she just does it without even thinking

I was watching Pride and Prejudice again today, and I’m watching the last few seconds where Lizzie and Darcy are discussing nicknames and their appropriate time to be used, and it just warmed my heart. Like, these two people, who are honestly just shit at talking about their feelings are creating this secret language between one another- a way to say, “Hello I am very happy now even if my face is doing the thing it does” or “I am kinda irritated right now please try again later” without having to say it. 

Lizzie takes the time, even if she presents it as a joke, to give her socially awkward husband a way to express himself in a way that would never publicly call attention to it. He can keep his comfort level and it’s a little secret between them.

I like to think, years later, their children have it all figured out. Lizzie’s out with their kids one day and they hear, “Lizzie, my dear, can I borrow you a moment?” and just know mom is in trouuuuble. But she shoots them a wink and maybe rolls her eyes. It’s not the first or last time they’ve heard that.

where adrien flirts
  • so adrien has a little problem: he likes marinette. like he really, honest-to-god likes her, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. his track record with girls isn’t so stellar. after he confessed his feelings to ladybug as chat noir, she calmly turned him down and admitted she liked someone else. so as nino would say, without a lady to tie him down, adrien agreste is single and ready to mingle
  • but he’s always been single?? and what does mingle even mean?? like, nino, what the hell, dude?? help a man out. 
  • so nino sits him down and explains how to get his crush. with his previous crush, nino tells him, adrien obviously didn’t do it right, and that’s why she turned him down (nino doesn’t know it was ladybug, and he just likes to think adrien was crushing on a supermodel who was totally out of even his league). 
  • nino: “you gotta flirt, man. the ladies love a dude who’s chill and cool and confident. you gotta rock it and own it. you got this.”
    adrien: “but how? every time I go to her, she looks at me, and I can’t… make my words work.”
    nino: “….you two are perfect for each other.”
    adrien: “what?”
    nino: “what?”
  • nino gives him an article with a few tips for flirting. this shouldn’t be too bad, and hey, it worked on alya, nino swears by it. so with 10 Flirting Techniques That Are Garunteed to Work on Women on his mind, adrien is determined to woo the ladies.
  • 1. set the stage with the “soft stare”: so all he had to do was stare at marinette as deeply as possible whenever they had a conversation while maintaining a calm and relaxed expression. marinette likes to stutter and stammer her ways through her words, and he couldn’t blame her, because he lost control when he tried to talk to her as well, and usually her antics made him smile and laugh. but according to the tips, he wasn’t allowed to.
  • it’s all good for a week or so, until nino pulls him aside and asks why he looks like he’s plotting how to murder marinette in her sleep like some type of serial killer every time he talks to her. 
  • he stops talking to her after that. alya tracks him down a few days later and whacks him upside the head for making her best friend cry by ignoring her. adrien goes back to talking to marinette as normally as possible after that because it’s better to talk to her as friends than invoke his “killer smile” while trying to flirt.
  • 2. be vague and leave her wanting more: adrien has this in the bag. he knows how to skirt around a topic, but that’s just because he has to make sure he kept his secret identity as a superhero of Paris a… secret. being vague is one of his best talents, it also helps with those stupid paparazzi who always follow him. the article offers some suggests: tell her you know a secret about her, tell her there’s something interesting about her and you can’t put your finger on it, tell her that’s she exactly your type but don’t tell her what you type actually is, etc. he spends most of the night plotting his exact words, and the next day, when he sees marinette, it just comes spilling out…
  • adrien: “i know your secret, marinette.”
    marinette: “…what?”
    well shit, adrien thought, the article didn’t tell him what happened after this.
    adrien: “…i know it. your secret… i knew there was something about you that i couldn’t put my finger on.”
    marinette: “…wait, so you know? ohmygodthiscan’tbehappening,ohmygod, how did you figure it out???”
  • adrien wasn’t sure what to do after this point, so like the article said, he leaves her wanting more and nopes the fuck outta there, cha-cha sliding out of the classroom and bolting down the hallway before she could catch him.
  • 3. the sensual look: once a girl is comfortable around you, give her a mischievous look that makes her think. the article (and nino) never really explain what the girl will think about, but adrien totally supports girl empowerment and helping those smart cookies get the best grades and brilliance recognition they deserve. if a mischievous smile is all it takes, then he’s more than happy to help.
  • he flashes her a quirky smirk in Madame Bustier’s lecture, marinette notices and freezes up. he thinks he did it wrong when nino just leans closer and says, “you broke marinette.”
  • adrien apologizes after class and swears he’ll never break her again. marinette just mumbles, “you can break me anytime.”
  • adrien thinks it’s counterproductive. 
  • 4. the surprise wink: whenever you pass her, just wink after you lock eyes, nino says, she won’t expect it and it’ll surprise her but give her the clear and distinct message that you are flirting with her. adrien wants marinette to know he likes her and wants to flirt with he rand wants to date her and just be with her, so he winks every time he gets. 
  • they see each other in class? wink he catches her eyes while they study for physics? wink they talk about madame bustier’s homework? wink she asks him for his opinion on her designs? wink 
  • at first, she giggles. after two weeks, she presents him with a bottle of over-the-counter artificial tears for his “eye twitch.” he stops winking after that and doesn’t talk to nino for the rest of the day.
  • 5. the playful bump: playful actions, like bumping, will definitely make a girl smile. 
  • adrien: “but nino, i could hurt her.”
    nino: “no, my dude, she knows you’re teasing.”
    adrien: “i don’t care if she knows. what if i knock her over?”
    nino: “no, you don’t do it hard, you just–”
    adrien: “what if she falls over and breaks her nose? i don’t wanna break her nose, nino. she has a cute nose.”
    nino: “adrien, you’re not gonna break her–”
    adrien: “niNO
  • 6. the understatement: understate the compliments you give her, okay, okay, adrien can do this. it’s simple.
  • adrien: “marinette, your eyes are blue… like avatar’s skin. just blue.. all over.. it’s great. not the brightest blue, but not the darkest. just blue. you have blue eyes, marinette.”
    marinette: *is speechless*
    nino: “…you nailed that, adrien.”
    adrien: “oh thanks, nino.”
  • 7. the double negative, “i don’t think you’re not beautiful”: 
    adrien: “but i do think she’s beautiful.”
    nino: “i know, you’re telling her that.”
    adrien: “but you just said i don’t think she’s beautiful?”
    nino: “no, no, you said you don’t think she’s not beautiful, so ergo you think she is beautiful.”
    adrien: “…grammar hurts my head, nino.”
    nino: “i know, my dude, i understand.”
  • 8. the sensual tease, tease her for liking you: okay, but adrien doesn’t know if marinette likes him like that? nino swears she does, and alya says so too, but it still makes him feel bad for teasing her. so he doesn’t tease her and just keeps doing stuff like he normally does, like walking her home from school and helping her study physics and giving her advice for her designs and keeping a stash of food for her on the mornings she runs late and he knows she didn’t have breakfast yet.
  • nino rolls his eyes, but adrien doesn’t care. his momma didn’t raise no hooligan. no, if he was going to flirt with marinette, at least he can be a gentleman about it.
  • 9. the moniker: giving her a cute nickname will let her know how special she is. adrien spends a week thinking about it, and nino gives him a few suggestions, but he doesn’t listen. if he’s giving marinette a nickname, it has to be something he does because it’ll let her know she’s special to him.
  • a few days later, he slips up and calls her “princess” because she’s pretty, sweet, smart, likes pink, and is a natural born leader just like a royal. marinette freezes when he calls her that, but she smiles and laughs eventually. she seems to like it, and he keeps doing it. it’s fitting, he supposes, for someone like her. marinette, his princess.
  • does that mean he gets to be her knight?
  • nino calls him a nerd.
  • 10. tell her how you feel: it’s the last step, and adrien agonizes over it for days. it can’t really be as simple as nino makes it out to be, but then again, his best friend has been dating a pretty sweet gal for months, so it obviously worked for him. adrien broods over it for a while, and alya warns him not to ignore marinette for days again, and he swears he isn’t. he’s just trying to find his courage. why oh why is it so much easier to face an akuma with certain death hanging over his head than tell a girl how he really feels?
  • marinette decides to take matters into her own hands, which he isn’t really surprised by because she usually is a head-strong, independent female. what he is surprised by is when ladybug swings into his bedroom window and transforms into marinette right before his very eyes.
  • marinette: “why are you ignoring me? did i do something wrong?”
    adrien: *adrien.exe has stopped working*
    marinette: “…adrien?”
    adrien: “…you’re… ladybug?!”
    marinette: “yeah, i know. you know. we’ve been over this–”
    adrien: “nononoNO, we most certainly haven’t.”
    marinette: *marinette.exe has stopped working*
    adrien: “…marinette?”
    marinette: “I… but you said you knew my secret.”
    adrien: “I WAS BEING VAGUE.”
    marinette: “WHY?!”
    adrien: “IVE BEEN FLIRTING WITH YOU.”
    marinette: “…you have?”
    adrien: “well, i was trying–”
  • plagg: *pops out of adrien’s pocket* “oh, are we trading secrets?”
    tikki: *pops out of marinette’s bag* “I think so?”
    plagg: *holds out paw to marinette* “fine. im plagg, i turn him into chat noir. nice to finally meet you. i’m glad you guys are finally telling each other, it’s been so tiring listening to him mooning over you. do you have any cheese?”
    marinette: “…you’re chat noir?”
    adrien: *dies*

so marinette and adrien are dating now, so in a way he thinks his plan worked? that doesn’t stop marinette from asking him how he thought he’d been flirting, so he tells her nino’s tips. she laughs for a week straight. that’s the last time he ever listens to nino.

an adrien version of this post. some people asked for an adrien version, it’s not directly a sequel, but still another au. just two nerds trying to flirt and failing spectacularly. 

Fuck that

Seriously I can’t believe this. 

Mon-el tries to pass for Kara’s significant other when the last thing she said to him was that she deserves better, and that it’s over. They’re broken up.

But then an unconscious Kara was taken to another world and you’re telling me that J’onn, and Alex, and everyone let Kara’s now EX boyfriend take her? 

No, no that doesn’t sit right with me. That’s an unconscious woman who can’t say no to his presence.

He KNOWS she doesn’t want to see him, yet he forces himself along anyways.

And, to top it all off, the plot revolves around how he now has to kiss his EX. EX as in OVER and does so without consent because she can’t give it. He doesn’t know what she’s going through in that fantasy. Not to mention the fact that his love is entirely self serving?

None of that sits right with me. That’s just disgusting. Kara wasn’t even able to consent to any of that, and the fact that they pulled “true love” in to a supposedly feminist show when Kara literally just said she deserves better than being lied to is beyond me.

This is sexist, and outdated, and frankly disturbing to witness. Every time I think it can’t get worse it does.

Toffee’s goal theory

To the ones who believe he’s gone (snif) consider this a panegyric.

I was re-watching the scene when Toffee told the group that Star was gone and I noticed some facts: 

What is the first thing Toffee does after recovering his body? 

Hahahaha… yeah, sorry, now let’s get serious, actually what I want to talk about is this:

He just leaves after saying that. Without even trying to hurt anyone else. 

But of course Moon didn’t like that at all.

The very first thing she does is to try to hit him. Because the grief makes her only think on hurting him, and punches is the most direct way. 

But it doesn’t work. So she starts to use her head a bit and uses the spell that Eclipsa taught her so she could destroy him even if that means the ultimate evil will come back. Yes I call her “ultimate evil”, fight me if you want, or remind me that “she only wanted a candy and her freedom and didn’t seem bad” well let me tell you that it only means she has personality and she can hold a normal and educated conversation, and let me tell you that I don’t believe someone capable of creating spells which cause crying and eternal suffering is any good.

He just stands. 

Nothing happens. And he’s not surprised at all. After all, he corrupted all magic so it wouldn’t work anymore.

After Marco’s attempt to kill him yes I skipped that part, I can talk about that later if you want, but now we’re talking about this he just graps Moon and half digs her into a hole man, he has streght! and he leaves. 

We know that Toffee wanted revenge and get his former streght back. Now it’s looks like it’s ALL HE WANTED. Not to take the kingdom, not to kill Moon. She took everything from him and he did the same. He wanted her to suffer. When he half dig her it would be like he was saying “You stay there with your pain, grief and the wrecks around you of all your ever build and cared. I’m done with you. ”

Man, that was harcore and ruthless.

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.”

Characteristics of Narcissistic Mothers

** I decided to just post this directly on the blog because I believe every person who has an abusive mother should read this.

1. Everything she does is deniable.

There is always a facile excuse or an explanation. Cruelties are couched in loving terms. Aggressive and hostile acts are paraded as thoughtfulness. Selfish manipulations are presented as gifts. Criticism and slander is slyly disguised as concern. She only wants what is best for you. She only wants to help you.

She rarely says right out that she thinks you’re inadequate. Instead, any time that you tell her you’ve done something good, she counters with something your sibling did that was better or she simply ignores you or she hears you out without saying anything, then in a short time does something cruel to you so you understand not to get above yourself. She will carefully separate cause (your joy in your accomplishment) from effect (refusing to let you borrow the car to go to the awards ceremony) by enough time that someone who didn’t live through her abuse would never believe the connection.

Many of her putdowns are simply by comparison. She’ll talk about how wonderful someone else is or what a wonderful job they did on something you’ve also done or how highly she thinks of them. The contrast is left up to you. She has let you know that you’re no good without saying a word. She’ll spoil your pleasure in something by simply congratulating you for it in an angry, envious voice that conveys how unhappy she is, again, completely deniably. It is impossible to confront someone over their tone of voice, their demeanor or the way they look at you, but once your narcissistic mother has you trained, she can promise terrible punishment without a word. As a result, you’re always afraid, always in the wrong, and can never exactly put your finger on why.

Because her abusiveness is part of a lifelong campaign of control and because she is careful to rationalize her abuse, it is extremely difficult to explain to other people what is so bad about her. She’s also careful about when and how she engages in her abuses. She’s very secretive, a characteristic of almost all abusers (“Don’t wash our dirty laundry in public!”) and will punish you for telling anyone else what she’s done. The times and locations of her worst abuses are carefully chosen so that no one who might intervene will hear or see her bad behavior, and she will seem like a completely different person in public. She’ll slam you to other people, but will always embed her devaluing nuggets of snide gossip in protestations of concern, love and understanding (“I feel so sorry for poor Cynthia. She always seems to have such a hard time, but I just don’t know what I can do for her!”) As a consequence the children of narcissists universally report that no one believes them (“I have to tell you that she always talks about YOU in the most caring way!). Unfortunately therapists, given the deniable actions of the narcissist and eager to defend a fellow parent, will often jump to the narcissist’s defense as well, reinforcing your sense of isolation and helplessness ("I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that!”)


2. She violates your boundaries.

You feel like an extension of her. Your property is given away without your consent, sometimes in front of you. Your food is eaten off your plate or given to others off your plate. Your property may be repossessed and no reason given other than that it was never yours. Your time is committed without consulting you, and opinions purported to be yours are expressed for you. (She LOVES going to the fair! He would never want anything like that. She wouldn’t like kumquats.) You are discussed in your presence as though you are not there. She keeps tabs on your bodily functions and humiliates you by divulging the information she gleans, especially when it can be used to demonstrate her devotion and highlight her martyrdom to your needs (“Mike had that problem with frequent urination too, only his was much worse. I was so worried about him!”) You have never known what it is like to have privacy in the bathroom or in your bedroom, and she goes through your things regularly. She asks nosy questions, snoops into your email/letters/diary/conversations. She will want to dig into your feelings, particularly painful ones and is always looking for negative information on you which can be used against you. She does things against your expressed wishes frequently. All of this is done without seeming embarrassment or thought.

Any attempt at autonomy on your part is strongly resisted. Normal rites of passage (learning to shave, wearing makeup, dating) are grudgingly allowed only if you insist, and you’re punished for your insistence (“Since you’re old enough to date, I think you’re old enough to pay for your own clothes!”) If you demand age-appropriate clothing, grooming, control over your own life, or rights, you are difficult and she ridicules your “independence.”


3. She favoritizes.

Narcissistic mothers commonly choose one (sometimes more) child to be the golden child and one (sometimes more) to be the scapegoat. The narcissist identifies with the golden child and provides privileges to him or her as long as the golden child does just as she wants. The golden child has to be cared for assiduously by everyone in the family. The scapegoat has no needs and instead gets to do the caring. The golden child can do nothing wrong. The scapegoat is always at fault. This creates divisions between the children, one of whom has a large investment in the mother being wise and wonderful, and the other(s) who hate her. That division will be fostered by the narcissist with lies and with blatantly unfair and favoritizing behavior. The golden child will defend the mother and indirectly perpetuate the abuse by finding reasons to blame the scapegoat for the mother’s actions. The golden child may also directly take on the narcissistic mother’s tasks by physically abusing the scapegoat so the narcissistic mother doesn’t have to do that herself.


4. She undermines.

Your accomplishments are acknowledged only to the extent that she can take credit for them. Any success or accomplishment for which she cannot take credit is ignored or diminished. Any time you are to be center stage and there is no opportunity for her to be the center of attention, she will try to prevent the occasion altogether, or she doesn’t come, or she leaves early, or she acts like it’s no big deal, or she steals the spotlight or she slips in little wounding comments about how much better someone else did or how what you did wasn’t as much as you could have done or as you think it is. She undermines you by picking fights with you or being especially unpleasant just before you have to make a major effort. She acts put out if she has to do anything to support your opportunities or will outright refuse to do even small things in support of you. She will be nasty to you about things that are peripherally connected with your successes so that you find your joy in what you’ve done is tarnished, without her ever saying anything directly about it. No matter what your success, she has to take you down a peg about it.


5. She demeans, criticizes and denigrates.

She lets you know in all sorts of little ways that she thinks less of you than she does of your siblings or of other people in general. If you complain about mistreatment by someone else, she will take that person’s side even if she doesn’t know them at all. She doesn’t care about those people or the justice of your complaints. She just wants to let you know that you’re never right.

She will deliver generalized barbs that are almost impossible to rebut (always in a loving, caring tone): “You were always difficult” “You can be very difficult to love” “You never seemed to be able to finish anything” “You were very hard to live with” “You’re always causing trouble” “No one could put up with the things you do.” She will deliver slams in a sidelong way - for example she’ll complain about how “no one” loves her, does anything for her, or cares about her, or she’ll complain that “everyone” is so selfish, when you’re the only person in the room. As always, this combines criticism with deniability.

She will slip little comments into conversation that she really enjoyed something she did with someone else - something she did with you too, but didn’t like as much. She’ll let you know that her relationship with some other person you both know is wonderful in a way your relationship with her isn’t - the carefully unspoken message being that you don’t matter much to her.

She minimizes, discounts or ignores your opinions and experiences. Your insights are met with condescension, denials and accusations (“I think you read too much!”) and she will brush off your information even on subjects on which you are an acknowledged expert. Whatever you say is met with smirks and amused sounding or exaggerated exclamations (“Uh hunh!” “You don’t say!” “Really!”). She’ll then make it clear that she didn’t listen to a word you said.


6. She makes you look crazy.

If you try to confront her about something she’s done, she’ll tell you that you have “a very vivid imagination” (this is a phrase commonly used by abusers of all sorts to invalidate your experience of their abuse) that you don’t know what you’re talking about, or that she has no idea what you’re talking about. She will claim not to remember even very memorable events, flatly denying they ever happened, nor will she ever acknowledge any possibility that she might have forgotten. This is an extremely aggressive and exceptionally infuriating tactic called “gaslighting,” common to abusers of all kinds. Your perceptions of reality are continually undermined so that you end up without any confidence in your intuition, your memory or your powers of reasoning. This makes you a much better victim for the abuser.

Narcissists gaslight routinely. The narcissist will either insinuate or will tell you outright that you’re unstable, otherwise you wouldn’t believe such ridiculous things or be so uncooperative. You’re oversensitive. You’re imagining things. You’re hysterical. You’re completely unreasonable. You’re over-reacting, like you always do. She’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down and aren’t so irrational. She may even characterize you as being neurotic or psychotic.

Once she’s constructed these fantasies of your emotional pathologies, she’ll tell others about them, as always, presenting her smears as expressions of concern and declaring her own helpless victimhood. She didn’t do anything. She has no idea why you’re so irrationally angry with her. You’ve hurt her terribly. She thinks you may need psychotherapy. She loves you very much and would do anything to make you happy, but she just doesn’t know what to do. You keep pushing her away when all she wants to do is help you.

She has simultaneously absolved herself of any responsibility for your obvious antipathy towards her, implied that it’s something fundamentally wrong with you that makes you angry with her, and undermined your credibility with her listeners. She plays the role of the doting mother so perfectly that no one will believe you.


7. She’s envious.

Any time you get something nice she’s angry and envious and her envy will be apparent when she admires whatever it is. She’ll try to get it from you, spoil it for you, or get the same or better for herself. She’s always working on ways to get what other people have. The envy of narcissistic mothers often includes competing sexually with their daughters or daughters-in-law. They’ll attempt to forbid their daughters to wear makeup, to groom themselves in an age-appropriate way or to date. They will criticize the appearance of their daughters and daughters-in-law. This envy extends to relationships. Narcissistic mothers infamously attempt to damage their children’s marriages and interfere in the upbringing of their grandchildren.


8. She’s a liar in too many ways to count.

Any time she talks about something that has emotional significance for her, it’s a fair bet that she’s lying. Lying is one way that she creates conflict in the relationships and lives of those around her - she’ll lie to them about what other people have said, what they’ve done, or how they feel. She’ll lie about her relationship with them, about your behavior or about your situation in order to inflate herself and to undermine your credibility.

The narcissist is very careful about how she lies. To outsiders she’ll lie thoughtfully and deliberately, always in a way that can be covered up if she’s confronted with her lie. She spins what you said rather than makes something up wholesale. She puts dishonest interpretations on things you actually did. If she’s recently done something particularly egregious she may engage in preventative lying: she lies in advance to discount what you might say before you even say it. Then when you talk about what she did you’ll be cut off with “I already know all about it…your mother told me… (self-justifications and lies).” Because she is so careful about her deniability, it may be very hard to catch her in her lies and the more gullible of her friends may never realize how dishonest she is.

To you, she’ll lie blatantly. She will claim to be unable to remember bad things she has done, even if she did one of them recently and even if it was something very memorable. Of course, if you try to jog her memory by recounting the circumstances “You have a very vivid imagination” or “That was so long ago. Why do you have to dredge up your old grudges?” Your conversations with her are full of casual brush-offs and diversionary lies and she doesn’t respect you enough to bother making it sound good. For example she’ll start with a self-serving lie: “If I don’t take you as a dependent on my taxes I’ll lose three thousand dollars!” You refute her lie with an obvious truth: “No, three thousand dollars is the amount of the dependent exemption. You’ll only lose about eight hundred dollars.” Her response: “Isn’t that what I said?” You are now in a game with only one rule: You can’t win.

On the rare occasions she is forced to acknowledge some bad behavior, she will couch the admission deniably. She “guesses” that “maybe” she “might have” done something wrong. The wrongdoing is always heavily spun and trimmed to make it sound better. The words “I guess,” “maybe,” and “might have” are in and of themselves lies because she knows exactly what she did - no guessing, no might haves, no maybes.


9. She has to be the center of attention all the time.

This need is a defining trait of narcissists and particularly of narcissistic mothers for whom their children exist to be sources of attention and adoration. Narcissistic mothers love to be waited on and often pepper their children with little requests. “While you’re up…” or its equivalent is one of their favorite phrases. You couldn’t just be assigned a chore at the beginning of the week or of the day, instead, you had to do it on demand, preferably at a time that was inconvenient for you, or you had to “help” her do it, fetching and carrying for her while she made up to herself for the menial work she had to do as your mother by glorying in your attentions.

A narcissistic mother may create odd occasions at which she can be the center of attention, such as memorials for someone close to her who died long ago, or major celebrations of small personal milestones. She may love to entertain so she can be the life of her own party. She will try to steal the spotlight or will try to spoil any occasion where someone else is the center of attention, particularly the child she has cast as the scapegoat. She often invites herself along where she isn’t welcome. If she visits you or you visit her, you are required to spend all your time with her. Entertaining herself is unthinkable. She has always pouted, manipulated or raged if you tried to do anything without her, didn’t want to entertain her, refused to wait on her, stymied her plans for a drama or otherwise deprived her of attention.

Older narcissistic mothers often use the natural limitations of aging to manipulate dramas, often by neglecting their health or by doing things they know will make them ill. This gives them the opportunity to cash in on the investment they made when they trained you to wait on them as a child. Then they call you (or better still, get the neighbor or the nursing home administrator to call you) demanding your immediate attendance. You are to rush to her side, pat her hand, weep over her pain and listen sympathetically to her unending complaints about how hard and awful it is. (“Never get old!”) It’s almost never the case that you can actually do anything useful, and the causes of her disability may have been completely avoidable, but you’ve been put in an extremely difficult position. If you don’t provide the audience and attention she’s manipulating to get, you look extremely bad to everyone else and may even have legal culpability. (Narcissistic behaviors commonly accompany Alzheimer’s disease, so this behavior may also occur in perfectly normal mothers as they age.)


10. She manipulates your emotions in order to feed on your pain.

This exceptionally sick and bizarre behavior is so common among narcissistic mothers that their children often call them “emotional vampires.” Some of this emotional feeding comes in the form of pure sadism. She does and says things just to be wounding or she engages in tormenting teasing or she needles you about things you’re sensitive about, all the while a smile plays over her lips. She may have taken you to scary movies or told you horrifying stories, then mocked you for being a baby when you cried; she will slip a wounding comment into conversation and smile delightedly into your hurt face. You can hear the laughter in her voice as she pressures you or says distressing things to you. Later she’ll gloat over how much she upset you, gaily telling other people that you’re so much fun to tease, and recruiting others to share in her amusement. . She enjoys her cruelties and makes no effort to disguise that. She wants you to know that your pain entertains her. She may bring up subjects that are painful for you and probe you about them, all the while watching you carefully. This is emotional vampirism in its purest form. She’s feeding emotionally off your pain.

A peculiar form of this emotional vampirism combines attention-seeking behavior with a demand that the audience suffer. Since narcissistic mothers often play the martyr this may take the form of wrenching, self-pitying dramas which she carefully produces, and in which she is the star performer. She sobs and wails that no one loves her and everyone is so selfish, and she doesn’t want to live, she wants to die! She wants to die! She will not seem to care how much the manipulation of their emotions and the self-pity repels other people. One weird behavior that is very common to narcissists: her dramas may also center around the tragedies of other people, often relating how much she suffered by association and trying to distress her listeners, as she cries over the horrible murder of someone she wouldn’t recognize if they had passed her on the street.


11. She’s selfish and willful.

She always makes sure she has the best of everything. She insists on having her own way all the time and she will ruthlessly, manipulatively pursue it, even if what she wants isn’t worth all the effort she’s putting into it and even if that effort goes far beyond normal behavior. She will make a huge effort to get something you denied her, even if it was entirely your right to do so and even if her demand was selfish and unreasonable. If you tell her she cannot bring her friends to your party she will show up with them anyway, and she will have told them that they were invited so that you either have to give in, or be the bad guy to these poor dupes on your doorstep. If you tell her she can’t come over to your house tonight she’ll call your spouse and try get him or her to agree that she can, and to not say anything to you about it because it’s a “surprise.” She has to show you that you can’t tell her “no.”

One near-universal characteristic of narcissists: because they are so selfish and self-centered, they are very bad gift givers. They’ll give you hand-me-downs or market things for themselves as gifts for you (“I thought I’d give you my old bicycle and buy myself a new one!” “I know how much you love Italian food, so I’m going to take you to my favorite restaurant for your birthday!”) New gifts are often obviously cheap and are usually things that don’t suit you or that you can’t use or are a quid pro quo: if you buy her the gift she wants, she will buy you an item of your choice. She’ll make it clear that it pains her to give you anything. She may buy you a gift and get the identical item for herself, or take you shopping for a gift and get herself something nice at the same time to make herself feel better.


12. She’s self-absorbed.

Her feelings, needs and wants are very important; yours are insignificant to the point that her least whim takes precedence over your most basic needs. Her problems deserve your immediate and full attention; yours are brushed aside. Her wishes always take precedence; if she does something for you, she reminds you constantly of her munificence in doing so and will often try to extract some sort of payment. She will complain constantly, even though your situation may be much worse than hers. If you point that out, she will effortlessly, thoughtlessly brush it aside as of no importance (It’s easy for you… / It’s different for you…).


13. She is insanely defensive and is extremely sensitive to any criticism.

If you criticize her or defy her she will explode with fury, threaten, storm, rage, destroy and may become violent, beating, confining, putting her child outdoors in bad weather or otherwise engaging in classic physical abuse.


14. She terrorizes.

For all abusers, fear is a powerful means of control of the victim, and your narcissistic mother used it ruthlessly to train you. Narcissists teach you to beware their wrath even when they aren’t present. The only alternative is constant placation. If you give her everything she wants all the time, you might be spared. If you don’t, the punishments will come. Even adult children of narcissists still feel that carefully inculcated fear. Your narcissistic mother can turn it on with a silence or a look that tells the child in you she’s thinking about how she’s going to get even.

Not all narcissists abuse physically, but most do, often in subtle, deniable ways. It allows them to vent their rage at your failure to be the solution to their internal havoc and simultaneously to teach you to fear them. You may not have been beaten, but you were almost certainly left to endure physical pain when a normal mother would have made an effort to relieve your misery. This deniable form of battery allows her to store up her rage and dole out the punishment at a later time when she’s worked out an airtight rationale for her abuse, so she never risks exposure. You were left hungry because “you eat too much.” (Someone asked her if she was pregnant. She isn’t). You always went to school with stomach flu because “you don’t have a fever. You’re just trying to get out of school.” (She resents having to take care of you. You have a lot of nerve getting sick and adding to her burdens.) She refuses to look at your bloody heels and instead the shoes that wore those blisters on your heels are put back on your feet and you’re sent to the store in them because “You wanted those shoes. Now you can wear them.” (You said the ones she wanted to get you were ugly. She liked them because they were just like what she wore 30 years ago). The dentist was told not to give you Novocain when he drilled your tooth because “he has to learn to take better care of his teeth.” (She has to pay for a filling and she’s furious at having to spend money on you.)

Narcissistic mothers also abuse by loosing others on you or by failing to protect you when a normal mother would have. Sometimes the narcissist’s golden child will be encouraged to abuse the scapegoat. Narcissists also abuse by exposing you to violence. If one of your siblings got beaten, she made sure you saw. She effortlessly put the fear of Mom into you, without raising a hand.


15. She’s infantile and petty.

Narcissistic mothers are often simply childish. If you refuse to let her manipulate you into doing something, she will cry that you don’t love her because if you loved her you would do as she wanted. If you hurt her feelings she will aggressively whine to you that you’ll be sorry when she’s dead that you didn’t treat her better. These babyish complaints and responses may sound laughable, but the narcissist is dead serious about them. When you were a child, if you ask her to stop some bad behavior, she would justify it by pointing out something that you did that she feels is comparable, as though the childish behavior of a child is justification for the childish behavior of an adult. “Getting even” is a large part of her dealings with you. Anytime you fail to give her the deference, attention or service she feels she deserves, or you thwart her wishes, she has to show you.


16. She’s aggressive and shameless.

She doesn’t ask. She demands. She makes outrageous requests and she’ll take anything she wants if she thinks she can get away with it. Her demands of her children are posed in a very aggressive way, as are her criticisms. She won’t take no for an answer, pushing and arm-twisting and manipulating to get you to give in.


17. She “parentifies.”

She shed her responsibilities to you as soon as she was able, leaving you to take care of yourself as best you could. She denied you medical care, adequate clothing, necessary transportation or basic comforts that she would never have considered giving up for herself. She never gave you a birthday party or let you have sleepovers. Your friends were never welcome in her house. She didn’t like to drive you anywhere, so you turned down invitations because you had no way to get there. She wouldn’t buy your school pictures even if she could easily have afforded it. You had a niggardly clothing allowance or she bought you the cheapest clothing she could without embarrassing herself. As soon as you got a job, every request for school supplies, clothing or toiletries was met with “Now that you’re making money, why don’t you pay for that yourself?” You studied up on colleges on your own and choose a cheap one without visiting it. You signed yourself up for the SATs, earned the money to pay for them and talked someone into driving you to the test site. You worked three jobs to pay for that cheap college and when you finally got mononucleosis she chirped at you that she was “so happy you could take care of yourself.”

She also gave you tasks that were rightfully hers and should not have been placed on a child. You may have been a primary caregiver for young siblings or an incapacitated parent. You may have had responsibility for excessive household tasks. Above all, you were always her emotional caregiver which is one reason any defection from that role caused such enormous eruptions of rage. You were never allowed to be needy or have bad feelings or problems. Those experiences were only for her, and you were responsible for making it right for her. From the time you were very young she would randomly lash out at you any time she was stressed or angry with your father or felt that life was unfair to her, because it made her feel better to hurt you. You were often punished out of the blue, for manufactured offenses. As you got older she directly placed responsibility for her welfare and her emotions on you, weeping on your shoulder and unloading on you any time something went awry for her.


18. She’s exploitative.

She will manipulate to get work, money, or objects she envies out of other people for nothing. This includes her children, of course. If she set up a bank account for you, she was trustee on the account with the right to withdraw money. As you put money into it, she took it out. She may have stolen your identity. She took you as a dependent on her income taxes so you couldn’t file independently without exposing her to criminal penalties. If she made an agreement with you, it was violated the minute it no longer served her needs. If you brought it up demanding she adhere to the agreement, she brushed you off and later punished you so you would know not to defy her again.

Sometimes the narcissist will exploit a child to absorb punishment that would have been hers from an abusive partner. The husband comes home in a drunken rage, and the mother immediately complains about the child’s bad behavior so the rage is vented on to the child. Sometimes the narcissistic mother simply uses the child to keep a sick marriage intact because the alternative is being divorced or having to go to work. The child is sexually molested but the mother never notices, or worse, calls the child a liar when she tells the mother about the molestation.


19. She projects.

This sounds a little like psycho-babble, but it is something that narcissists all do. Projection means that she will put her own bad behavior, character and traits on you so she can deny them in herself and punish you. This can be very difficult to see if you have traits that she can project on to. An eating-disordered woman who obsesses over her daughter’s weight is projecting. The daughter may not realize it because she has probably internalized an absurdly thin vision of women’s weight and so accepts her mother’s projection. When the narcissist tells the daughter that she eats too much, needs to exercise more, or has to wear extra-large size clothes, the daughter believes it, even if it isn’t true. However, she will sometimes project even though it makes no sense at all. This happens when she feels shamed and needs to put it on her scapegoat child and the projection therefore comes across as being an attack out of the blue. For example: She makes an outrageous request, and you casually refuse to let her have her way. She’s enraged by your refusal and snarls at you that you’ll talk about it when you’ve calmed down and are no longer hysterical.

You aren’t hysterical at all; she is, but your refusal has made her feel the shame that should have stopped her from making shameless demands in the first place. That’s intolerable. She can transfer that shame to you and rationalize away your response: you only refused her because you’re so unreasonable. Having done that she can reassert her shamelessness and indulge her childish willfulness by turning an unequivocal refusal into a subject for further discussion. You’ll talk about it again “later” - probably when she’s worn you down with histrionics, pouting and the silent treatment so you’re more inclined to do what she wants.


20. She is never wrong about anything.

No matter what she’s done, she won’t ever genuinely apologize for anything. Instead, any time she feels she is being made to apologize she will sulk and pout, issue an insulting apology or negate the apology she has just made with justifications, qualifications or self pity: “I’m sorry you felt that I humiliated you” “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad” “If I did that it was wrong” “I’m sorry, but I there’s nothing I can do about it” “I’m sorry I made you feel clumsy, stupid and disgusting” “I’m sorry but it was just a joke. You’re so over-sensitive” “I’m sorry that my own child feels she has to upset me and make me feel bad.” The last insulting apology is also an example of projection.


21. She seems to have no awareness that other people even have feelings.

She’ll occasionally slip and say something jaw-droppingly callous because of this lack of empathy. It isn’t that she doesn’t care at all about other people’s feelings, though she doesn’t. It would simply never occur to her to think about their feelings. An absence of empathy is the defining trait of a narcissist and underlies most of the other traits I have described. Unlike psychopaths, narcissists do understand right, wrong, and consequences, so they are not ordinarily criminal. She beat you, but not to the point where you went to the hospital. She left you standing out in the cold until you were miserable, but not until you had hypothermia. She put you in the basement in the dark with no clothes on, but she only left you there for two hours.


22. She blames.

She’ll blame you for everything that isn’t right in her life or for what other people do or for whatever has happened. Always, she’ll blame you for her abuse. You made her do it. If only you weren’t so difficult. You upset her so much that she can’t think straight. Things were hard for her and your backtalk pushed her over the brink. This blaming is often so subtle that all you know is that you thought you were wronged and now you feel guilty. Your brother beats you and her response is to bemoan how uncivilized children are. Your boyfriend dumped you, but she can understand - after all, she herself has seen how difficult you are to love. She’ll do something egregiously exploitative to you, and when confronted will screech at you that she can’t believe you were so selfish as to upset her over such a trivial thing. She’ll also blame you for your reaction to her selfish, cruel and exploitative behavior. She can’t believe you are so petty, so small, and so childish as to object to her giving your favorite dress to her friend. She thought you would be happy to let her do something nice for someone else.

Narcissists are masters of multitasking as this example shows. Simultaneously your narcissistic mother is
Lying. She knows what she did was wrong and she knows your reaction is reasonable.
Manipulating. She’s making you look like the bad guy for objecting to her cruelties.
Being selfish. She doesn’t mind making you feel horrible as long as she gets her own way.
Blaming. She did something wrong, but it’s all your fault.
Projecting. Her petty, small and childish behavior has become yours.
Putting on a self-pitying drama. She’s a martyr who believed the best of you, and you’ve let her down.
Parentifying. You’re responsible for her feelings, she has no responsibility for yours.


23. She destroys your relationships.

Narcissistic mothers are like tornadoes: wherever they touch down families are torn apart and wounds are inflicted. Unless the father has control over the narcissist and holds the family together, adult siblings in families with narcissistic mothers characteristically have painful relationships. Typically all communication between siblings is superficial and driven by duty, or they may never talk to each other at all. In part, these women foster dissension between their children because they enjoy the control it gives them. If those children don’t communicate except through the mother, she can decide what everyone hears. Narcissists also love the excitement and drama they create by interfering in their children’s lives. Watching people’s lives explode is better than soap operas, especially when you don’t have any empathy for their misery.

The narcissist nurtures anger, contempt and envy - the most corrosive emotions - to drive her children apart. While her children are still living at home, any child who stands up to the narcissist guarantees punishment for the rest. In her zest for revenge, the narcissist purposefully turns the siblings’ anger on the dissenter by including everyone in her retaliation. (“I can see that nobody here loves me! Well I’ll just take these Christmas presents back to the store. None of you would want anything I got you anyway!”) The other children, long trained by the narcissist to give in, are furious with the troublemaking child, instead of with the narcissist who actually deserves their anger.

The narcissist also uses favoritism and gossip to poison her childrens’ relationships. The scapegoat sees the mother as a creature of caprice and cruelty. As is typical of the privileged, the other children don’t see her unfairness and they excuse her abuses. Indeed, they are often recruited by the narcissist to adopt her contemptuous and entitled attitude towards the scapegoat and with her tacit or explicit permission, will inflict further abuse. The scapegoat predictably responds with fury and equal contempt. After her children move on with adult lives, the narcissist makes sure to keep each apprised of the doings of the others, passing on the most discreditable and juicy gossip (as always, disguised as “concern”) about the other children, again, in a way that engenders contempt rather than compassion.

Having been raised by a narcissist, her children are predisposed to be envious, and she takes full advantage of the opportunity that presents. While she may never praise you to your face, she will likely crow about your victories to the very sibling who is not doing well. She’ll tell you about the generosity she displayed towards that child, leaving you wondering why you got left out and irrationally angry at the favored child rather than at the narcissist who told you about it.

The end result is a family in which almost all communication is triangular. The narcissist, the spider in the middle of the family web, sensitively monitors all the children for information she can use to retain her unchallenged control over the family. She then passes that on to the others, creating the resentments that prevent them from communicating directly and freely with each other. The result is that the only communication between the children is through the narcissist, exactly the way she wants it.


24. As a last resort she goes pathetic.

When she’s confronted with unavoidable consequences for her own bad behavior, including your anger, she will melt into a soggy puddle of weepy helplessness. It’s all her fault. She can’t do anything right. She feels so bad. What she doesn’t do: own the responsibility for her bad conduct and make it right. Instead, as always, it’s all about her, and her helpless self-pitying weepiness dumps the responsibility for her consequences AND for her unhappiness about it on you. As so often with narcissists, it is also a manipulative behavior. If you fail to excuse her bad behavior and make her feel better, YOU are the bad person for being cold, heartless and unfeeling when your poor mother feels so awful.

anonymous asked:

You mentioned Pride and Prejudice in your post about classic novels, and I was wondering about a) your opinion of Mr. Darcy in general and b) your opinion of Darcy and Elizabeth as a couple.

Don’t let my mocking tone in that post fool you. I adore Mr. Darcy with all my heart, I merely object to the way he’s popularly associated with the image of this perfect, brooding hunk, when really he’s just a socially awkward loser.

Okay, okay, so our first introduction to Darcy is at a ball, where he:

  • Doesn’t dance
  • Can’t make small talk
  • Is generally rude and embarrassing
  • Stands awkwardly in the corner the whole night
  • Decides he might fancy this one girl, so he insults her.
  • Loudly.
  • Where anyone could overhear.
  • Including the girl.
  • Gets roundly insulted to his face by said girl, and his reaction is ‘…damn.’

Later on, he gets to know this girl a bit better. He warms up to her, and starts to act a little less like a standoffish jackass.

Then comes the infamous ball where the entire Bennet family, except for Jane and Lizzie, embarrass themselves. He convinces Bingley not to marry Jane because it would degrade him.

MONTHS pass, and Lizzie meets Mr. Darcy again. She finds out that he separated Jane and Bingley and she is SIMMERING with resentment. Darcy, on the other hand, (who must have been pining over her and doodling ‘Mrs Elizabeth Darcy’ in his notebooks all this time) decides this is the perfect time to propose marriage. He BURSTS into her house, completely unannounced, ignores her chilly reception, then makes awkward small talk and wanders around in agitation. Finally, he confesses that he loves her, against his better judgment, and insults her and her entire family before standing back, quite pleased with himself and convinced that she’s going to accept him.

But she doesn’t.

She lets him have it. She tells him how much she loathes him and exactly why. He is stunned. Mortified. No one has ever spoken to him like this. He’s quite used to getting everything he wants, and this just shakes him to his core. He stands there for a while with a face like a slapped arse, then, unable to defend himself, he slinks away with a haughty goodbye and goes off to wallow in shame and resentment.

And then.

THEN.

The next day Lizzie is walking around the grounds and Mr. Darcy finds her. Has he taken this time to compose himself so he might talk to her and explain himself better?

No.

He wrote a letter. He wrote a fucking letter. He probably spent all night agonising and poring over this thing. Then he skulked around the grounds ALL MORNING in the hope of finding her. His exact words: “I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?”

And he shoves it in her hand.

Then he runs.

RUNS.

(Darcy you fucking walnut.)

Lizzie reads the letter, and of course it’s beautiful and eloquent and it says everything he’s too socially inept to say to her face. It radically alters her opinion of him.

In response to her criticisms, Darcy really does make an effort to change his manners. He was never a bad guy – it’s obvious how much he loves his friends and his baby sister, and Lizzie too, he just tends to be rude and haughty and socially awkward, something that’s understandable considering his station.

Lizzie meets him at Pemberley and he introduces her to his sister (which, over-protective big brother alert, is the biggest compliment he can give) and seeing how he treats her makes Lizzie just a tiny bit weak in the knees. JUST A LITTLE. NOT THAT SHE WANTS TO MARRY HIM OR ANYTHING HAHA wow his house is big.

THEN HE’S EVEN A GENTLEMAN TO HER AUNT AND UNCLE AND MAYBE JUST MAYBE SHE MIGHT THINK HE’S A BIT HANDSOME???? JUST A LITTLE?????

Then she hears her sister Lydia has run away with the renegade Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Darcy be like

NOT ON MY WATCH. NO SIR.

He comes to the rescue, finds Lydia and Wickham, and persuades them to marry with a hefty sum of money, thus rescuing the Bennets from disgrace. But. BUT.

HE DOES ALL THIS WITHOUT TELLING HER. OR THE REST OF HER FAMILY.

HER AUNT AND UNCLE TELL HER, MUCH LATER, THAT DARCY DID IT ALL AT GREAT PERSONAL EXPENSE.

And Lizzie’s just like ‘oh no.’

(Because every girl’s a slut for a gentleman who treats her and her family with respect.)

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL.

OH NO, THAT IS NOT ALL.

BINGLEY COMES BACK. MAH BOY BINGLEY COMES RIDING INTO TOWN TO SWEEP JANE OFF HER FEET.

Gee, I wonder who could have been behind that? I wonder who could possibly have persuaded Bingley that Jane truly did love him, and that her family was not beneath his station after all? WHO COULD POSSIBLY HAVE DONE THAT????

By this point Lizzie’s a hive of conflicting desires and emotions. That’s when Lady Catherine de Bourgh comes into her house, unannounced, and tells her not to marry Mr. Darcy.

How does Lizzie respond? Miss “From the very beginning – from the first moment, I may almost say – of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry” ?

She says, ‘WOW. FUCK YOU LADY. YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. HE’S A GENTLEMAN AND I AM A GENTLEMAN’S DAUGHTER. WE ARE EQUALS. I’LL MARRY WHOMEVER I PLEASE. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.’

(Oooooh, girl, you got it bad.)

After this, Darcy shows up and starts talking to Lizzie. And it KILLS me, because obviously he’d given up on ever winning her hand. He did all those things for her not because he wanted her to like him, but just because he loved her. He was upset when he found out her uncle had told her about what he did for Lydia and Wickham. UPSET. And while Lady Catherine had raged about how inferior Lizzie’s family was, just as Darcy once had, now Darcy says that he respects and loves them. He says Lady Catherine spoke to him of their encounter, and it filled him with hope that maybe she didn’t think he was an insufferable jackass anymore. ONLY when he receives this encouragement does he renew his proposal, and even then he adds, “one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

I MEAN???? Just LOOK at this precious sunflower, dumb and stuttering and full of “awkwardness and anxiety,” so fucking in love with this girl that he was willing to give his personality a complete overhaul and re-evaluate all his life choices, not because he thought it would make her like him, but JUST BECAUSE he loved her. And if she had refused him a second time, he would never have bothered her again. THAT is how you gentleman.

The name of the novel says it all – Pride and Prejudice. He’s proud and haughty, she’s prejudiced and rooted in her negative first impressions. These are the things they have to overcome, this is how they have to grow and evolve. He needs to lay aside his pride, she her prejudice, and only then can they be together.

Because they are perfect for each other. Absolutely, unequivocally. And when Jane Austen says they live happily ever after, I believe her.

Next-door neighbor

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader.

Genre: Smut. 

Word Count: 2K.

Summary: One evening when you’re having trouble cooking dinner, your cute neighbor comes to help you, but you end up being nowhere near the kitchen… 

warning, some quite explicit language and smut ahead (◕‿◕✿)

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

You snort for the 29th time that evening, repeating yourself that you should’ve listened to your mother when she tried to teach you how to cook a damn plate of rice or literally anything else.

“It doesn’t seem that hard when she does it!” you blurt to yourself under your breath. But there’s no way. You give up and decide that you weren’t even that hungry.  You can go one day without eating! It’s not that big of a deal… and you’re fairly tired, so what could go wrong if you just turn on the TV for a little while…?

You’re suddenly startled by the fire alarm going off. Anyone else would be scared, but you just sigh. “Goddamn it, not again” you just think. It was the… 4th? Maybe 5th time… that month… You lazily get up from the couch and slowly walk towards the kitchen. “There it is; that damn fire again. How can I always forget…” you don’t even get to finish thinking about it, when your doorbell unexpectedly rings. It’s strange, usually after the 3rd time nobody checked upon you anymore, they’d just assume that you were trying to cook again.

Trying not to cough too much because of the smoke, you open the door just to find your breathtakingly cute next-door neighbor awkwardly standing there, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and pity. You try your best to smile, knowing you’re probably looking like a terrible mess.

“Oh hi Jungkook… right?” You ask, pretending you didn’t remember his name, as if you didn’t have a major crush on him for years. “What a surprise…”

He nods, giving you that smile that could melt even the coldest ice.

Well yeah… what it’s not a surprise is you burning up everything, you know Y/N”. He rests one of his arms on your door’s frame, being dangerously close to you. You mumble uselessly to yourself, trying desperately to come up with a good comeback. But he’s damn right; it’s nothing new. “So”, he continues, as he effortlessly sets you aside to step into your apartment, “I’ll have to fix this… uh… situation” he chuckles.

You raise an eyebrow, but don’t complain as you close the door, trying your best to not faint at the idea of you and Jeon fucking Jungkook being in the same apartment, your apartment. This is a scenario you’d only dreamed of.

“I’m sorry I don’t think I’m getting this yet, what are you going to fix? you finally gather the courage to ask, as you walk up to where he’s standing.

He looks at you with a smirk creeping upon his lips, and puts his arms on your shoulders, pressing gently.

I’m teaching you how to cook, Y/N.

You let out a loud laugh as you put your arms on both sides of your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Plus, I don’t think I’ve asked for your help-

“Well but you obviously need it, girl he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence. You chuckle at the way he remarks the word ‘obviously’. Little shit, he thinks he’s so good.

You sigh, knowing that any complain would be useless, but definitely not disliking the idea at all. You decide to just relax and see what happens, but as Jungkook backs away to take off his sweater and ‘accidentally’ lifts a little bit of his shirt with it, not much but just enough so that you could see his back muscles, you feel a well-known tickling deep down your core. And in that moment, you know exactly how you want the night to end. A soft smirk appears on your face, as your eyes darken, and you bite your lower lip.  

Fine then, teach me” you say in the softest, sexiest voice you’re capable of doing.

He raises an eyebrow, but smiles in a strange way, as he struts confidently towards you. When he’s rather too close to your face, he looks down to your lips as he licks his, and  comes just a little closer to you to tell you in the ear in a deep, husky voice that makes you tremble, “oh, believe me, I’ll be glad to teach you some new… things… tonight.”  

In that moment, you know that he’s in the same page as you; what is more, you think he probably never had the intention to teach you how to cook anyway. But you won’t give up that easily, not until he’s on his knees begging for you to fuck him. So you decide to quickly move away from him, while a big, playful grin appears on your lips.

“So… what should we start with? you say in the most innocent tone that you can, which is not much, since your mind is full with the idea of Jungkook fiercely filling you up on the table, on the couch, even on the fucking floor.

He catches up on your game really fast with a small smirk and dark eyes, which only seems to turn you on even more.

Well, come over here and I’ll be teaching you the basics today, but I can always come back and teach you some more.

With a playful wink, he goes over to the counter of the kitchen and purposely gives you a glorious sight of his ass, as he pretends to be looking for something. You bite your lip; damn this boy surely knows how to tease. As you feel your underwear get wet due to your dirty thoughts, you decide you’ve had enough; you suddenly don’t’ want to play anymore, and if it takes any longer, you might be the one begging him to fuck the shit out of you.

You walk towards him, placing yourself very close behind him, but without actually touching him. You feel him stiffen as you slowly place your hands upon his waist, caressing the little skin that became exposed thanks to his shirt lifting while he was ‘looking for something’.

So…” you say quietly on his ear, as your hands wander a little lower and beyond his waist, “when are we starting? I’m eager to learn from you, Kookie.

You don’t even have the time to smile after teasing him in such a way, because he’s already taken control of the situation and has quickly turned himself and placed you against the counter, where his prominent bulge can comfortably press against your core, pulling out a moan out of your lips, which only seems to turn him on even more, and he takes no time in furiously taking your lips into his and kissing you like the world was ending tomorrow.

“You’ve been a very bad girl tonight; you know it, right Y/N?”

You don’t even try to answer him; too busy focusing on the wet kisses he’s leaving on your neck, and drifting lower every time. In no longer than a few minutes of intense kissing, you were already stripped down from all your clothes, sat on the counter with both legs up on Jungkook’s shoulders, as his skilled tongue playfully teased you, leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs, as you just wish he’d go straight to the point. You let out a loud moan as you finally feel him fiercely eating your pussy like it was his last meal.

You know… this tastes so much better than whatever I could’ve cooked for you, Y/N” he whispers without lifting his head, his hot breath hitting your dripping wet vagina and making you scream his name, but before you could even tell him you were really close to reaching the first orgasm of the night, he suddenly stopped, smiling against you and depositing one last kiss on the top of your swollen clit, as he grabbed you by your hair and made you kneel in front of him. You lick your lips, already knowing how well his cock is going to taste, and take no time in unzipping his jeans and taking of his boxers with your mouth, which made him growl and tighten his grip on your hair.

As you ecstatically watch his member emerge from his boxer and stand tall and high, you can’t help but lick your lips with lust.

No hands, baby girl” Jungkook says so quietly that you’re not even sure you heard him correctly.

You decide to tease him a little, as your revenge for him leaving you hanging so close to the highest point. You start by slowly licking just the top of his dick, which makes him growl in a way that turns you on in forms you didn’t know were possible. You continue by licking the rest of it like it were a lollipop, going decidedly slow, almost torturing him, his moaning only is motivating you. After deciding he’d had enough, you finally take it all in your mouth, as he let out a loud groan. The thought of the neighbors hearing only helped in turning the two of you on.

Ah, fuck, Y/N, if I knew you were this good I would’ve came here the fucking first time that goddamn fire alarm went off”.

You smile against the head of his cock, his husky, raspy voice making you even wetter. After spending some time taking care of him with your lips, you suddenly take it out your mouth when you feel a little of precum coming out of the tip, making him groan and complain in such a deep voice that was enough alone to make you orgasm.

He harshly takes you by the hair again to make you stand up and puts you against the counter once again, but although he was being incredibly tough, he often looked at you with warm, caring eyes to make sure everything was ok and he wasn’t crossing any line.

You let out an extremely loud moan as you feel the tip of his cock teasing your slit. He stays still, tempting, teasing you to grind yourself against him, which made him groan and suddenly enter you in one energetic movement.  You wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him deeper inside you, and you two become one big moaning mess. He playfully bites the lobe of your ear, as he lets out almost in a growl “yeah baby girl, come on, scream for daddy.

Seeming as the word daddy only made you scream louder, a big smirk appears on his face. When he starts to harshly play with your erect nipples, you know you’re close.  But this time, as you tell him so, nor only doesn’t he stop, but continues to go faster. And as you two reach the orgasm together, mashed up in a trembling, moaning, sweaty mess, he gently goes off of you, before giving you a peck in the lips and guiding you towards the couch, where you sit on his lap before starting to ride him.

As he firmly grabs your ass with both hands, you tangle your arms around his neck to fiercely kiss him, the feeling of your boobs tightly pressed against his bare chest only making him go faster and groan louder.

You ride me so well, princess, keep –ahh, fuck Y/N, keep going, I’ve been wanting to fuck your tight pussy like this since the first day I came into this fucking building.

With those little comments he dropped every now and then, you only feel you’re closer to your second orgasm. And when you finally reach it, moaning and swearing in a sea of pleasure, you’re sure to keep riding him for a little while until he reaches it too, the feeling of his cum filling your pussy making you want more. But you were exhausted, and he was too, so you slowly stand up before going to the bathroom for a towel.

After you were both clean, he kisses you softly on the lips, before leaning back on the couch and taking your hand to carefully put you on top of him, this time; his eyes weren’t darkened with lust but full of affection. He kisses your forehead before falling sound asleep, and before falling asleep yourself, you make a mental promise to thank yourself for not learning to cook.

Originally posted by purelyjimin

well this was my first smut writting ever lmao, i hope it didn’t suck ✿ 

anonymous asked:

You should add onto your andreil asl/pse. Like more in depth about when around the foxes or something.. it's actually a really cool idea.

Your wish is my command…
(I guess this is kind of a continuation of this post)

  • since the two of them are both the eptiome of Extra™ they would have multiple conversations at once
  • kevin could be going on about games or plays
  • andrew would just start signing to neil out of boredom
  • neil would respond to andrew and answer kevin without even thinking
  • dan and matt are just in shock when they see andreil arguing rapidly in asl
  • nicky tries in vain to learn a few signs so he knows what they’re talking about
  • he thinks he’s done it but then is completely lost when he sees them having a conversation
  • renee actually does pick up a little bit of asl
  • but she never eavesdrops on their conversations
  • the angel
  • wymack notices but doesn’t even make a comment bc nothing phases him anymore
  • sometimes neil or andrew will randomly switch from signing to english 
  • andrew signing something to neil and neil answering in english while his hands are full
  • thus leaving the rest of the foxes thoroughly confused
  • andrew, signing: I hate you
  • neil, in english: Yeah, yeah, I know. Six feet under and all that. What flavour of ice cream do you want me to pick up?
  • the foxes: ????????

my mum is getting a new person living in her sharehouse, he’s a over 30 year old MtF transgender in transition apparently. I kind of was like …how do I tell her my opinions on this? She’s a really naïve person, she’s been getting walked over her whole life basically, but that’s a whole other story. I wanted to have a discussion about it..

I asked her, if there is no proof of male or female brains, how can one be born into the wrong body? her answer was “it’s in their soul” and i said NO? i’m sorry but we can’t go off that, we need proof we can’t go off “feelings of the soul”

I ask her if one feels like a woman? what does a woman feel like?
my mum: “I don’t know what a woman feels like, I’ve never thought about it in that way because I just am.“

I ask her point blank, can you define a woman?
she couldn’t answer this question. She said “well what I think of myself as a woman I think i’m kind, caring and nurturing, but men can be like that to. ”

she agreed that you can’t really define a woman without being sexist or explaining what is stereotypical of women to be.

My mum really is one of the most amazing, accepting people and even she told me that I raised a lot of good points that she had never thought of before.
She is of course going to respect her new housemate and use his she/her pronouns as I told her that you don’t have to be hateful but you also don’t have to blindly adhere to everyones needs of validation.

anonymous asked:

Can you do a prompt where Victoria isn't actually mean but comes of as such like "Max looks so pretty" and max is like "what?" And Victoria is just flustered and caught off guard and says the "I SAID YOU LOOKED SHITTY GO FUCK YOUR SELFIE" (doesn't have to contain that but I think it would be cute to see that Victoria only acts like that because she is flustered and crushing hard on max XD)

How to Deal with Crushes

Contrary to Victoria’s surname, she does not in fact “chase” anyone or anything. If anything, people chase after the Chase’s and the same principle is applied to Victoria, just look at her Vortex Club lackeys. Of course they’d follow her, who wouldn’t? She’s popular, efficient, and everything they could only hope to be. Whatever else she didn’t have, she grabbed onto without unnecessary chasing.  If she wants something then she gets it, end of story.

So it’s safe to say that she is most definitely not crushing on Max Caulfield.

Nope, she’s not falling for her waif hipster bullshit and her awkward shy pretense. The girl was short too so Victoria always ends up literally looking down on her and her annoying doe-eyed expression that seem to bring out her freckles. Especially those damn freckles. She would bet that underneath those poorly coordinated bargain clothes that Max had matching freckles on her shoulders which is lame. She’s a walking fashion disaster and Victoria has to stop her hands from tearing away those hideous clothes not because she wants her naked or anything, those clothes are just that terrible.

And her pictures? Selfies! Not even the kind that’s thought through and planned. No, Max just takes ordinary selfies. The kind of selfies that you post on social media and not in art galleries. The kind of selfies that show what her face looks like in the morning where the lighting is just right to add depth to her annoying freckles. The kind of selfies that reveal to Victoria the undeniable truth that Max is kind of cute.

God, she is pining over her so hard.

But she can’t let anyone else know that. See it from her point of view. She’s spent so much into her heartless bitch reputation that she can’t just let go all because of some dumb hipster with a cute face and a good eye for photography. She almost forgot about that part. Max has terrifying skill with the camera even though she doesn’t even know it. Victoria’s photos look amateur even next to some of Max’s selfies. That’s also one more thing she won’t admit out loud.

Max’s talent infuriates her just as much as it turns her on. She makes it look so easy, so effortless. She’s just using her retro-cam and the quality of her photos are worth more than what the best studio can produce. Max is Victoria’s competition and she hasn’t met someone that could fit the rival role so well in terms of skill. She likes to entertain the thought that maybe Max could fit the girlfriend role while at it too. One time she commented on Victoria’s photos being Avedon-esque and Victoria practically swooned inside. Still swooning about that until now.

Victoria is sitting on one of the benches on campus. It’s not like she deliberately chose this particular bench because she spotted the familiar flash and whir of a certain hipster’s camera nearby. It’s Max. Of course it has to be Max, who else? Victoria would never sit on this godawful excuses for furniture if she had a choice. The view helps her forget that her car has better cushioning.

Max is in her element again, with her back at Victoria, taking a photo of whatever. It’s sunset and with it there’s a poignant sense of romanticism painted across the campus. The sun’s rays sift through the trees and fall onto Max just right to give her this ethereal shine. Victoria captures her in the moment without even thinking. It’s only after the click of the shutter does she realize that she’s already looking through the viewfinder. She pulls back and stares at the photo she doesn’t remember taking and then back at the subject in front of her. While the photo was gorgeous like all her work naturally, it could only hope to capture the actual beauty before her.

“She’s so pretty.” Victoria almost sighs dreamily out of earshot.

Or what she thought was out of earshot since Max’s head spins so fast at the catch of her words. She shoots her a confused look. “What?”

And oh, god. Max looks way better with her face showing and she’s wearing that stupid doe-eyed look again and fuck, fuck. Victoria’s brain goes into panic mode. She doesn’t know what to say and it does not help that Max’s face is so distracting. The lighting shifted along with her movement and glistens along her frame and fuck, she looks lame in her clothes but she also looks radiant like what the fuck? And Victoria is still staring and oh, god what should she say?

“I SAID YOU LOOK SHITTY!” She yells at her with too much force to sell the intended spite. Nice one, Victoria. Smooth save. That will definitely tell Max that she is interested in her. Why don’t she go ahead and add some more flirty undertones. “GO FUCK YOUR SELFIE.” There it is. The words come out of her mouth as if on auto. Despite her face sporting a domineering look, Victoria very much wants to hide her embarrassment. It’s a good thing that she can hide her blush underneath her usual layers of anger.

Max looks more confused than offended and Victoria just wishes for her to go away so she could make a dash for her car and scream there. “Okay…?” She asks more than says, as if testing the waters. Victoria can’t help but snarl back just out of reflex and it’s enough to tell Max that the water is boiling and there’s a high chance that it will turn into a bloodbath. She sighs and it almost sounds like she was expecting something different.

Victoria already has plans on berating herself for again ruining another moment with Max and will do so as soon as she walks away but Max has other plans. There’s that bright flash again only this time it’s aimed at her. The whir of the camera isn’t lost to the buzzing in her brain. “Did you just…?” She can’t quite bring herself to finish her sentence, she can’t trust herself anymore.

Max is still in her element, not at all put-off by Victoria’s gaping, it must be the camera. There’s something empowering about holding a camera that makes Max bolder than her usual shy self, not that Victoria would notice that. Max just takes the photo as it develops with her nimble fingers. Victoria could tell the exact moment that it finishes when Max’s face erupts into a smile so wide she doubts it could fit the frame of a photo. “This one’s a keeper.” She shows it to her and Victoria feels her breath catch in her throat.

At first glance, Victoria’s posture in the shot looks intimidating but that’s not the main point. The focus is her face. She thought she was making just another one of her mean looks but evidence speaks otherwise. Her eyes are smoldering as the swathes over her and it almost makes her look warm. Warm and inviting. She can’t tell if it’s from the photo or the feeling in her chest but there’s a warmth that wasn’t there before. “This is…”

Pretty, I guess.” Max casually shrugs and Victoria’s head snaps up at the word. Just when she thinks that a smile looks cute on Max, she’s annoyingly adorable with a smirk too. “Pretty awesome.” She’s teasing. The hipster actually heard her and she’s flaunting it and Victoria should be mad at anyone who dares talk back to her but all she can think of is how Max is obviously flirting with her and she’s so happy that even her scowl looks friendly enough.

This is her chance! She can feel it with her heart beating so fast. Victoria has never run in her life aside for fitness but her heart is hammering wildly like it does when she jogs. Except she’s not running right now but it’s something similar. This is a chase and Max is her target and she can swear that she’s so close. She swears she almost feels it with her fingertips like how hers is brushing over the photo. The mood is set and the setting is just right. She’s going to do this and she’s going to get this right. She can’t mess this up now.

“Pretty amateur, smallfield.” And great, we’re back to gradeschool flirting again. Victoria represses the urge to just hit herself for being so lame. Really? Is that the best she can give? And what’s with that stupid nickname? She panicked okay. She has boys wrapped around her finger but she can’t fucking compliment a hipster girl that she likes without burying it under seven layers of insult.

“Still pretty.” Max insists with a smaller but still cute smile. She then takes back the photo and places it securely in her bag. Victoria tries not to think too much about the fact that she might even see the photo on the wall of Max’s room. “I guess it was nice talking to you, Victoria.”

“Yeah and you’re such a delight yourself. Get out of my face.” Victoria almost praises herself because the first sentence is the closest thing she’s gotten to an actual compliment. Max is already walking away but Victoria waits until she’s out of sight. Too bad she isn’t out of mind. Max calling her pretty is up there on her best-memories list next to their Avedon-moment. Max is also coincidentally on her to-do list.

God, she’s so fucking smitten.

Quiet Kisses Are So Hardcore

Tried to write a short kacchako kiss fic, and it turned into a full blown character study. So it goes. Thanks to @happyisahabit for taking a look at it!

Read on AO3

It is supposed to be like ripping off a band-aid.

Tell her to get lost. Unfriend and block her on social media. Don’t answer any texts, and block her number too. Uraraka is smart. She’ll get the message. And when the sting of rejection subsides, she’ll move on to someone else. Someone more suitable, someone more deserving. In the end, Uraraka will still be happy.

Bakugou is doing her a favor. If Uraraka never speaks to him again, that’s what he deserves for being dumb enough to catch feelings in the first place.

On the way out of class, Kirishima puts a hand on his shoulder. “So, gym? Or video games? Or gym and video games?”

Bakugou calculates. Uraraka tends to go to the gym around this time, and this whole avoidance thing won’t work if they keep running into each other. But then he catches her in the corner of his eye heading to the dorms herself–his eyes had a nasty habit of following her of their own accord–and realizes that the gym is the better option after all. He wonders how long he’ll have to tiptoe through his own life before it gets easier.

“Gym first,” Bakugou says. “Maybe video games after.”

“Are you ok, man?” Kirishima asks. “You’re kind of broody today. Like, Todoroki-level broody.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Heh, there’s a Bakugou I know.”

Once they get there, Bakugou makes a beeline for the bikes. Spinning is great cardio, but it’s also one of the few activities that lets Bakugou’s mind wander. As his legs start pedaling, he zones out to think about how this whole Uraraka situation went to shit so fast.

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An Unexpected Surprise - Cody Christian Imagine

Request by Anon: Hey! May you do an imagine where Cody and (y/n) rarely fight but when they do it’s a hell of a mess and the current situation is that he and the (y/n) are having a fight, a really big one bc he accused her of cheating on him, bc maybe she’s coming home late and she’s always on the phone, but what really is happeningis that the reader is organizing a surprise birthday party to him, so when he finds out he’s really regretful for thinking she ever could do that to him and a happy and fluff ending? 

Warnings: Arguments, being accused of cheating, some curse words

Word Count: 4,056

Author’s Note: I couldn’t help myself with this prompt. I hope you like it. 

My Teen Wolf Master List

Originally posted by eu-nasciassim

Cody’s POV

The first sign

It’s funny how time flies by when you’re not looking at the clock, but when you do watch the clock, time seems to move slower. I drummed my fingers against the kitchen table as I slowly watched the second hand take its sweet time to move around the clock. Y/N was 29 minutes late. She’s never late and I was beginning to get worried something might have happened. If she was working late, she would have called or texted me to let me know. But tonight, she didn’t and I couldn’t help but think of the worst.

Just give her one more minute, I thought to myself as I pulled out my phone. Instead of looking at the clock on the wall, I looked at the time on the phone. Why must the last minute take the longest?

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anonymous asked:

In the werewolf Inquisitor but instead of a giant wolf, they turn into a white puffball Pomeranian (like that one popular post), but they can command and lead whole wolfpacks through force of will. Reactions?

Cassandra: She stares, numbly, before turning on her heel and walking away. “We are not discussing this. This is ridiculous.” she grumbles, and never questions them when they walk off on full moons ever again. She’s not even mad, just exasperated.

Blackwall: He starts wheezing, he’s laughing so hard. He smiles apologetically after he pulls himself together and reassures them that their secret is more than safe with him. “Who would ever believe that you turn into a–” He starts laughing again.

Iron Bull: He gives away his hiding spot from where he was spying on them because he loses his shit. Against his will, he only laughs harder as the werewolf barks and complains at him for his reaction, and he tries settling them with pats on the head. “Aww, settle down there, fluff-ball, your secret’s safe with me,” he snickers, “besides, it’s hilarious and you know it.”

Sera: She’s in utter hysterics over it. Forget the original post where she avoids them initially; she’s too busy laughing her ass off. “Oh, Maker, help me; I can’t breathe!” she howls as the little puffball Pomeranian barks and whines at her, and she kicks her legs in the air as she lays down, heaving for breath as tears slip from her eyes. She gets banned from following them (except in romance) on full moons because she just starts laughing every time.

Varric: He laughs for a long time, then promises to not tell anyone. “Who would believe me, anyways? How did this even happen to you? You have to tell me.” He wants all the details, much to the Herald’s chagrin.

Cole: He asks if he can pick them up and show them to guests at Skyhold. “They are cute, and people like fluff. It’s soothing to hold and touch. You can help people!”

Dorian: He didn’t mean to laugh, but he can’t help himself. “I’m a monster!” the Herald protests. “Aren’t you afraid? I can control wolf packs and everything!” It only makes him laugh harder. He apologizes, though the smile doesn’t fade from his face for a long while.

Solas: He cracks a smile at them and chuckles a little before forcing himself to reassure them that he will keep quiet. “Truly, what a beast you become under the influence of the moons.” he teases.

Vivienne: She sighs, deeply, and sets to work on a cure whether or not the Herald wants one as she ignores the others’ laughter.

Josephine: “You’re SO cute!” she squeals as she picks them up in delight. “If this was what lycanthropy was for everyone afflicted, it would hardly be a problem.” She does ensure it’s kept a secret, but she can’t help but think they’re just adorable.

Leliana: She can’t prevent the snort that escapes her as she covers her mouth, fighting back the laughter that wants to erupt. She can’t bring herself to speak for several minutes as she fights it. So this is why they left Haven on a full moon. They bark and whine at her in protest, and she smiles. “Enjoy your evening. Keep the wolves nearby so you don’t get attacked by anything larger than you.”

Cullen: He just turns around and goes back to work without a comment. He feels a headache coming on.

anonymous asked:

I am such a slut for phone sex before they've ever had sex... there's something so fucking hot about them being so hot and bothered but can't have each other yet.. the desperation (this is a prompt)

Post almost immediately Amor Fati rushed/unedited uncharacteristic amount of communication, NC-17

***

“I cannot, with good conscience,” Scully starts, skipping her customary phone greeting. “–Kiss a man who’s recently had brain surgery.”

“It’s probably bad form,” he replies, and while the pain meds dry out his mouth and turn his limbs into spaghetti, this druggy feeling is a new thing entirely. A relief that warms his bones, a hesitance that cramps his fingers around the receiver. “Hippocrates would never approve.”

“But you are aware that was my intention,” she says, ignoring his joke. The voices are fading now, and only those who think quite loudly bleed in to mingle with his own fuzzy thoughts. Never would he have thought he’d miss his inner voice. It comes to him in large and small doses, moreso when the headaches begin.

But Scully’s thoughts are clearer still, for she’s the loudest thinker of them all. He licks his lips to simulate the feel of her fingers pressed to them.

She wanted to kiss him.

“The assumption crossed my mind,” he admits, shifting his legs underneath the Navajo blanket. “I was feeling pretty amorous myself. It was a good moment.”

She speaks it under her breath, a good moment, disbelieving in a way that lets him know that was the wrong thing to say. But it’s hardly fair of her to expect him to be surprised. He’s been tuned into her station for a pretty chunk of time now, and it just so happens to be his favorite. Sorry, Scully. “To tell you the truth Mulder, I’m nervous. Very much so. And I didn’t want to be in the room with you when I said these things because of your… condition. But I’ve come to realize that time is an enemy.” Diana, Hosteen, more bodies that they’ve embalmed. “If you’re too out of it, however, we can return to it later.”

“Go on,” he says, not certain that’s the right answer. If she called thirty minutes earlier, so soon after she’d clicked out of his signal, he’d be foaming at the mouth. He feels woozy and unsure.

“Mulder, you trust me.”

“Scully, you might not be able to read my mind but you have ears.” The idea that she might not get, or hadn’t felt the gravity in his words, that they hadn’t weighed her down with his gratitude, his need – he doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, putting it all out there only for it to be ignored or worse, second-guessed. “I just told you, in the doorway –”

“I’m saying that I know that you trust me.” Okay. It’s good to hear her say that. He nods to himself and closes his eyes as she continues. “I know… that you hold an affection for me, that you value my friendship, just as I do yours. I know that you rely on me, as I rely on you. But Mulder…” let the silence push her forward, let it bring her to him. “Do you want me?”

He winces, feels slightly like a schoolboy being caught with something racy, not yet with his pants down but maybe with his hand on the zipper, and drags himself away from the corner of the couch to sit properly, with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in the palm not holding the phone.

“I feel like it should be obvious.” Especially, especially when you wear that black bra under that button up you forget is just this side of mercifully sheer. Your God loves and hates me on those days. He feels like it should be obvious, and she should feel ashamed for making him admit something so painfully obvious.

“It really, really isn’t,” she says testily, her voice tight as his stomach, and the guilt is mild but there. Of course she doesn’t know. She denies what’s in front of her every single day of her life. He started this, so it’s time to stop leaving her hanging. Scully doesn’t share his sexual hangups. She doesn’t joke, or even look at him the way he catches himself looking at her, but – on cases, sometimes, after they’ve retreated to their separate rooms for showers and psychological reinforcements, he has noticed, hasn’t he, how much easier her laughter came, the sleepy glint in her amused eyes, how she would lie back on the bed in her own definition of exposing herself, fully dressed, stretched out and too casual and too fond of him as he ran his field notes by her for her nonapproval. In those moments he wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside her and prove to her that he could do it better. He knows her better.

Well, he guesses he’s getting his chance, along with the warning that he’s running out of them. He goes with the truth.

“There isn’t a single thing you could offer me that I wouldn’t take, Scully.” In a voice like jagged stone, made deep with sincerity and his intrinsic neediness, “Of course I want you. That’s just… written there, like genetic code. If you were to sequence my DNA I’m sure you’d find it.”

A beat of nothing. Not even background noise. He finds his confession neither freeing nor embarrassing. It just is.

Then she responds, “I think we can do this without me whipping out the microscope.” And she says out loud her thoughts he’s been gorging on since he was aware she had them. “I want you too.”

It does not feel revelatory like he expected it would, but there is a curiosity, stronger in his mind than his groin, and a unique feeling of rightness whereas the subject often leaves him anxious. That is what feels so freeing.

“I – where are you, Scully?” He asks, straightening up and then leaning his head on the wall. “You went back to the office, right?”

“OPR pulled me in for some more questioning, but I’m packing up to go home,” she says lightly. Mulder backtracks. He hadn’t meant to change the subject.

“I wanted you to kiss me. I was pissed that you didn’t, actually. I wore my good cologne.” He lowers his voice playfully, pushing vowels past a thick and nervous tongue. “You left me hanging,” and he huffs out a laugh, “and you didn’t even let me wear my hat.”

“I always pictured it as spontaneous,” she remarks a tad wistfully, and he thinks of her and how quickly she draws out her weapon. Then her tone changes. “Mulder, what are you wearing?”

A full out laugh, now, barked like a happy dog. “Nothing but my heart on my sleeve, here, and a sense that someone’s about to come here and shoot me.” Like he’s gone mad and needs to be put down, for good this time. He’s trying to ride the absurdity of this phone call the way he rides all absurdities – with style and panache and his customary roguish charm. He is having difficulty.

“C’mon–” you are purring, Dana Katherine Scully, “I know you know how to do this. What do you normally say?”

“You took my lines,” he pouts, dragging his hand down his chest. The idea that Scully isn’t joking hits him in the gut and he nearly drops the phone. “Wait. Scully. Are you actually trying to…”

“I’ve built this expectation, I think, that once we’ve come to our senses we’d work on some of the more… structural issues of our partnership.” Oh. “I expected it might take days.” Oh.

“Oh,” Mulder says. “I guess I picked the wrong week to go under the scalpel, then.”

“Don’t make a habit of it, is all I’m asking.” She pauses. What is she doing? He imagines her sitting primly in his office chair. That’s not right. When she sits in his chair she tends to sprawl, like he does. She’s sprawled out and trying not to smile. He is smiling, edgy, with a touch of gorilla fear, but also happy, relieved, waiting. “There’s this dream I keep having. I’ll let you interpret it.” Her voice curls around the edges. She is smiling, but it’s the breathlessness he focuses on. “It’s daylight, and I’m walking through a field. There is a gentle breeze, and I can almost feel the grass tickling my ankles. But then I trip. I’m falling.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Interpretation of Dreams 101. You’re nervous.” With his own stupid grin pressed to the phone and the heel of his hand making acquaintance with the waistband of his jeans, he asks, “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me ache,” she says seriously. Okay then. He forgoes his teasing, plucks expertly at the buttons of his fly. They are doing this then, because Scully does not kiss her invalid suitors, but finished them off instead. “I’m falling, expecting to hit the soft ground. But Mulder,” shyly, “You’re there.”

“Underneath you?” He asks, almost bashful, hand stopped on his zipper.

“Yeah.” And then she sounds embarrassed, like she’s revealed too much. “Not exactly the most titillating story, I guess. I chose the wrong one.”

“It’s perfect.” He means it. Scully hasn’t said the words but he’s pretty sure that was “I love you.” Jesus Christ. He is hard, and he wants to laugh at himself; he should have known that’s the kind of crazy shit that gets him off these days, the idea that the object of his affection affects for him in light, with flowers, with hope and fluff and a cringing, girlish romance he’d never, ever expect from her. God, he’s hard and he’s a little high, and Scully wants to fuck him in the sunshine. He tugs off his pants and boxers and chooses to put her out of her misery.

“I have my own dreams,” he tells her, taking his cock into his shaking hand and lifting his legs up, so that he’s lying down. “Want to hear about them?”

“Oh God, please,” she says self-deprecatingly, like she’s already beat her head against the wall. He takes pleasure in this. No woman has ever considered him a person to be embarrassed in front of. No woman has ever thought of him that much.

“We’re on a case, and we’ve just gotten back to the motel. We promise to reconvene for dinner but we uh, gotta shower first.” Her sharp intake of breath lets him know she knows very well where this is going. He lets his head loll back onto the armrest and pumps himself once, twice, licks his lips before just rushing into it. “I always notice, Scully. Your whole – your whole body changes. You get flushed, and–” he gasps, she gasps, they are great partners. “You’re looser, like you’ve melted. Your voice gets lower.”

“Yes?” She almost growls, evidence for his assertion. Oh, he loves her. She always finds a way to validate him.

Yes. In my dream, though, I don’t let you tease me.” He chuckles, lift his hips up to push through his tightened fist. Watching himself helps him focus. The tip of his reddened cock points towards him, and he stares as it disappears and reappears. “That’s what you’re doing, right? Teasing me?”

“Me? Never,” the innocent tone she affects gets ruined by the drawn out whimper. She’s in the office, he suddenly remembers. He didn’t think he could feel more desperate to get back to work.

“I don’t say anything. You don’t say anything. You’re wearing those silk pajamas you like so much. I look at you, and you know you’ve been caught. But before you say anything I’m slipping off your pants and your underwear, whatever I noticed the last time I saw your own suitcase, and Scully…”

“Yeah?” She asks brokenly, high pitched and desperate. Most definitely she is doing what he is doing, and he flits back and forth between what she must look like cupping her breasts in the office with her skirt pulled up around her waist, and the Scully in his fantasy. A new model sharing prime time with the old one, the images do not compete; he wants both, fiercely and to the point of mental exhaustion, and only now does he feel like he’s got a chance of ever recuperating.

“You’re so wet,” he grunts, snapping his eyes shut and picturing it in his own private, well attended theater. “I see it before I feel it, the evidence of what you get up to when I leave you alone. You’re swollen – when I drag my fingers through it, they come back slick. When I look up at your face to ask my question, you’re smiling.”

“Your question?” She pleads, and for his benefit: “I'm… right now. Slick and so very…” Scully in the office, her panties tugged to the side and her oft-abused lower lip between her teeth. Scully in his dream world, giggly and heavy-lidded.

“Are you wet for me?” An answer to her inquiry, and his own pressing question. He doesn’t really need the confirmation; he can hear it over the phone when he strains, the sounds of her filling herself in all the ways he’s so far failed to. But when she says yes,, when she curses to God and begs him to touch her, he comes to the line and straddles it, precariously, reeling top-heavy with ego and lust. “I couldn’t – you… so hot, you knew that I knew, oh fuck, Scully…”

“I never finished,” she hisses. He can feel the warm wet air through the phone, it caresses his ears and neck and shit, shit, shit, are you close, yesyesyes, me too, “I-never-finished wanted you to–”

“You wanted me to make you come?” He chokes out, a guttural cry tripping him up as he swells in his hand and the image asserts itself vividly. Scully pressing herself to the shower wall, hand moving rapidly between her legs as she trembles and jerks and prepares herself for him. I would do it better, he’d thought every time, not knowing she hadn’t done it at all, that she was waiting, that her slightly spread legs and her pretty blushing face were an invitation for him to make her complete.

“I wanted you,” she says simply, and it starts in his back, a burn that hurts as much as it pleases, travels through unused limbs and fingers and imprints something nameless in tender, oversensitive brain matter. Scully is her mind and her strength and her loyalty and her slick, hot cunt, and she fucking wants him, so he comes for her as an acknowledgment of that fact, paints his thighs and belly with his promise and his need for her. All the while he listens as she falls apart for him, as she finally gets the release she’s been after all these years. It’s a knockout performance. She’s pitchy and earnest and sweet like he’s never heard from her, and he’ll never forget it – never, not even when she does it again.

She regains her wits before he does, naturally. “I should have kissed you,” she says. The certainty blows him away.

“I’ll do it.” He promises. “I’ll figure it out.”

She's Testosterone

Read the sequel: She’s Testosterone 2
Words: 2.4k
Genre: Crack Fic. No lies here.
Summary: Drop dead gorgeous, cute and sassy - you adore your best friend. But is there more beneath the surface? Who exactly is Min Yoonji?

Cr. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

“Turn that fucking shit off!” A groggy voice calls on the other side of the tiny room.

It takes less than a second for you to spring up from your bed with a big inhale and stretch.

It’s a new day!

A new future!

A new you!

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