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“Soft Skin, Soft Soul” Bath Ritual

Originally posted by katanajjeon

So, you’ve had a long, stressful day?  You’ve just gotten home and all you want to do is wind down and relax?  Why not pamper yourself?  This silky, aromatic bubble bath will give you the recuperating, self care you desperately need just before you snuggle up in your bed for the evening!

Ingredients:

- 3 tbsp extra virgin coconut oil
- 1 cup of lavender epsom salts
- 1 cup of milk (any type you’d prefer)
- 4 bags of chamomile tea
- 5 drops of lavender essential oils
- 1 handful of dried rose petals (optional)

Steps:

1)  Before you begin running your water, take a large bowl and set your tea bags in it.  Pour boiling water in the bowl, about halfway full, and let your tea bags steep.

2)  Begin to run your bath, setting the temperature as high as you can stand (while still maintaining your comfort), and begin adding your coconut oil, letting it dissolve into the water (holding it in your hands and letting the water run over it is best, as to avoid large clumps of oil)

3)  Add your epsom salts, using the same technique you used for the coconut oil.

4) Pour in your milk, drop in your essential oils, and your dried rose petals (if you so choose).

5)  Once your bath is nearly full, and your tea bags have had enough time to thoroughly steep, pour the tea into your bath water.

6)  Lastly, turning off the water, take your dominate hand, and swirl the water with the ingredients as you focus on cleansing yourself of the day’s negative energies, letting the bath become infused with your intent of relaxation, self-care, and calmness.

And now you’re ready to climb in and relax for the next 30 - 45 minutes!  Once you’re finished your skin will be softer, and so will your soul, and just in time for bed!

Let’s talk about an Ariel who walks away—limping, mouthing inaudible sailors’ curses, a sea-brine knife in her belt.

Ariel traded her voice for a chance to walk on land. That was the deal: every time she steps, it will feel like being stabbed by knives. She must win the hand of her one true love, or she will die at his wedding day, turn to sea foam, forgotten. The helpful steward tells her to dance for the prince, even though her feet scream each time she steps. Love is pain, the sea witch promised. Devotion calls for blood.

But how about this? When the prince marries another, nothing happens. When Ariel stands over the prince and his fiance the night before their wedding, her sisters’ hard-won knife in hand, she doesn’t decide his happiness is more important than her life. She decides that his happiness is irrelevant. Her curse does not turn on the whims of this boy’s heart. 

She does not throw away the knife and throw herself into the sea. She does not bury it in the prince and break her curse—it would not have broken. She leaves them sleeping in what will be their marriage bed and limps into a quiet night, her knife clean in her belt, her heart caught in her throat. Her feet scream, but they ache, too, for the places she has yet to see. 

Ariel will not be sea foam or a queen. There is life beyond love. There is love in just living. Her true love will not be married on the morn—the prince will be married then, in glorious splendor, but he had never been why she was here.

Ariel traded her voice for legs to stand on, a chance at another life. When she poked her head above the waves, it wasn’t the handsome biped that she fell for. It was the way the hills rolled, golden in the sun. It was the clouds chasing each other across blue sky, like sea foam you could never reach.

(She does reach it, one day, bouncing around in the back of a blacksmith’s cart, signing jokes to him in between helping to tune his guitar. They crest up a high mountain pass and into the belly of a cloud. Her breath whistles out, swirls water droplets, and she reaches out a hand to touch the sky. Her feet will scream all her life, but after that morning they ache just a little bit less). 

I want an Ariel who is in love with a world, not a prince. I don’t want her to be a moral for little girls about what love is supposed to hurt like, about how it is supposed to kill you. Ariel will be one more wandering soul, forgotten. Her voice will live in everything she does. She uses her sisters’ knife to turn a reed into a pipe. She cannot speak, but she still has lungs. 

Love is pain, says the old man, when Ariel smiles too wide at sunrises. It’s pain, says the innkeeper, with pity, as Ariel hobbles to a seat, pipe in hand. At least you are beautiful, soothes the country healer who looks over her undamaged feet. The helpful steward had thought she was shy. Dance for the prince even though your feet feel stuck with a hundred knives.

Her feet feel like knives but she goes out dancing in the grass at midnight anyway. She’s never seen stars before. Moonlight reaches down through the depths, but starlight fractures on the surface. Ariel dances for herself.

She goes down to caves and rocky shores. Sometimes she meets with her sisters there. Mouths filled with water cannot speak above the sea, so she drops into the waves and they sing to her, old songs, and she steals breaths of air between the stanzas. She can drown now. She holds her breath. She opens her eyes to the salt and brine. 

Ariel uses canes and takes rides on wagons filled with hay, chickens, tomatoes—never fish. She earns coins and paper scraps of money with a conch shell her youngest sister swam up from the depths for her, with her reed pipe, with a lyre from her eldest sister which sounds eerie and high out of the water. The shadow plays she makes on the walls of taverns waver and wriggle like on the sea caves of her childhood, but not because of water’s lap and current. It is the firelight that flickers over her hands. 

When she has limped and hitched rides so far that no one knows the name of her prince’s kingdom, she meets a travelling blacksmith on the road with an extra seat in his cart and an ear for music. He never asks her to dance for him and she never does. She drops messages in bottles to her sisters, at every river and coastline they come to, and sometimes she finds bottles washed up the shore just for her. 

They travel on. When she breathes, these days, her lungs fill with air.

Some nights she wakes, gasping, coughing up black water that never comes. There is something lying heavy on her chest and there always will be.

Somewhere in the ocean, a sea witch thinks she has won. When Ariel walks, she hobbles. Her voice was the sunken treasure of the king’s loveliest daughter, and so when they tell Ariel’s story they say she has been robbed. They say she has been stolen. 

She has many instruments because she has many voices—all of them, hers; made by her hands, or gifted from her sisters’ dripping ones. Ariel will sing until the day she dies with every instrument but her vocal cords. 

She cannot win it back, the high sweet voice of a merchild who had never blistered her shoulders red with sun, who had never made a barroom rise to its feet to sing along to her strumming fingers. She cannot ever again sing like a girl who has not held a dagger over two sleeping lovers and then decided to spare them. She decided not to wither. She decided to walk on knives for the rest of her life. She cannot win it back, but even if she could, she knows she would not sound the same. 

They call her story a tragedy and she rests her aching feet beside the warming hearth. With every new ridge climbed, new river forded, new night sky met, her feet ache a little less. They call her a tragedy, but the blacksmith’s donkey is warm and contrary on cold mornings. The blacksmith’s shoulder is warm under her cheek.

Her feet will always hurt. She has cut out so many parts of her self, traded them up, won twisted promises back and then twisted them herself. She lives with so many curses under her skin, but she lives. They call her story a moral, and maybe it is.

When she breathes, her lungs fill. When she walks, the earth holds her up. There is sun and there is light and she can catch it in her hands. This is love. 

Dean’s Plaid

Summary: You and Dean do NOT get along. Until the night that you do.

Warning: smut, anger sex

Word Count: 3200

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy some Dean smut! XOXO

There are two things in the world you really hate: plaid and Dean Winchester.

There are plenty of things that you don’t like, that irritate and annoy you, that you’d rather not deal with. But those are the only two things you actively hate. A store with a window display of plaid clothing is enough to get your blood boiling these days. And Dean? Well, you make sure you never think of Dean. That just tailspins your world into a mess of violent anger for days before it wears off.

So the fact that you are currently wearing one of Dean Winchester’s plaid shirts, listening to him hum along with the radio as he drives you to his motel?

Yeah. You’re gonna need something to kill.

Or you could just kill Dean.

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Bar Knowledge: Glassware.

You can’t serve an Old fashioned in a coupette glass and you can’t serve a Mojito in a margarita glass. Don’t be an ass, and know you glass. Here is a list of the glassware you have or should have in the bar you work in or your own home bar. Let’s start with the basics…

  • 1. Martini Glass- Used to serve drinks straight up without ice. Most common would be a Martini where the name comes from or the Manhattan.
  • 2. Margarita Glass- A glass stylized like an upside down sombrero should only be used to serve the margarita or any type of margarita variation and nothing else.
  • 3. Pint Glass- Beer and Beer/Cider based mixed drinks. example Black velvet, shandy or Black’n’Tans.
  • 4. Rocks Glass/ Old-Fashioned- Used to serve liquor like good quality vodka or whisk(e)y, and cocktails with ice or neat. Examples of different drinks that go into a rocks glass: Negroni, Old Fashioned, Margarita on the rocks, Sazerac (Neat).
  • 5. Shot Glass- The name itself says it. Used for shots! I imagine everyone knows this and at this point I’m just covering basics for the sake of it.
  • 6. Highball Glass- Used to serve long drinks, aka spirit and mixers, aka highball drinks. Examples are: Screw Driver, Cuba Libre, G&T.
  • 7. Collins Glass- Slightly shorter and wider than the Highball glass, this one is used to serve a good Collins, Fizz, or Rickey.
  • 8. Brandy/ Cognac Glass- Used to serve Brandy/Cognac. Just make sure to swirl hot water inside it before pouring in the spirit. It should be served in a hot glass.
  • 9. Wine Glass- There are different types for white or red wine but this is the standard everyone should be familiar with.
  • 10. Champagne Flute- Used to drink sparkly wine, champagne or serve the following cocktails: French 75, Champagne cocktail.
  • 11. Hurricane Glass- For blended frozen drinks and exotic drinks.
  • 12. Irish Coffee Glass- Thick Glass with a handle used for hot drinks such as the Irish Coffee, Hot Toddy or Hot Buttered Rum.
  • 13. Coupe Glass- The coupette is another great glass with a stem used for ‘straight up’ cocktails like the martini glass. I like to use this one for cocktails containing egg whites.
  • 14. Grappa Glass- Used to enjoy Italian grappa.
  • 15. Absinthe Glass- Thick and beautifully designed glasses used to drink Absinthe. Served with the iconic Absinthe spoon for the sugar.
  • 16. Tiki Glass- There are many types of these glasses around and this is just one of them. They are ceramic and usually depict imagery from Melanesia, Micronesia or Polynesia. They are especially used for ‘Tiki’ style exotic cocktails based on rum blends and fruit juices.
  • 17.  Buck Mug- Copper mugs used for Buck style cocktails, the most famous being the Moscow Mule.
  • 18. Julep Cup- Iconic metal cup used only for the Kentucky Mint Julep.
  • 19. Sour Glass- These are not used that much anymore, but they were the official ‘Sour’ glass for sour style cocktails.
  • 20. Tasting Glass- Used by spirit connoisseur’s for tasting fine Scotch or Gin for example. 

    If you enjoyed this article share it with people and hit that like button! Also if you have any questions or want to share your thoughts please comment below. - UM. Thanks guys!

Full Moon Tea

First part you will need:
Mason Jar
Water
Full Moon

Fill up the mason jar with water and lid it. Put out under a full moon to soak up all that energy. Bring back inside next day.

Second part you will need:
Tea of choice. (I personally like berry type teas for the spell)
Mug of choice
Spoon
Sugar or honey.

Use your Moon Water and make tea with it. After you’ve heated and steeped the tea, add your preference of sweetener. (If you don’t care for sweet tea then just a pinch for affect will suffice)

Now stir. Stir for a good minute, slowly.
While stirring, hum. Doesn’t matter if you can carry a tune or not. Just get lost in the vibrations of your voice and the swirling of the Moon Water Tea.

After around a minute, take the tea and sip. Take your time. Really enjoy your tea. Do so in a quiet room with either silence or water sounds. Get lost in the moment.

Repeat as often as you would like until out of Moon Water.

May it bring you peace if you so which it.

Ice Banishment

As we go through the year, we collect negative feelings that mute our vibrations and build resentment. This is an accretion: the slow build up or collecting of layers. Like cholesterol in the heart, this emotional accretion blocks your channels and keeps your power from flowing. Now that we are in a new year, it may be the best time for you to banish that accumulation.

What you will need:
1. A medium sized bowl, preferably glass
2. 3 bay leaves
3. 2 - 3 cups of room temperature water
4. 5 ice cubes
5. Sandalwood incense and/or a white candle (in a safe holder)

Preparation

If it is part of your practice, cast a circle. As you sit with your ingredients before you, centre yourself. Ground yourself in the present moment by focusing on your breath, the sensations of your body, and your connection to the earth.

Casting

Begin by lighting the incense, candle, or both. Make sure the flame is just outside of your reach, as you will be moving your power hand and do not want to accidentally knock it over.

Next, pour the water into the bowl and add the ice cubes. Repeat with firm intent:

The old year sees completion
I rid myself of accretion
Strengthen the new with this one wish
Negativity I banish

With your power hand, stir the water in a counterclockwise direction. Focus on sending negative feeling and emotions down your arm, past your fingers, and into the icy water. Continue stirring until you feel you have released the negativity built up over the last year. Withdraw your hand and drop the bay leaves into the swirling water to seal the banishment.

Allow the water to sit until the ice has melted. Extinguish your incense, candle, or both. Carefully take the bowl and its contents outside and to an area not walked over by others, pour out the water and bay leaves. Repeat the chant:

The old year sees completion
I rid myself of accretion
Strengthen the new with this one wish
Negativity I banish

Notes
Bay leaf: a sacred herb associated with Cerridwen and associated with the element of fire; it is commonly used in banishment spells
Sandalwood: according to lore, sandalwood clears negativity and burning it in the form of incense brings protection and healing
White candle: protection and purity

🌧️ A Touch, A Tempest 🌧️

a sea/storm spell for power in your hands, and enhance control of one’s life

🌧️  gather: stormwater, sea water, a bathtub, blue coloring, frankincense and saffron 

🌧️  perform spell during a storm, ground with the rain. 

🌧️   fill the bath and mix seawater in. swirl the water and drip the dye in. 

🌧️  burn frankincense and saffron in a nearby dish, or float them in the water

🌧️  place your palms in the water, charging in the sea water 

🌧️  the water is your world. you have the power to calm the waters or splash them, make them dangerous or exciting. 

🌧️  draw the power and the calm into your palms, and pull away from the water. drain the tub, and contain the power in yourself. 

🌧️  the power stored in your hands, you need only to touch something to instill calm or bring down a tempest. 

10

‘A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. Any attempt at finding the bodies was absolutely hopeless. And so there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time, the most dangerous criminal, and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. I shall ever regard him as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever know.’

the blazing bombardier.

Idk, this is just a summery fluffball of a Sterek getting-together drabble because I’m tired of winter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Derek fundamentally doesn’t understand people who like roller coasters.

He knows such people exist because he’s been standing in line with them for the Blazing Bombardier for half an hour now, but even when he’s looking right at them, it’s hard to believe. Seriously, why. The list of things to do on a Saturday afternoon that don’t involve screaming and trying not to hurl is literally infinite. He could be lounging around in his pjs in his dorm right now and rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, just for example. Or working out, or going for a drive to the beach, or watching a movie with Boyd and Erica. (Boyd and Erica are officially his favorite people right now because, unlike his sisters, they understand the basic concept that friends don’t make their friends who lose bets ride the most terrifying invention since clown costumes.)

The line moves forward, and oh god, now Derek can actually see the loading station. The seats are wicked-looking hanging harnesses painted to look like flames. He’s going to be sick before he even sits down in the thing.

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Saudade (Part 2)

pairing: Jungkook | reader I Yooongi
✥ genre: angst (Soulmate!au meets Hanahaki!au)
✥ word count: 3.863
✥ warnings: none
✥ author’s note: 

Series: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3                                 

Saudade;                                                                                                           ↪ The feeling of intense longing for a person or place you love but is now lost

[Masterlist]



You coughed, surprising yourself. A burning sensation started to travel up from your abdomen to your throat.  You started to cough so hard you felt like throwing up.

A wave of pain suddenly washed over you; it was exquisite and debilitating. For you, it was the worst burning sensation you had ever felt. Your throat gurgled as you struggled to breathe, spitting blood. Your body was shaking. Slowly breathing hard, your hand shot to your side, clutching it as an electric shock from the pit of your stomach ran throughout your body, and then caught fire. The pain was merciless without escape. You fell to your knees, hands stretched out in front of you on the ground for support.

You felt something caught in your throat. Then, you sputtered out something – something dry.

There, you saw it.

Your eyes went wide and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You scooped it up in your hands, fighting the urge to cry.  

In your palm lay a familiar cluster of rose petals.

With a burst of anger, you threw away the petals, now littering the washroom floor. Biting back tears, you slumped your head against the cabinet in defeat. You watched the petals splay across the floor with an unwavering gaze as their fiery red orb of light slowly sank into threads of light, dyeing the petals first orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the petals were a chalky mauve.

Coughing out flowers sounded like a curse out of a fairy-tale – one that could never and would never exist in the real world. It was too beautiful, too unearthly to be true. However, when you first started coughing out tiny rose petals, you found out that you were cursed with the Hanahaki disease.


The disease started when you met Jungkook. The two of you were five-year-olds, innocent as day. Jungkook moved next door and he had reluctantly joined your tea party and a friendship slowly blossomed between the two of you. You had not have begun to cough flowers just yet. The two of you were far too young to experience any form of puppy love.

The first time you coughed out rose petals, the two of you were ten. Sitting near the edge of a lake, Jungkook had opened up to you and as his best friend, you listened. He told you about his crush on another girl in your class. When he first mentioned her name and how much he had a crush on her, your chest tightened, and your throat felt as if something was clogging it up. You gasped for air, and Jungkook thumped your back and a handful of rose petals fell onto your lap.

Screams erupted from both your lips and Jungkook practically carried you all the way back, even though you resisted his offer. Jungkook went home that night, thinking that you had accidentally eaten some flowers as a joke and everything was normal again. It was that night when your mother explained the Hanahaki disease to you for the first time.

It was said that a witch once cursed the entire women of a village for loving the village head – someone who wasn’t their soulmate. Although finding your soulmate was, and still is a rarity, the witch cursed them with the Hanahaki disease. The flower that grew within you would be different for each person – it would reflect the splashes of colors you had painted for their soulmate to see.

Your mother had explained how she too, used to cough out flowers when she was a little girl because she was in love with your father but he never reciprocated her feelings until later. It was a fatal disease, for the growing flowers would eventually clog up your respiratory system. The disease could only be removed if one undergoes an operation to remove the flowers, along with their feelings.

Jungkook’s crush with that girl in his class didn’t last very long, and thankfully, the flower petals stopped for a period of time. However, flash forward to your second year in high school, things were different now with you and Jungkook. Sure, the two of you were best friends, and the two of you spoke and hung out together a lot; but the only thing that was different was your love for Jungkook and Jungkook’s love for someone else.

It was like history repeated itself when he had told you that he planned to ask out your sister. He’s always fancied her, you’ve just been in denial for the entire time.

You sat under the sunset, reading a book when he first told you.

“Y/N, I’m going to ask Hyojin out,” he had mentioned out of the blue. Your chest tightened, the same way it did when you were ten. You felt a tingling, itchy feeling clawing up your throat and stopping midway. It felt like a hairball that had been stuck, but you managed to swallow it down with some water.

“Y/N, are you okay? You look like your –“

“I’m okay, Jungkook. I just choked a little on my water when I laid down,” you lied, clutching your chest and covering your mouth to prevent yourself from coughing out any more petals.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow but did not question further. “Well, what do you think I should do?”

You thumped your chest and the tightening feeling disappeared for a while. “Just go straight up to her and tell her,” you said. “Look she’s right there,” you pointed out to your sister, who was much prettier, perfect and definitely much more of Jungkook’s type than you ever were.

With a small smile, he ruffled your hair. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” were his last words to you before Hyojin accepted his confession.

That night, you tossed and turned in your sleep, until you gave up. It was three AM, you sat on your bed, coughing out petal after petal, tears streaming down your face as you clutched your chest. The endless stream of petals seemed as if it would never stop, likewise with your tears as one single word ran through your mind. Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook. How ironic was it that he was as beautiful as the flowers you were coughing out?


You shut your eyes, trying to compose yourself before you were forced to go outside once again. On your knees, you and gathered the petals and dropped them into the toilet, flushing them away. You stared at the bowl as the petals swirled through the water, whirled away from you.

You stood up, gripping the side of the vanity. The pain had an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach. You felt slightly nauseous, just enough to make you hold onto the table for support and breath slow. You’ve often prized yourself in ignoring the pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just wasn’t possible right now. It owned you, dominated every thought, and controlled your every action.

You stared into the mirror in front of you. Your hair was sticking to the sides of your face as a thin sheet of perspiration glistened on your neck and forehead. Your cheeks were flushed and the tip of your nose was pink from crying. Dried up tears were streaked across your face, glistening under the fluorescent lighting. There was something solemn swimming in your eyes. Their stunning, deep brown held a truth that your face could not hide. The despairing chill that they conveyed made you feel heartbroken. You looked away; you couldn’t bear it. A lone tear rolled down your cheek.

And so, the world turned into a blur along with all the sounds. The taste. The smell. Everything was just gone. You paused trying to hold back the strange feelings rumbling inside of you but you couldn’t. Another tear traced down your cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened. So many tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down your face. Your chin trembled as if you were a small child. You breathed heavier than you ever had before.

You heard the door creak open, the sound of footsteps coming to halt.

“Oh shit,” you heard a panicked voice curse from the doorway.

Your heart missed a beat.

“Sorry, the door was unlocked…” his voice trailed off the moment his eyes landed on you.

Through the mirror in front of you, you saw him.

“I-I was j-just leaving.”

Immediately, your hand flew to your face, wiping away your tears. You quickly removed the strands of hair sticking to the side of your face. You didn’t wait for a response as you tried to leave the washroom – you were beyond mortified.

You felt a hand firmly grasp your arm, halting you from moving any further. a soft whimper left your mouth as you desperately tried to wriggle out of his grasp. you tried your hardest not to look at him. you didn’t know what would happen if you did.

Jungkook,” you choked out as you wilted under the heat of his stare. Your eyes trailed up to meet his. The two of you were standing in the washroom, staring at each other. Your stomach filled with a sense of fear and excitement. Time seemed to stop as those eyes met your own.

His touch was as gentle as silence but was still firm, unwilling to let go of you. You brought your head down to look at his chest instead.

“Jungkook, l-let go of me,” you repeated, your voice came out as a whimper. The familiar scent of his cologne infiltrated your nose and invaded your senses. You needed to get out. Now.

When Jungkook spoke, his voice trailed slowly, like his words were unwilling to take flight. There was a sadness in his eyes, the brown too glossy – similar to when you two were on the rooftop a few months ago.  

“Y/N,” Jungkook paused, it was the first time in months you had heard his voice say your name. “I-I’m sorry,” his voice was as light as a whisper but heavy with emotion.  

You tilted your head to look at him. Your eyes landed on his jaw and trailed up his cheeks to meet his eyes. His eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

“For what?” you felt your stomach as it clenched and unclenched, You were worried that the petals would come straight back up.

“For everything,” his voice cracked, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Just like that, your brain powered down, unable to process what was happening. A thousand different thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to focus on what was in front of you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he let out a tiny exhalation, as though saying the words gave him relief. “I’m sorry I left you like that, for what I said to you,” he took in a breath, “ever since that night, I’ve physically felt your absence.” His voice got softer, “missing you is the hardest part of my day.”

You couldn’t speak, it felt like you were swimming through a fog.

“Then why did you leave?” the back of your eyes burned with tears.

“I—I, I was confused. I didn’t understand what I was doing,” he shook his head.

Confused?” you pressed. A swinging, seasick feeling took over your head, “you were my best friend.”

“I know,” again he looked troubled, as though trying to recall the meaning of the words. “I–,” he opened his mouth to apologize again when you stopped him.

“Don’t,” you couldn’t stop your voice from rising. The anger was vibrating, ripping through you like a live current. “Don’t say it because I know you don’t mean it,” your vision got blurry. “I loved you. You were my one thing. My—,” the sickness surged up and you took a step forward, clenching your fists, blinded with rage. “Why did you have to take the one thing that made me happy? Why did you take it? Why do you always take everything?” you felt hot tears rolling down your face. “Did you even miss me?”

Jungkook’s mouth opened, but for a reason unknown to you, he closed it. You waited for an answer, but you were met with silence.

You scoffed, “I knew it.”

“Y/N –,” his eyes flashed with guilt.

You wriggled yourself out of his grasp and pulled yourself away from him. “Why do I even waste my time,” you said under your breath as you tried to push past him once again.

“No,Y/N!” Jungkook grabbed you by your shoulders, “I missed you every single hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I’d catch myself walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I’d seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I’d realize that you weren’t there anymore, and every time, every single time, it was like having the wind knocked out of me,” his voice was strained by the time he finished talking.    

You saw how he was staring at you. You couldn’t bear to see the way he was looking at you. His eyes bore into yours and became glazed with a glossy layer of tears. As he blinked, they dripped from his eyelids and slid down his cheeks. Jungkook bit his lip tightly in an attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from his mouth – your heart sank. You swallowed hard and looked away, hating the weakness of your spirit. You were more than this. You were stronger than this. But damn it, this hurt.

It hurt because he was the man responsible for making you burn. For making you feel like a woman. It hurt because it had been a trick. An illusion. And it hurt most of all because he did not see you the way you saw him.

“Y/N, please. Just listen to me,” Jungkook pled, “Don’t walk away from me,” tears had poured from his eyes. It was from pure pain and surrender.

Your eyes enthralled on him. His eyes were like crisp toffee drizzled in melted chocolate and framed with darling lashes. A blade nose and burrowed cheekbones, his appearance only to die for. You couldn’t help to notice leathery black strands flopping over his face which to your distaste was veiling some of his enticing features. So perfect, yet so frustrating that you could bear no social contact with that sensuous man. Damnit.

Jungkook did not belong to you, he belonged to your sister – Hyojin. She loved him, and you loved your sister. But you also loved Jungkook. You couldn’t break your sister’s heart, even if it meant breaking yours

“I’m good at walking away. Rejection teaches you how to reject,” you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said it. You immediately regretted your words as soon as you thought of them, but you had no other choice.

You felt his hands drop from your shoulders in shock. Without sparing him another glance, you raced out of the room.

Your muffled sobs went unheard as you entered the living room. Immediately, you were hit with a suffocating wave of humidity. The air stunk with sweat and alcohol. Music blasted from the speakers and bounced off the walls of the house at a deafening volume. You could hear everyone screaming with joy and could feel their feet disturbing the ground around you. Without looking, their smiles extended towards you, attempting to rope you into one of their conversations. You saw people dancing – their bodies moved together as they celebrated, rhythmically breaking into shapes and colors that you were resentful of. You saw your sister, Hyojin, catch your gaze and attempted to pull you towards her group of friends. You simply looked away and headed towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was closed off and separated from the living room to which you were immensely grateful for. Along with you, there were a couple of people in a circle off to the side of the room, happily chatting amongst their selves.  You walked to the counter and spotted a jug full of what you assumed to be water and poured some for yourself. You were never a fan of parties, especially not your sister’s and his first anniversary.  

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” you heard a light voice come from behind you.

Scared, you dropped the cup and splashed the contents of your beverage all over the kitchen counter and onto your dress.

Shit, you swore under your breath as you vigorously tried to rub off the liquid from your clothes. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man step toward you. His hand was stretched out to stop yours from moving. You turned to look at the man that caused you to ruin your dress and for a moment, you stopped breathing.

His hair was black as the wintry night; eyes as deeply dark as were the desert skies. His beauty was as fervent as a fiery moon.

“Oh, did I scare you?” you heard him say with a small smile. “Ah, don’t worry about your dress. Vodka doesn’t stain.”

“V-vodka?”

He nodded. The man offered you a comforting smile as he leaned against the wall. “Mostly vodka, there’s a whole lot of other shit in there.”

You laughed and immediately regretted it as you felt your head begin to hurt. You pressed your hand against your temple, feeling it pound under your fingertips.

“Normally people get head splitting migraines after they get drunk,” he playfully teased you. You lightly hit his arm.

“Do you want some water?” he asked you. You nodded your head before you clutched your eyes together. The pain was getting worse.

He walked to the back of the kitchen, bringing back a bottle for you. “Here,” he gave you a plastic water bottle. Grateful, you muttered a rushed thank you and immediately gulped down the clear liquid. You hadn’t realized how parched your throat was until that moment.

“Whoa there, slow down. You’re going to ch—“

You coughed out some water as you choked on it. A warm hand patted your back as you gripped onto the edge of the sink in front of you.

“Today just isn’t my day,” you awkwardly laughed.

You turned around to face the man once again. His eyes were as dark as ebony, looking straight at you with a hint of curiosity. He reminded you of the night – he was as fair as a star when only one was shining in the sky.

His eyes smiled as he stretched out his hand towards your own, “Min Yoongi.” You were slightly taken aback at the sudden introduction, but slowly, you returned the handshake, feeling his soft hands carefully grasp your own and shake it. You told him your name and you heard him hum in acknowledgment.

The man’s eyes slowly crinkled at the corners, his lips twisting from the side. His eyes formed into small crescents, similar to Jungkook – the ones you fell in love with.

Your chest began to constrict and you felt yourself about to cough at the mere thought of Jungkook. Hastily, you reached for the water bottle again and drank from it, trying to suppress your urge to throw up right there and then. You looked back to see a concerned expression on the man’s face.

You offered him a sheepish smile, “I’m sorry you had to witness all of that. I’m normally not like this. On regular nights, I can drink water without choking on it,”

He kept looking at you, his face grew serious, “what makes tonight any different?”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you before you made any motion to respond. You mentally debated if you should tell him about Jungkook. You hadn’t talked - couldn’t talk to anyone about this particular matter and Yoongi looked genuinely interested in what you had to say. You heaved a sigh and turned to look at him. “Tonight, I lost my best friend because I was stupid enough to fall in love with him,” the reality of the situation hit you after you admitted it out loud.

Yoongi made no comment. Instead, he leaned in, resting his arm on the counter top. His eyes flashed with concern as he waited for you to continue.

With an intake of breath, you poured your heart out to a complete stranger.

“For months now, a - a stone has been sitting on my heart. I’ve shed a lot of tears over him, lost a lot of sleep, and eaten a lot of cake batter. But now, after tonight, I have to move on. Life is going to be hell if I don’t shake loose from the grip he has on my heart. Even if he feels like the one. Even if I’ve always thought we’d end up together. Even if he still has a choke chain on my heart. But I can’t,” you looked at him, “Yoongi, I can’t shake him loose from the grip he has on me. I miss the smell of him. I miss his lips and his strong arms. I miss him.”

His eyes showed you the kind of gentle concern your mother used to show you. He laid his hand lightly on your shoulder, and instead of flinching like you thought you would, you were soothed by it. He left his hand there and spoke with such a soft voice you felt his words calming you more by the way they were said than the actual words. It felt as if you were wrapped in a blanket of his caring.

“I don’t think anyone can give you advice when you’ve got a broken heart. But, think of it this way: you can’t have heartbreak without love,“ he pointed out. “If your heart was really broken, then at least you know you really loved him.”

You took a minute to let his words sink in. Yoongi kept his hand on your shoulder, now sliding down to hold your arm, squeezing it slightly. You couldn’t help but ask him a question that’s been eating at you ever since you were left alone on the rooftop.

“Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?’

“Always,” he said. You could see the silver of pain hidden deep inside his starry eyes.

Why?

He looked at you intently, from what seemed behind the veil of a grave experience. Then slowly, he said something that sent chills down your spine.

Y/N, the heart was made to be broken.”

Deeper Than Ink | 01

P R E M I S E ⇒

Should you fall in love with someone, even in the slightest, your skin becomes marked with vibrant colors that depict the story of your emotions. A tattoo, per say. However, should they or you fall out of love, the bright hues dull to black and the feelings you once had for each other melt away. To many, it’s a blessing to not have to live with the pain of your past. But what’s the point when you have too many reminders–say 27?

P A I R I N G ⇒  namjoon x reader

G E N R E ⇒  angst, tattoo au, soulmate au

W O R D S ⇒  7.281

P A R T ⇒  one | two | three


Pebbles bounced against the sidewalk, caught between the concrete and the rubber soles of boots dragging across the pavement. The movement was slow and the sound was reminiscent of a modern romantic defeat, another tally to add to the chalkboard. Another inked reminder that would be incomplete on a pale skin canvas.

A single finger rose to itch at the back of a studded ear, scratching just above the intricate black swirls of patterned water that was splayed over a neck. The owner of this design–and the 27 others cluttering his skin–wasn’t a lost cause or a serial romantic as many had come to believe. But potentially the most unlucky man in the world.

There were many others like him, decorated in dozens of these brandishes to signify their accomplishments in a manner akin to a trophy shelf. Their skin was littered with these marks of past lovers who were only intended to become blackened symbols. However, hoarding tattoos of ones he adored was not a game to him like it was to others; he feared the attention and judgment that his ink gave him.

He was enamored by people and their stories, the things they had to say and the words that they would whisper to him. Falling for them was simply a side effect of his own curiosity that he had no control over, as the patterns would only appear when the emotions were mutual. People were drawn to him, not for the art etched into him, but for his elegant thoughts and charming words.

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Vodka & Coke - Jeff Atkins x Reader

Request - “I was wondering if you could do a Jeff x reader where they like each other and they’re at a pool party and all the guys and girls are like ogling so they’re jealous and finally confess”

“So I’ve been thinking…” The chestnut haired boy next to you fiddled with his short pockets.

“Oh don’t do that.” You turned to him sombrely. “Dangerous business. Difficult to get out of once you’ve started.” Keeping a straight face, you hit him playfully with the cold beer bottle in your hand. He chuckled.

“Well, I won’t disagree there, but I meant…” Jeff appeared to falter in his original thoughts, and instead added, “We should get in the pool. I mean we’ve already been here a while and it is a pool party.” His emphasis on the word ‘pool’ was pretty comical.

You raised you eyebrow, looking over at the hormone filled pool.

“Eh. Alright then.”

Downing the last of your beer, you swiftly pulled your dress off to reveal a flattering black bikini. Jeff’s eyes almost burst out of his sockets.

“Strip, then.” you laughed, tugging at his shirt. He shooed you away and took the shirt off himself, leaving only his red swimming shorts. You tried not to stare too much at the sculpted curves of his chest. You’d managed to conceal your crush for this long, you could last a bit longer.

“Race you in?” You pointed finger-guns at him.

“We shouldn’t really be run…okay, i guess that’s a yes.” Because once he had  started being concerned about safety, you’d already run toward the pool.

You jumped in and swirled the water around you a little.

SPLASH. Jeff bombed in to the water next to you, soaking all the parts of you that you had yet to submerge.

“Jeff!” You scolded. He grinned his signature pearly-white grin, setting your heart into overdrive.

“Sorry, babydoll.” He gave you a knowing smirk. You hit him hard at his use of the nickname you ‘hated’, but which you secretly adored.

“Don’t push your luck, Atkins.”

He splashed you. You splashed him back, resulting in a small, playful, water-fight where you muttered phrases such as asshole and try that again, i dare you while he just laughed manically.

“Okay, cease fire.” He held up his hands.

“Hold on, why do you get to call cease fire?” You crossed your arms.

“I’m older. And since I technically won, you owe me a drink.” Toyed Jeff.

“Fine. But only because I wanted one too.” Throwing your arms up, you began to make your way to the edge of the pool.

—–

Inside, by the drinks, stood Hannah, the only person who did know about Jeff. She smiled sympathetically, seeing that you were wet from the pool.

“I see you’ve been in.” She laughed.

“It’s that obvious?” You joked. Grabbing two cups from the pile, you poured a small (rather large) amount of vodka in to each, and topped them up with coke.

“Getting anywhere? Anything happen?” She asked.

“Nada.” You sighed. “It’s just obvious he doesn’t feel the same about me as I do him.”

“Stop saying that! I’ve told you what Clay sai-”

“What did I say?” Clay popped out of nowhere, sidling up next to Hannah.

“That alcohol is bad for you.” You stuttered, throwing up a small wave before quickly leaving the house again. Clay had told Hannah that he had a suspicion Jeff liked you, but Clay didn’t know you liked Jeff.

On your way out, someone called you.

“Yo, Y/N!” Montgomery waved you over.

“You having a good time?” Marcus asked, smirking.

“Yeah, I should probably thank Bryce when I see him.” You nodded, sipping your drink.

“We‘ll thank him for you.” Marcus chuckled.

“Oh, thank you.”

The boys starting conversing about the party, but you were not paying attention because your eyes had drifted over to Jeff in the pool. He was on his own leaning on the edge, his muscular arms, dripping, rested.

You noticed a pretty, although somewhat plain girl looking over at Jeff. Her name was Chloe, you thought, you recognised her because she sat next to Jeff in history, and you sat behind them.

She was DEFINITELY giving him bedroom eyes, and you couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t as if she was stealing your man, because you weren’t together, and she had no idea how much you liked him, but that didn’t stop the intense jealously you began to feel.

“Excuse me.” You nodded to the boys, strutting back to the pool. Jeff made eye contact, smiling when he saw his drink. At least, you guessed that’s why he was smiling.

“Here, take both so I can get in.” you crouched and passed both cups to Jeff, then swung yourself in next to him, splashing slightly.

“Guess I deserved that.” He observed, handing you back your drink once he was sure you were safely in.

You sipped nervously, suddenly aware of your proximity.

“Y/N, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed everyone over there ogling you. Especially Monty.” you looked at Jeff to see him looking over in the direction of Monty, Marcus, and their posse. Truthfully, you hadn’t noticed, because you’d been too busy watching Chloe eye-up Jeff.

“Don’t be silly.” You spluttered, noticing that the alcohol was kicking in, and making you a giggly mess. Luckily, Jeff wouldn’t notice, because he was fairly intoxicated himself.

“I’m not, look at them!” He pointed an accusatory finger, definitely warranting a few looks from other people in the pool.

“They’d look up anything in a bikini.” You rolled your eyes.

“No, they’ve only been staring at you.” He declared.

“Careful, Atkins, or you might sound jealous.” You spat, beginning to get angry that he kept going on like he cared, when you knew he didn’t.  It hurt. A lot. He looked flustered.

“Fuck’s sake.” He shook his head, downed his drink, and threw it in the water somewhere. Then he turned to place his hands on the edge and haul himself out of the pool.

“Where the fuck are you going now?” You shouted at his leaving figure. But he ignored you.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You shouted around the pool at people who had been watching, Chloe in particular, before mimicking Jeff and pulling yourself out of the pool.

You found Hannah on a sofa with Clay.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Okay, what’s up?” Hannah could see you were drunk and upset.

“Not here.”

—–

“Really, it does just sound like he’s jealous.” She shrugged.

“Shut up, Hannah. Don’t just try to make me feel better.”

“Boy world is confusing, but this one’s pretty easy to work out.” She placed a hand on your shoulder. “Especially after what Clay said.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“But he wouldn’t - I mean-” But Hannah wasn’t listening, she was staring at a spot slightly behind you.

“Y/N, can I speak to you?” Jeff’s voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“Go get him, girl.” Hannah whispered in your ear as she left.

“What?” You turned to Jeff, exhaling. The boy was exhausting and invigorating all at the same time.

“I was jealous.”

“Jeff jus- wait, what?” you’d prepared yourself for an entirely different conversation.

“I was jealous.” he repeated. “Those guys were looking at you in a way i wished they wouldn’t, but it wasn’t my place to say anything because we’re not- i mean- you know…” He played with the hem of his shirt awkwardly.

“Honestly?” You scrunched up your face. “I was jealous too.” You admitted. Jeff was taken aback.

“Jealous of what?”

“That girl Chloe from history was completely ogling you, how could you not notice?”

“She wasn’t?!”

You rolled your eyes. “So observant.”

Jeff bit away a smile.

“You’re so,” he shook his head. “You’re like, a force.” He pulled your hands into his.

“That made sense, Mr. McDrunkFace.”

You blushed at what you were about to do next, but you had to take the plunge.

“So, if we were both jealous, doesn’t that say something?” your hands were sweating in his.

“That we were both downing the Vodka & Coke’s?” He joked.

“No like,”

But he didn’t give you time to respond, because instead he crashed his lips to yours. Rightfully, he tasted like Vodka & Coke, and he was ever so slightly pruned from being in the pool, but he was perfect. He was Jeff.

“Let’s just let each other know next time we get jealous, yeah? Instead of storming off and making a scene.” You ruffled his hair after breaking the kiss.

“Yeah.” he chuckled, nodding bashfully. “Yeah.”

kittykitty-mewmeww  asked:

You and Bucky are on vacation at this real swanky place. You even have a hot tub on your balcony. You start fooling around, hands roaming under the swirling water and he backs you up so your sitting on top of a jet. And then Steve comes out to relax on his balcony, right next to yours and you try to move, but as he starts chatting you two up, Bucky holds your hips as the jet of water massages your clit. Bucky whispers, "Good girl," when you cum, still holding the conversation.

I fucking love this

Sinful Sunday™

Boss!AU - Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.5, Part 3, Part 4

Time for the final part! This is actually my favourite part! It’s more fluffy than the other parts and I can’t leave the characters alone for too long so I’m sure we’ll dip in to the universe in the future again! I hope you like it - thank you for all the lovely comments I’ve had since starting it x

“Harry?” You speak down the phone after arriving in the office. It’s like a blizzard outside, raining and windy, and the last thing you need is your phone ringing when you’ve barely taken your coat off. You have his spilt hot coffee over your hand, and your clothes underneath are wet from the rain too; not quite the same weather as New York just last week. Harry had let you take Thursday and Friday off as a thank you for working the previous weekend so you’d spent the past four days with your phone switched off and holed up in your flat with takeaways and movies in between sleeping off the jet lag.

Your flat mate had flittered in and out in between seeing her boyfriend and she spent most of her time at the weekends with him now, which you were more than happy to see her do (and it gave you the flat to yourself), and you hoped you might have the same soon, if Harry would only make up his mind about whether he wanted something serious or not. You understand he has more to think about than most men his age, with his four year old son in the picture, and being the number one priority in his life, obviously, but you’ve decisions to make yourself. On the screen of your laptop is a draft contract from one of Harry’s rivals sitting in your emails, all you have to do is read through, get back to them with any adjustments, sign it, and you’d be free to sleep with Harry without fear of anybody finding out and frowning upon it.

Shit, it did sound sordid when you put it like that. Sleep with him? Be his assistant-with-benefits?

“Hey…” he sounds breathless, as if he’s running late. “Listen, I wouldn’t ask yeh if I didn’t need to bu’ I need a favour from yeh?”

You sigh, placing the coffee on the desk and pulling your hair away from your neck, the phone safely nooked between your shoulder and ear as you did so, and tried to do open up the place as he speaks. “What is it?”

“Sam’s sick.”

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