don’t know how she did it. You better get her while you still have the chance, I know many, many men who want a taste of her.”

No is the first thing Harry thinks when the words leave from Gemma’s mouth. As hypocritical and selfish as it is, knowing other men have shown an interest in her makes his skin crawl. And he can’t help but feel his throat tighten at the moment Y/n realizes he had brought Kendall to this party.

“Is she—“ he can’t even finish his sentence without his jaw tightening again, hindering the rest of his question from leaving his lips.

“Oh, quit your worrying, H. She’s single, I don’t think she’d ever date someone who isn’t you. Besides, I don’t think you can do much about it with Kendall here.”

Gemma lifts a finger to where Kendall is standing, still in the same spot as she talks to his aunt Leslie. His heart hurts knowing what Y/n will feel when she finds out. He knows that there is always a part of her that feels discouraged whenever there’s a new woman in his life. In between Harry and Y/n’s love for each other was a mix of false hopes and miscommunication, and it always fucked them up whenever anything else was put in their way.

Gemma pats his shoulder before making rounds to her family and friends again, leaving Harry slumped against the counter with not a drop of wine to numb his scrambling mind.

When Y/n finishes catching up with the rest of Harry’s family, she finds that her patience is wearing thin. It’s been a year since she’s seen the love of her life, and knowing that he’s somewhere near her is enough to get her heart racing.

When she sees him sitting alone at the kitchen island, wearing his infamous pink suit and staring down at his fingers, it’s as if her body starts to malfunction. Her legs stop moving and her lips part, eyes glistening with admiration as she sees him for the first time in so long.

He’s as beautiful as ever, his new haircut accentuating his facial structure. His lips seem so much more red, too, which are complimented greatly by that goddamn suit. Everything about him radiates, like he’s developed into a whole other person. She’ll never quite grasp the idea that she’s about to reunite with him; something about it makes her palms sweat.

“Hey, stranger.”

Harry lifts his head up to look at her in all her glory. His heart warms at her presence more than the wine did, and he can’t help but to take a breath of relief when he finally hears her voice again.

“Y/n.” He breathes out, his fingers instinctively reaching up to the ends of her cut hair.

He chokes out a laugh of admiration when he sees her this close to him. She is so much different—so much more perfect than he ever remembers her being and it takes his breath away.

His fingers twist her hair, wrapping them around the digits before letting the strands fall back in place again. He never saw her without her hair down to her waist, and now that he has, he never wants to see her hair past her shoulders again.

“It’s so beautiful” he whispers, “you look so beautiful like this, Y/n. I absolutely love it.”

She blushes, her chin tucking slightly into her neck as if trying to hide how much of a reaction he got out of her. No matter how many years she’s known him, she was never used to the way he spoke to her.

“It was spontaneous. Really wanted a change, and it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Her hands reach to his hair, which is so much shorter compared to the last time she saw him. She remembered she couldn’t keep her hands out of it last year, constantly finding ways to tangle her fingers at the ends. Harry found it hysterical, actually, and thought it was the cutest thing she’s ever done.

“It’s just so soft” she’d say, “it’s like a whole other world in there!”

But now her only option is to tangle her fingers at the roots, and as she does so, her mind drifts to all the other occasions she could have her hands in his hair again.

“It’s so much shorter. Look at that! I can barely tug on it anymore!” She laughs in amusement, her fingers slipping as she pulls too hard.

He smirks up at her, a giggle falling from his lips as he watches her utterly amused reaction. They begin to catch up with the part of their lives they both have missed. Harry talked about his album while Y/n started discussing her new journalism job.

Talking to Y/n is one of the only normal parts of him left, it always gave him a sense of grounding whenever he felt his career was taking off to heights he wasn’t ready for. She is one of the only sense of normality he has left in his life, and it’s another reason as to why he admires her so dearly. She brought out parts of him nobody else could reach, and it’s another reason why he feels so upset he’s barely talked to her.

“Y/n?” he asks hesitantly, reaching his hand over so that his fingertips graze her hand.

Her breath breaks when he touches her, the softness in his voice proving that what is about to be discussed is far more important than their previous conversation. She notices the stress lines in between his forehead and the parting of his wine stained lips when he begins to speak. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I know how it makes me look, especially after everything that happened between us. With the new album and everything, I’ve just been so busy with—“

“Kendall?”

Harry’s head jumps to where Y/n stares dumbfounded, Kendall holding two glasses of wine in one hand while the other is carrying a plate of chicken wings. She’s looking down at Y/n, too, her eyebrows lifted up in an intimidating manner. There’s a scowl present on her lips as she continues to tower over her.

Y/n feels tears building in her eyes as she takes in the situation at hand. She was so fucking dumb to think that Harry was going to come to Anne’s party alone, especially since his new album just released. This is Kendall’s prime time appearance, when Harry needs a familiar famous face beside him to advertise his solo career.

This isn’t anything new—this isn’t anything unfamiliar, but the pain feels like a fresh wound to her heart. Harry and Y/n are nearly 24, with having known each other and felt something for each other for years, she thought that if anything were going to happen, it was going to happen now. But everything between them has remained stagnant for so long that the last sliver of hope she had for their potential relationship has been completely taken away from her. By Kendall, again.

“W—Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know Harry had invited you.”

“Yeah,” Kendall nods, “he invited me last night.”

Last night.

Y/n’s lips purse together, nodding her head as her eyes drift around the kitchen. Anything to avoid Kendall’s eyes—anything to feel as unimportant as she does now.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, a small hissing releasing from his tongue at how wrong it all sounds, considering absolutely nothing happened between Harry and Kendall the previous night besides being demanded that the two of them are to be seen together again.

“Right,” Y/n’s voice cracks, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt your time together. I’m going to go to Gemma’s room, got a phone call from my dad a while ago so I should go check up on him. I’ll see you guys around.”

She musters up a pathetic smile before practically running away from them. After everything they both told each other, after all the feelings they’ve had toward each other, how could Harry keep doing this to her? How could he keep being with Kendall when he says he loves Y/n?

She doesn’t even find the strength in her to hold in her tears before she approaches the steps, not daring to look back at them again. She never wants to see them in the same room again, it’ll be too much her heart can handle. 

“You’ve really got to be fucking kidding me, Kendall.” Harry growls.

His hands fist around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white and he’s absolutely shocked it hasn’t shattered into pieces in his hands from all the anger pulsing through his veins.

Jesus, Harry, neither one of you can take a joke. Does she not understand that all of this is for the press? She keeps acting like we’re a couple.”

“Could you really blame her after that? ‘He invited me last night,’ you’re really getting a kick out of making her uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

He grumbles as he takes a long sip of his wine, hoping that the alcohol loosens his muscles enough to restrain himself from doing anything he regrets. He loves his mum too much to start an argument during her birthday party, and as much as Kendall’s shifting Harry’s mood, he still appreciates her as a friend to ruin anything.

“That wasn’t even my fault, you both dug into that way too deep. Last night does not mean while we were fucking. It’s a time of day.”

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Are you being serious, Harry?”

He slams his glass down on the island, grumbling under his breath while he stands up from his chair. No matter how much anger is in him now, the only thoughts swirling in his brain are wondering if Y/n’s okay. She would have never left the party to go into a secluded room, not even if her dad called her.

“You leave her the fuck alone, Kendall. I mean it.”

He storms away from her, desperate to find Y/n because God only knows what’s really happening in that bedroom. Y/n’s emotions and feelings are always positive, always so bright, and he refuses to be the reason they turn upside down. She doesn’t deserve all he keeps doing to her, she doesn’t deserve him.

When Harry nearly swings himself onto the first step, he can already hear the soft murmur of Y/n’s and Anne’s voice, which makes him stop from approaching them any more than he has already.

“Y/n? Y/n, darling?” Anne asks with worry when she sees Y/n climbing up the top step with tears in her eyes, soft cries falling from her throat as her hand attempts to silence them.

She reaches an arm out for her, tugging at the front of Y/n’s dress slightly to get her attention. She’s grateful it was Anne who found her this way instead of any other guest at the party, considering nobody besides her and Harry have seen her with a frown on her face.

“Y/n, baby, what’s going on with you?”

The lights are off in the hallway, with no guests permitted in the area, which gives Y/n the proper time to fully allow her tears to fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so s—sorry, Anne.” Y/n cries.

Anne’s hands rub her shoulders, reassuring her that there’s absolutely nothing for her to apologize for. It also lets her know that she’s willing to listen to her, no matter where or when—she’ll always be there.

“I’m almost 24, Anne, and I’ve put so much of my life on hold for him.”

She knows instantly who Y/n’s talking about. It wasn’t difficult to notice the undying connection between Y/n and her son, especially as the years went on. They have grown so strongly together, there has never been a doubt in Anne’s mind that Y/n is going to be the girl Harry ends up marrying. Everyone in the family called it a destiny waiting to happen, but it has been so long since anything has happened between them, and Anne can’t help but feel heartbroken to know Y/n’s carrying the wrong idea about him and Kendall.

“And I’ve sacrificed so m—much to continue waiting for him, but I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore. We’re nowhere near where we should be, especially when he keeps spending time with Kendall and I just—I just don’t know if I can—“

“Oh, my darling.” Anne sighs, cradling Y/n’s head against her shoulder as she rubs down her back.

She shushes her through her tears, rocking her slightly in an attempt to calm her from her cries. It’s extremely rare for Y/n to feel upset, so when she does so, Anne knows she deserves all the comfort and love she can get.

“I know you so well, and I know my son. I always knew you were a match made in heaven, my dear. I knew from the start you were more than just an ordinary girl. You’re so special, to everyone in our family, but especially to him. He may not have his head screwed on right most of the time, but if I can promise you anything with all my heart, it’s that he loves you. Please, no matter what, never forget that.”

Y/n nods against her shoulder, thanking her through her violent cries before Anne insists she takes some time to herself. And as much as Y/n wanted to refrain from going into Harry’s bedroom, it’ll be the only place that brings her a sense of comfort.

Harry already knows he’s in for a lecture the second he sees his mum coming down the stairs with bewildered eyes. She grips his shoulders, her face tight with frustration.

“Mum—“

“You go over to her and you be the man I taught you to be, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, swallowing thickly at the thought of disappointing another person in his life.

“She loves you and you love her. Stop doing favors for other people and start thinking about you before you ruin both of your lives forever. You hear me?”

Harry nods feverishly, determined and more motivated than ever to fix all that he’s caused. Love comes first, always, and he needs to remember that before he breaks Y/n’s heart completely.

She’s it. She’s all that matters to him.

He barely responds to Anne before he’s racing to his old bedroom, completely clueless as to what he’s going to say, but willing to do anything to get her back.

“Y/n?” Harry calls through the door of his old bedroom. “Y/n, can I come in?” 

He knocks on the door lightly, just using the knuckles of his pointer and middle finger. He hears her feet pad over to the door, opening it to reveal her tear stained cheeks. Her hands are trembling against the knob, her breath broken with soft, gentle cries. Her eyes are widened with sadness, wet and red from tears she barely ever cries.

“Y/n.” He whimpers, tentatively reaching his shaking fingers up to her cheeks. He wipes away the tears from the bottoms of her eyes, sighing upsettingly as her eyes close at his touch. “Never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

Her lips quiver as another sob rips through her, her hand reaching up to capture his between her fingers. Her saddened and wet eyes looking down at the intertwined hands now resting against her lap.

“I’m so tired, H.” She whimpers, “So tired.”

His lips press against her forehead, “I know, love. I know.”

She wraps her arms around him, her face burying in between his chest as he lets her tears soak in his undershirt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I’d finally be alone with you after all this time. I missed being close to you, I wanted to be closer to you and I thought you felt the same about me and I didn’t understand, Harry, I didn’t get it and—“


“Hey, relax for me.” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing tenderly along her cheek.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers fisting the back of his suit tighter in her fists. She rests her chin on the top of his chest, tears still roaming down her face as she lets out an exasperated sigh. Her fingertips trace patterns on his back, her eyes fluttering closed as he pushes some of her hair off of her face, refraining them from sticking to her wet cheeks.

“I didn’t get it,” she whispers, “I was so confused, and when you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you didn’t find me important. And I was under no right to be upset about it, because you’re busy and you have priorities. But when I saw you today, I didn’t see you as the Harry I always have, I still can’t tell you what I saw but I wanted every part of you more than I ever have before. But when I saw Kendall I—“

Her cries and words die down when she feels Harry’s tender lips against hers. She’s taken aback at first, and before she has any time to really kiss him back, he’s already pulled away.

“Let me fix this.” He breathes out, “let show you that I only want you.”

His lips press against the side of her mouth, not allowing himself to kiss her the way he wants to until she lets him. They then begin to travel down her neck, along her jaw, around her mouth.

Y/n’s breath is stiff as he does so, embracing the feeling of his mouth against her skin. They’ve only ever kissed a handful of times, none of them being passionate or loving. They’ve shared pecks while saying goodbyes or after confessing their feelings, but none quite like this—none quite like the one anticipating to happen.

His breathing his hard when he continues to kiss along her skin, his fingers moving longly in her hair the more his mouth presses against her.

“Will you let me?” He whispers when his lips are ghosting over hers, “this okay?”

She nods feverishly, hitting the point of desperation when she feels his breath fan over the skin of her face. She’s been needing this for far too long now.

“Yes, please.

His thumb runs over her bottom lip one, two, three times before he finally leans in. Their lips mush together passionately, only breaking apart to move their position before locking again. Their tongues meet in the middle, making the both of them moan at the unfamiliar spark coursing through their veins.

Harry walks toward his bed until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of it, making her back meet the mattress. Their lips haven’t detached once, not daring to break away from the feeling they’ve both been deprived of.

They’re both making out on Harry’s childhood bed, grinding onto each other half naked like two hormonal teenagers. Their clothes thrown across the room, lips swollen from all the suction and nibbling, and hair completely knotted from either of their fingertips, the party below them long forgotten.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” Y/n gasps, lifting herself off of his chest.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch his breath as he looks up at Y/n in confusion. He watches as a smirk lifts from her lips as she peers down at his flushed face, giggling slightly at his complete fucked out appearance.

She notices that his lips remained stained from the red wine—a little faded—but still making her body weak at the sight of it.

“’s the matter?” He croaks.

His voice is thick—an entirely different level of raspy, and Y/n wonders how she’s lived so long without hearing him speak in that way. Between all the kissing, all the touching, all the moaning, his voice has a particular roughness to it that Y/n could feed off of if she had to.

“We shouldn’t do this, right? I mean, we’re about to fuck during your mum’s birthday party. Your entire family and Kendall are downstairs, anybody could walk in at any second, or hear us, and your mum could find that so disrespectful and—“

Her rambling is interrupted by his lips, meeting hers passionately between her words.

There is no way in hell he’s leaving this room tonight. Everything that’s been stagnant between them is finally moving in the right direction, and he can’t find it anywhere in him to walk away from it.

“You think I’m letting you go now?” He whispers, his thumb running along her bottom lip. “I have been waiting for this moment with you since high school, sweetheart.”

His lips reattach to her neck, sucking on spots he hasn’t already left marks on, soaking up every bit of the time he has with her before it’s over. This is the first time they’re going to make love, and he wants to feel and remember every bit of this moment.

“B—But your mum—“ She moans, her fingers nearly tangling at the ends of his hair as she hisses in pleasure from his tongue.

“Every single person downstairs knows about us. This—this happening right now, has been expected to happen since I first brought you home. I guarantee you, nothing will make her more happy than knowing her son and his future wife are finally acting on our feelings instead of pushing them to the side again.”

His words make Y/n blush like no other; her cheeks turning the shade of pink on her dress she wore previously. It’s then he notices just hot fucking pretty she is in pink, how every tint of the color compliments her in ways he can barely wrap his head around.

“Future wife, hm?” She smirks, tapping the pads of her fingers against his bare collarbones.

He kisses her again.

“Thought you knew that, love. Wouldn’t know a single soul I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” His fingers dig into her hips, “’s always been you.“

Y/n pushes Harry’s back against the mattress again, trailing her fingers down his torso. She giggles when his teeth clench at her touch, finding it almost irresistible to embrace the way he responds to her touch so easily.

“Trust me, I always knew.”

Worth

Canon ‘verse Dean and Cas talking about feelings

read it here on AO3!

“Cas, I just - I don’t think we can do this,” Dean says.

And Cas, sitting beside him in shotgun, tastes loss in his mouth. He stares straight ahead.

He’s been waiting for this, if he’s honest with himself. It was too good to be true. He and Dean have been - things have been different between them, recently. They’ve been saying more, showing more. It’s been filling a part of Cas that he hadn’t even understood was aching and empty, until suddenly it wasn’t.

But now…

“It’s - you know, we got jobs to do,” Dean says. Outside, the night rolls past. They’re driving home to the bunker, shopping bags in the back. The trip was domestic, even sweet; but at the check-outs, Cas saw Dean’s face. He’d known that something was shifting. He’d known that there was trouble to come.

“Jobs?” he manages.

“Yeah, Cas, jobs. We got the world to save. Half the time we’re throwing ourselves under the bus so it won’t drive off the cliff, and that’s good, because the bus won’t crash, but…” He pauses; Cas says nothing. “But - God, Cas, it’s so much harder to throw yourself under the bus when you got someone out there who makes you think you shouldn’t have to.”

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Handyman

Handyman (m)

Word count: 9.4k

Genre/Warnings: smut, angst, sub!Jimin, dirty talk

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary: Jimin is your landlord’s son. After one stressful day he comes to fix your shower for you. You find yourself constantly thinking about him. Could he be the perfect submissive? (here’s some lovely Jimin moans for the occasion: credit to owner)

I’ve been working on this for forever so i’m excited about it! :)

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Ride (Jimin/Reader)

Prompt: Can I request a Jimin smut where you like to ride his thigh and he have fetishist for ur boobs because they’re kind of sensitive? Anyway bless this blog

Genre: Smut

Words: 1,285+

Author: Admin Em

Summary: Each moment spent with Jimin was incredibly precious to both of you. And well those precious moments had some extra special times, times where you and Jimin would be one, panting, groaning sweaty bodies moving in sync…. 

Tags: Thigh riding, slight babygirl!kink, porn with little plot, etc. 

Originally posted by sosjimin


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BTS reaction to you sleeping on their chest

A/N: this is my first reaction, I hope everyone will enjoy it^^

Rapmonster (namjoon): He would be sitting comfortabely on the couch in the living room with an open book in his hand. You were sitting next to him as his shoulder was resting around you so you could lay your head on his chest. After a while it would be really silent as he was reading his book so he looked down just to see your sleeping face. He would be smiling sheepishly because of your fair skin which made you look like a little baby.

“why do you have to look cute in everything that you do?”

Originally posted by namjoonsgurl

Jin (seokjin): It would be a lazy sunday when you two would be lying on your shared bed. You’re head was resting on his chest as his arms were wrapped around your smaller form. “jagi? jagi…Y/N?” he would ask confusedly as you didn’t laugh at his dad joke. He would turn his head towards you and instantly would widen his eyes as he saw you sleeping soundly on his chest. The little snores that escaped your throat was everything to make him know that you were deeply asleep. Slowly getting up without waking you up, he took the blanket from the far end of the bed to tuck you into it. He tiptooed out of the room to make his way to the kitchen. He was planning on making a little soup for you because of the hunger that always grow into you when you wake up.

Originally posted by jjilljj

Jhope (hoseok): You two would be sprawled out on the floor of the practice room after a few hours of dancing. Because of the sleeveless top you were wearing you could feel the coldness of the floor hit your skin so you rolled over to your boyfriend’s side. “Im cold.” you murmured as you snuzzled your face in his chest. “Come here~” he would embrace you into a tight hug as you instantly felt warm because of his body heat. His stomache then made a weird nose, making his lips form an ‘O’ shape. “jagiya~ is it fried chicken or pizza for tonight?” he asked and felt slightly embarrassed for the loud noise of his stomache. “Y/N?” he would ask softly as he didn’t receive a respond. “aww~” he looked down to see your chubby cheek pressed against his chest as you selpt. “my jagiya is the cutest!” he would be internally fanboying over your cuteness.

Originally posted by nnochu

Suga (Yoongi): It was late at night when you entered Yoongi’s studio with some snacks and coke in your hands. You decided to bring him some food and not to sleep despite him being busy lately. He didn’t have the time to eat properly because of his hard work for their upcoming album so you always made sure that he was fed. “Y/N, I told you to just go to sleep.” he whined and watched you sitting comfortabely on his lap. “it’s past midnight and you haven’t eat anything, you worry me” you pouted and laid your head on his shoulder. He softened because of your words but still went further with his work. After two hours he finally finished and leaned back in his chair as he embraced your form tightly. “I finished” he said but got silence in return. Looking to you, he would realise that you fell asleep. He would snuzzle his nose against your temple and carry you to your shared bed. 

Originally posted by yoongles

Jimin: you two would be lying in each other’s embrace as you cuddled in bed. His mascular arms encircled itself around your waist to pull you onto his chest as you giggled cutely, making him also giggle. “I’m tired” you whined and laid your head against his chest as you totally relaxed. “sleep then” he said and brought the blanket up to cover your body which was in a pyjama. His soft stare would be fixated on your sleepy face as he sang a lullaby. Your eyes closed itself slowly until you deeply were asleep. “sweet  dreams, cutiepie” he whispered and kissed your head lovingly. 

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

V (Taehyung): After a long session of playing with your puppy, he would fall asleep under the table as you made your way to your boyfriend who was lying on your couch, watching a movie on the TV. “taetae~” you would beam and lay down on his chest. “hm?” he asked and kissed your cheek as you looked up. “let’s cuddle” you suggested and received nothing else but his famous cute smile in return. “only if you won’t fall asleep” he challenged. “deal” you accepted his offer and immediately laid back down as you clutched onto him. Taehyung counted to thirty and looked down to see you already asleep on his chest.”this girl” he shook his head and putted his oversized sweater over you to keep you warm.  

Originally posted by helendrv

Jungkook: you would be lying on his broad chest as both of you laid on the sofa, him being busy playing games. “jungkook~” you whined for the millionth time that day. You were eager to go outside because of the good weather but he told you that he first had to win the game. You just shrugged it off but it has been two hours since he started to play that game and it worked on your nerves. “wait jagiya…I almost finished” he said but you already gave up as you turned your head away from the TV. Silently falling asleep you embraced him tightly, making it difficult for him to move his arms. He sighed and also give up. “you won” he said in between a sigh, thinking that you were playing with him until he looked own to see you fully asleep on his chest. He would widen his eyes and let go of his controller as he embraced you too, giving you his warmth so you peacefully could sleep. 

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

all gifs are not mine 

anonymous asked:

How do open snoot??? I have so many problems when it comes to drawing open mouthed critters/expressions!! I just can't wrap my mind around how open snouts work with the skull or the circles I use for the skull anyhow.. Do you have any advice on this??

 I’M GONNA TRY MY BEST TO EXPLAIN THIS because, man i feel u but at the same time I know very little about the technical anatomy when it comes to skulls ;;

Let’s do a sorta above ¾ view for this rlly quick, when I start out, I always like to establish one part of the snout at a time, instead of trying to just DIVE RIGHT IN. So I start by putting vague upper muzzle shapes here, just to get the direction goin’

NOW WE GOTTA GIVE THIS THING A LOWER JAW to help keep it symmetrical, I like to pull the lines from the corners of the upper lips. DON’T BE AFRAID TO OVERLAP, OVERLAPPING IS IMPORTANT IN GENERAL BUT ESPECIALLY WHEN DRAWING OPEN MUZZLES LIKE THIS!! See that line that goes from the upper right corner of the lip and through the top half of the muzzle? I basically use that as my guide to keep from pulling the jaw too far out, or too far in. Don’t worry if it looks a bit like they have an underbite either, depending on the angle, perspective will do that..it likes to fuk with ur brain a bit

OKAY NOW we’re bringing back the overlapping line because chins are still hard for me to draw and I change how i do it constantly but this is a good method to get a chin that doesn’t thrust too much outwards or inwards (unless that’s the specific jaw shape you were going for with ur character, then by all means do so!!! ) bring the line from the further corner of the eye, form the cheek, and bring it down (overlapping over the top jaw as we are wont to do) and bring it AROUND TOWN. You see here that it’s kinda boxy and I could probably curve that line some more to give a more slender look but w/e IT WORKS WITH MOST SHAPES

if you’re referring to something like the BND draw I posted recently, it’s pretty much a similar course of action, so let’s use this  asshole as an example because his mouth is obnoxiously wide when it’s open 

Start off with the upper jaw, again, it’s easier to piece these things together vs trying to shove all the shapes together at once (for me it is anyways) 

i’m doing this from profile view this time but you can see the overlapping lines still work!! I roughly places where the otherside of the upper corner of the lip would be on the side we don’t see and used that to help me get an idea of how far down the lower jaw is gonna go~! Don’t worry, it’s gonna look awkward most of the time  and it’s a perfect chance to go in and fix the length of the upper/lower jaw before you start adding in deets like the tongue and teeth! <:

there we go!!!! looks a lot less awkward LOL

you can also do something like this if ur feeling kinda toony (it’s really fun, simple yet effective!)

It can work for a lot of different styles, from realism to toony to my stupid doodles i do a lot when being a Serious Artist ™ is just 2 much for me :^)

BUT YEAH HERE U GO I HOPE THIS HELPS

anonymous asked:

I love your blog your writing is amazing. I was wondering if maybe you could write about Betty and jughead having a secret relationship because they're just not ready to tell everyone but one day Betty goes to school with a hickey and everyone finds out about their relationship.

Thank you so much! You got it!

***

It was the end of spring, cheerleading season was long over but the riverdale high baseball team was having their final home game, so the riverdale vixens decided to dress in their uniforms and support the team.

Spotting Betty walking down the halls in her blue and gold uniform, Veronica smiled.

“Hey vixen, forgot how good that uniform looked on you.” She winked.

Betty laughed “you’re one to talk. You were made to wear that skirt.”

Leaning up against her locker Veronica smiled at herself.

“I’ve got to say it feels good to not have to wear that turtle neck underneath our uniform, I feel free!”

Betty smiled

“Agreed, it feels good to let my neck breathe.”

Veronica nodded in agreement glancing at Betty’s neck, suddenly her eyes were wide and she was tugging the tiny top down even more if possible.

“What the hell! Veronica! What are you doing?!”

Turning Betty’s head to look into the tiny mirror hanging up in her locker, Veronica pointed at her neck.

“What is that?!”

Finally Betty spotted the offending mark Veronica was so concerned about.

It was a hickey.

How had she not seen that?

“Oh, I must have burnt myself on my curling iron this morning! I’m so clumsy, you know that.” She said laughing nervously.

Veronica stared at her with disbelieving eyes

“Sweetie, I know a hickey when I see a hickey. That’s a hickey.”

“Veronica, that’s ridiculous it’s a burn.”

“Betty, I’m your best friend. What are you hiding from me?”

Suddenly, jugheads lazy voice entered the conversation

“Who’s hiding things?”

Both heads whipped around and Veronica reached for Jughead, pulling him towards Betty.

“Look! A hickey! Do you know who Betty’s been seeing? Because I sure don’t.”

Jugheads eyes widened as he caught Betty’s eyes.

He quickly stamped down his panic,

“Maybe it’s a burn, Betty does use a curling iron a lot.”

“Thankyou!” Betty said quickly

“You two are ridiculous. I’m gonna find out , you know I will!” Veronica said before stomping away , leaving betty and jughead alone by the lockers.

“Don’t be mad.” He said quickly

“My neck Jughead! Of all the places!”

He glanced to the heart shaped bruise, marring her skin.

And unfortunately he wasn’t able to hide his proud smirk before she caught it.

Smacking his arm

“Jughead!”

“I’m sorry okay, I got carried away. It was that damn yellow dress last night. You know I love it when you wear that thing.”

She blushed slightly remembering the events that took place in her bedroom last night.

Jughead looked around quickly, making sure no one was looking, before he placed a quick kiss on her lips.

“It’ll be fine .I’m sure no one will even notice.”

That was the biggest lie of the year.

She had already been stopped by Kevin, Cheryl, and Josie and half the football team had been whistling when she walked past commenting on the hickey.

By last period, study hall, she was thoroughly over this day, and ready to go back to wearing her sweaters.

The gang all had this period together. So they usually spent it on a table outside.

Sliding into the seat next to Betty’s , jughead slid his hand under the table and squeezed her knee.
She smiled softly at him.

“Okay” Veronica spoke up “Kevin, Cheryl and I have gone over all possible suspects regarding the case of Betty’s hickey”

“Oh my god” betty mumbled, dropping her head to the table.

Archie poked his head up from his music book

“Hickey? Betty? What?!”

Kevin sighed “well there goes my guess, it couldn’t have been Archie if he didn’t even know about it.”

Archie was now leaning over the table trying to get a look at Betty’s neck

“I’m sorry. What?! Betty what the hell?”

Cheryl pulled out a notebook ,passing it to Veronica

“I had it narrowed down to dilton doiley or trev marrow, but after speaking to them I now know that it’s neither.”

“You asked them if they gave me a hickey?!”

Veronica crossed out something in the notebook.

“Well we know it’s not anyone on a sports team, we totally would have found that out by now, and the smart kids wouldn’t be able to do that kind of handiwork If they tried so they’re out. Who does that even leave us with?” Veronica said frustrated.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes shot to Jughead who was leaning back in his seat smirking with a shrug.

“Don’t ask me.”

Veronica’s eyes widened

“Oh my god.”

Cheryl slammed her hands down on the table

“Shut up.”

Kevin nearly spit out his water

“ Total plot twist.”

And Archie was just confused

“What, what do we know?!”

Suddenly Betty smiled, reaching for jugheads hand.

“Okay, now can we please stop talking about this.”

Jughead nodded

“As much as I enjoy hearing you all talk about other guys leaving hickeys on my girls neck, I’d rather we changed topics, thanks”

Archie dropped his book on the floor with a thud.

“Girlfriend?!?”

Jughead sat up straighter

“Yeah girlfriend. Is that a problem pal?”

Archie just sat back, glaring at his best friend.

“This is total breaking news, Betty Cooper and jughead jones. We have so much to talk about. I’m sleeping over tonight.”

“Me too.” Cheryl agreed.

“Me three.” Kevin nodded

Betty groaned leaning into her boyfriend

He laughed , kissing her on her forehead.

Star Light, Star Bright

Originally posted by daenso

Star Light, Star Bright
Ship: Shooting Star/ Guardian Angel!Jimin | Reader
Description: When you wish upon a star, you never really think he’d come to visit.
Warnings: Fluff, Intercourse, Fingering, Slight Cum Play, Slight Dirty Talk, ANGST
Word Count: 7,595
A/N: Fluffier (sorta) than my other writings, and maybe not as dirty. It’s still there though. I was starting to think I’d never get around to writing this but I’m so glad I finally finished!

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Don’t Flirt With Him (M)

Originally posted by ciutae

Pairing: Jimin x reader (feat. Sungwoon from Hotshot)
Genre: smut with a fluffy end
Word count: 3.2k
Content: dom!jimin, slight spanking

Description: No strings attached? Turns out differently as Jimin showed you jealousy for the first time at a party.


The vodka burned straight down your throat as you took the shot, it being the third one that night already. For the time being there, you were looking around for Jimin since he was the one who invited you to his party in the first place. So why wasn’t he there?

Oh. Yeah, he’s probably flirting with other girls again, you thought and sighed out loud, your hand already reaching for the vodka to sip yourself another shot.

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