window panes

roguishtrevelyan  asked:

don't know why your ask box didn't show up before but... omg cashy for the kiss meme... 6 and 13 for young (happy, not bitter yet) Richard and Philip??

#that awkward moment when you reblog a meme just for the kiss descriptions because you’re feeling randy and romantic and then leo sends an ask #bonus points when it’s your top guilty pleasure ship

(also apologies for the second; I know they’re not young and happy but bitter!philchard is my jam)

 6.    lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up



Richard’s laughter, peppering the room like golden motes of sunlight dancing across the window pane. At least, that’s what he usually thinks when he hears Aquitaine’s favourite son laugh – his laugh, his personal, only-for-Philip laugh. Soft, just beneath the cusp of his voice, almost embarrassed; as if Richard can’t help but feel shy at such an intimate display of affection. So much more than that great booming show he puts on for the rest of the world. Sunlight and sips of wine along the banks of the Seine, that’s what he thinks of when Richard laughs.

Usually. Now, curled somewhere in the foetal position with a good half tun of Gascony wine working its hellish magic upon his abused head, Philip just contemplates regicide.

“You are,” he groans, makes some feeble attempt to bat away Richard’s clumsy lips. The beard tickles, (Despite his age, and his glory, Richard’s struggles to grow a beard means that he refuses to so much as trim what grows upon his chin, to Philip’s immense distress) “the son of a king, the heir to the greatest empire since that of the Romans. Surely the royal coffers stretch to you having your own bed.”

Richard just grins. (He can hear him grinning. That’s how well they know each other in these years, what will come to be their fabled summer-and-glory years. Philip seventeen, Richard twenty-five. Still bold, still wild; still young enough that the poison has not reached their hearts.) He rolls over and nuzzles a kiss to Philip’s lips but misses; slow and tender, and utterly clumsy. Philip wonders how the maidens of Aquitaine would react knowing this; the Coeur de Lion, the fabled Lionheart, unable even to kiss.

Probably not as wildly as they would react to other things.

“You can’t hold your wine,” he teases, tucking his head into the crook of Philip’s neck. (Philip will never grow to Richard’s great height, they both know it; and Philip loves it when Richard makes him feel tall like this. They are still in the place when Richard uses this knowledge to woo, rather than wound).


“You were singing,” Richard adds with glee, and a kiss to the ridge of Philip’s collar bone. “Such a beautiful voice as well. My father will praise you for it at dinner – when he surfaces, that is.”

Henry Plantagenet is probably the only man in Christendom to feel worse than Philip right now. The carols were in great spirits last night. Philip sighs and, thoughtfully, tucks an arm behind his head as they lie there. “Do you think we shall ever grow so old?”

Richard’s lips brush against his own. “God, I hope not.”


13. following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck


There are men whispering around him as he walks through the hallways, but Philip bares them no thought. His entire mind is aflame. Richard’s words are a brand against his heart: I cannot marry Alais, daughter of France. All know she was taken to my father’s bed and used as his concubine, for some ten years or so. How could I marry a woman who has been used so? Spoken loudly and with pride, before the whole court.

Alais. His sister; betrothed to Richard since they were children. The first time Richard had touched his lips to Philip’s the younger man had whispered, hoarse and afraid: what about Alais? She’d always been such a shy child, almost fey, prone to headaches and broken hearts. A scandal would ruin her. But Richard had shaken his head, even as he’d laid Philip down upon the bed. I promise, I’ll never, never hurt your sister.

Lies. Lies and more lies. The Plantagenet name is founded upon lies.

“Philip!” The man – a man grown now, passing six foot and broad in the shoulder, red hair spraying out like a nimbus of fire amidst the stars – hurries after him, smiling. Still smiling. “Where are you going?”

Philip turns stiffly. He’s a man grown too now, and so many miles away from the youth who’d groaned and twitched in Richard’s arms with a hangover stuffed with Gascony wine and the sunlight in his eyes, and so many years ahead of him. He knows Richard better now than he’d ever done then. Christ help them both.

“I thought the last thing you’d want to see tonight was more Capets.”

“Oh come,” Richard laughs, slipping a hand about his shoulder, “you must know it was the only thing I could do. I do not intend to wed your sister; that was a marriage my father intended to trap me by, and I will not dance to his tune now I am king.” His expression softens; he’s always had the knack for looking at people as though they were his whole world. “You know it was the only way to get out of the marriage.”

“You hurt my sister.”

You are the one I love.”

A kiss: passionate and eager and so damn loving, there in the abandoned shadows of Mategrifon Castle. Richard cups Philip’s face in his broad hands, holding him safe. His back is pushed up against the wall; Richard knows how to make him feel treasured and overpowered all at once, to make him feel as though he is dancing upon the knife’s edge, and Richard’s arms the only ones that will catch him. Richard kisses him, and then dots kisses all the way down the royal throat. “Philip,” he urges clumsily, like a boy again, drunk on the taste of his skin, “come to me tonight. Let me make you forget all this.”

Forget. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to break in Richard’s arms and forget. He moans at the feel of it: Richard’s lips tracing a slow, warm rhythm over the curve of his throat, his surprisingly nimble hands plucking at the laces of his braies. The scrape of the royal teeth against his neck. He wants to sink into it, like getting drunk on a draft of the headiest Aquitaini wine.

Let me make you forget all this. Richard’s voice in his ear, the first time the French barons shouted him down and mocked him for capitulating to the English demands one too many times. Let me make you forget all this. Richard’s tongue at his skin, after he openly mocked Philip’s father, the sainted Louis, before the Angevin court. Let me make you forget all this. Richard’s hands at his cock, the day after Philip’s wife died in childbirth and Philip was half a world away, in Chinon, in Richard’s bed.

He pulls away sharply.

“No,” Philip says, voice rasping in his throat. “I don’t want to forget.” And then he walks away, to leave Richard alone in the emptiness of the halls.

(Fictional Kiss Prompts!)

a sterek fic inspired by this stupid thing because how could I not

It’s a common saying among Stiles’ friends that he doesn’t have a lot of dignity. To be perfectly honest, Stiles agrees with them (as much as he argues against the point whenever they bring it up).

But this is probably a new low.

Well, not new-new, because this is into the fourth week of the habit and if he was a better person, he’d have stopped by now. He’s not a better person in this instance, but he’s made peace with it.

‘It’ being watching his stubbled neighbour jog past his place every morning in sweatpants and obviously non-supportive underwear. There’s a lot of movement down there. A lot.

“I mean, with that much jiggle, he’s gotta know, right?” Stiles asks his window pane, behind which he’s fake writing on his laptop.

They’re not quite neighbours, there’s about half a block between them for which Stiles’ sanity is thankful. Otherwise who knows what ludicrous amateur spying would have occurred.

As it is, he is very thankful he accidentally set his alarm for five am two (it was four) mornings in a row, because now he knows that this is a morning ritual for his neighbour.

Today hot neighbour is wearing the cut off, grey sweats. They’re a personal favourite of Stiles’ (better than the dark blue ones, which make it harder to see) because it means not only can he get a clear view of his neighbour’s dick as it swings forward against the fabric, but also his sweaty, perfectly muscled calves.

Stiles sighs out and bangs his head once against the window pane, a small punishment that is also part of the routine.

What is not part of the routine, is hot neighbour looking into Stiles’ window, and seeing Stiles’ face smooshed against the glass, after which he trips, possibly in disgust, or just simple distraction.

Stiles’ first reaction is to panic. He pushes his chair back from the desk and slams his laptop closed.

His second reaction is that he should call someone to come help.

His third reaction is to realise that, hold on, he can go and help.

Stiles rushes out his front door and into the chilly morning air.

Keep reading


In the Mood for Love (2000)

Directed by Wong Kar-Wai
Cinematography by Christopher Doyle, Pung-Leung Kwan, Ping Bin Lee

“He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.”

Truth or dare? you pick truth.
have I ever made you cry? have you ever felt like your lungs were closing the door and locking it and saying no no no over and over and over until there was only white fucking noise and no one around to silence it?

truth or dare? you pick dare.
i dare you to show up in a few months just to apologize and tell me you’ve missed me and you’ve kissed a lot of people but not me not me not me and you want to fix that so
you fix it.

truth or dare? you pick truth.
you must be happy are you happy? i would be happy if it wasn’t for my parent’s divorce and you and the constant fucking sound in my head that never shuts off it just buzzes and buzzes and reminds me of a fly trapped between a window pane both in the noise and the
imminent death.

truth or dare? you pick dare.
i dare you to miss me, I guess, even though it was never enough.

truth or dare? you pick truth.
what was the last dream you had about me? remember, no lying. it’s just a game.

—  call it something it’s not– lily rain
Porcelain and Window Panes

Prompt: Dan sees a a beautiful man doodling on a foggy window in a cafe and can’t get him out of his head. He comes everyday at the same time to see the beautiful stranger.
Word Count: 3671
Warnings: Cussing, light angst
A/N: Thank you to @philestergifs for this amazing prompt! It took so long to write this for some reason (I’ve been writing it since October???) and I’m so happy I could finally get it out! Special thanks to @theinsanityplays as well for giving me some feedback for this fic ^-^ I also didn’t have a beta so sorry for any errors but I hope everyone likes it!
Read it on AO3!


To say Dan was having a terrible day was an understatement.

He woke up late, having forgotten to set an alarm for work, so he had to rush through his morning routine. This meant he wasn’t able to take an hour long shower like he was used to and he couldn’t straighten his hair. Thanks to genetics, his hair dried in curly ringlets that stuck out in every direction.

He also had to skip breakfast, which is bad in itself, but he soon found out that his coffee machine had stopped working as well. Dan with curly hair and no morning caffeine? Not a good idea.

So he went for the best option of going to the nearest coffee shop and ordering a french vanilla latte to go.

The wait was nearly impossible to sit through, especially with Dan’s habit of being too impatient for his own good. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically quivering in his shoes at each name that was called. His eyes were frantic while he tried to distract himself from the inevitable doom that was this horrible morning.

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Still Remembering - Smut

Originally posted by stilesstilinskiandlydiamartin

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Reader
Words: 1,917
AN: So this was a song fic request that @writing-obrien​ got but she wasn’t familiar with the band. Since I am pop punk trash, I love me some As It Is (Patty Walters can fucking get it, let me tell you) so I was really excited about it and I asked her if I could write it instead. Please be aware it’s super angsty and sad and then kinda fluffy and idk what I was doing. And I know the song is kind of a goodbye but I couldn’t leave Stiles like that lol.

Based on the song Still Remembering by As It Is. Listen HERE.

Thunder boomed loudly outside, shaking the window panes, the sharp sound of rain pelting on the roof doing nothing to comfort me. I sighed, burying my face in my pillow, my arms limply at my sides. I couldn’t stop thinking of her, even though she’d left me. She’d gone one day without a word, a note left in her place, explaining that she needed time, that she was afraid. She loved me too much, needed me too much, wanted to find herself on her own. I was pretty sure it was bullshit, an excuse to make herself feel better about leaving me alone.

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Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am no good for you //  SHAWN MENDES

Tap…tap, tap… the sound echoes around my silent bedroom. My eyes flick open, body still at the sound. Waiting. Tense. It’s probably just the wind blowing the trees against my window pane. I shut my eyes again.

Tap, tap, tap… tap. This time I sit up. Maybe it’s just a bird? I look to the alarm clock, the light harsh against my eyes. 2:25 AM. What kind of bird is up at this time? I listen for the noise again. Nothing. I let out a sigh of relief and sink back into my blankets.

TAP, TAP, TAP. It’s more urgent this time. Ripping my blankets off my body I walk to the window. I reach to open the blind, hand faltering just I was about to open them. Isn’t this the part of like every horror movie ever where the girl opens the curtains and then they get stabbed by a masked killer?

TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP. I slam the curtains open. A black and white mask covers half his face in a skull pattern, the rest of him dressed in black. Bright brown eyes meet mine. Well shit. I hastily open the window and he climbs through.

“Gees women how long does it take you to open a window?” Shawn asks me, his voice muffled through the fabric.

“Oh I’m sorry,” I say placing one hand on my hip. “I didn’t know I was expecting company at 2:30 in the morning,”

He just grins at me. “Missed you too,” Shawn says cheekily.

I roll my eyes, hands reaching out to pull him by his cotton jacket towards me. I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest. He smells what he always smells like, soap and fresh air, which given by his choice in past time it’s not unusual.

One of his hands lifts up to stroke the back of my head, he rests a kiss on my forehead, while the other hand stays glued to his stomach.

I look at him suspiciously. “What happened to you?” I ask, pulling back completely and crossing my arms over my chest. Shawn knew my disapproval about him being in a gang, but of course he was stubborn and refused to leave until his contract was up. I never understood it.

He gives me a wry smile. “Not much,” he answers taking a step back, his face hardening.

“Liar” I say glaring at him. “It will be much easier in the long run if you tell me now,” We stare at each other. I sigh, uncrossing my arms. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, I’m worried about you, alright?” His expression softens.

“I know you do,” He says. Gently, he lifts his arm away and rolls up the bottom of his shirt. A bruise the size of my fist, black and blue, lines the side of his stomach. A gasp escapes me.

What did they do to you?” I cry, holding my arms to my chest. I knew what Shawn did was dangerous, never before however have I seen him hurt. 

“Its not what you think,” he says, tugging his shirt down. “Its just,” He falters. 

“Just what?” I say my voice rising. “Did they do that to you?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything. I turn away, not being able to look him in the eyes.

“I can’t believe this,” I mumble although its more to myself then to Shawn. I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt. 

“Baby its ok-”

“Don’t you dare tell me its okay,” I snap cutting him off. I can feel angry tears beginning to well in my eyes. “They hurt you. What’s going to happen next? Stab wound maybe? Broken bone? Fucking bullet wound?” 

I’ve kept this anger to myself ever since I found about Shawn being in a gang that he’s tied to until hes 22. His past is a mess. He got caught up with bad people and now he’s paying the price. 

“Y/N…” He trails off. 

“See! You can’t even defend yourself, you know i’m right,” 

“They had a perfectly good reason,” He tries to reason.

“And what reason was that? You didn’t get the proper drugs or wasn’t there enough cash?” I’m fully crying now. 

“They wanted to use you, dammit Y/N” Shawn runs a hand through his brown locks. I freeze. 

“What?” my voice sounds small, a faint chill creeping in from the open window. 

Slowly Shawn removes the fabric. More bruises appear on the once milky skin of his jaw. 

“They wanted to use you as bait for the drug lord in the west of the city,” His eyes flick up to mine, darkness swirls in the inkiness of them. “I told them over my dead body would they ever lay a fucking hand on you,” Tears continue to spring from my eyes at Shawn’s revelation. 

“Of course, lets just say they didn’t like my language nor defiance and this is what happened,” he shrugs his shoulders as though nothing happened.

I sniffle, trying to stop the tears. Gosh, it made me seem so weak in front of him. 

“I don’t know what to say,” I manage. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I have everything covered,” I don’t believe him. They hit him because he wouldn’t let them use me, I was his soft spot. What if they used me again against him? I couldn’t bare to see Shawn do something terrible just to save me. 

Wiping my eyes, I stand up taller, trying to remove all emotion from my face. Seeing Shawn standing there though, tall and handsome, I felt my stomach knot with what I was about to do. 

“When people first saw us together, in public,” I begin, my eyes never leaving his. “They thought I was crazy. They told me you were no good for me,” I let out a weak chuckle. “I’m.. I’m beginning to think that they’re right,” I can’t look at him in the face anymore. 

“I don’t want to be with you anymore, not like this,” I whisper. My body slightly slumps and I want to cry all over again. 

“No,” Shawn says. My head snaps up.

“What do you mean no? I’m breaking up with you Shawn- you can’t just say no,” I say, my eyes narrowing.

“I know what you’re doing.” A small part of me is filled with joy that he didn’t agree to break up. “You think that by us splitting up is going to make them stop coming after you to get back at me or to make me comply. It doesn’t work that way sweetheart,” He smirks at me, his confidence rolling off him in waves. Now I knew why he was such a valued member in the gang. He could keep his cool in just about any situation. 

“You can leave me but that doesn’t mean I just magically stop loving you.” Shawn takes a step forward, cautious that I might run off. When I don’t, he takes a few more until the tips of his shoes are inches from my sock covered feet.

“And maybe they’re right. Maybe I am no good for you. But honestly, does it matter? The best moments in my life have been moments spent with you and if you think for one goddamn second that I’m going to let you slip through my fingers, you’re wrong. I will do anything to protect you- anything. I don’t care what they do to me, I love you and I’m staying with you till I die baby,” 

I grin, “Staying in the gang might bring that day closer,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaving a kiss to his bruised jaw as I felt a chuckle vibrate through his body. 

“I only have 6 months left then I’m out. Then its just you, me and the open road, we can go anywhere. We could start a family!” excitement fills his eyes and I giggle tugging him towards the bed, watching as he slips off his shoes.

“We have to get through right now first,” He slides out his jeans and grabs my hand, tugging me back to him. 

“We will, trust me,” He says. The smile on his face is so certain that can’t help but forget my worries. 

“I love you,” Shawn says, kissing me softly.

“I love you more,” I say as I pull back and tug him towards the bed.

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah,” I ask moving the covers so he can slip in next to me. 

“Never break up with me again,”


For You

Desc: Kai wants to open up about your relationship to the others, but you’re scared it will only backfire and wound up hurting him.

Fluff, kisses, etc.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There was a rasp of knuckles against the glass window pane, and an unmistakable smile winked out at you in the darkness as you tiptoed towards the source. You grabbed at the wooden frame, sliding the window up and cocking your head silently at a mischievous looking Kai Parker. It was two in the morning and he was alert and awake as ever, wearing a jean jacket over an old tee with black skinnies, his dark converse covered in the dirt from your garden. He giggled with contempt when met with your exasperated expression, to which you shushed him with a signal of your finger to your lips. He rolled his eyes and extended his arm for a hand, even though he was very capable of getting in without your help.

“What are you doing here?” you said, closing the window after him and quickly shutting your bedroom door.

“Cute room,” he ignored you, looking at the white walls covered in a patchwork of photos and glowing string lights.

“Kai,” you urged.

“Is it so bad for me to want to see you?” he pouted with false sadness, lower lip jutting out as he gave you those blue puppy eyes.

“I thought we agreed on no more midnight visits,” you whispered, leaning your back against the door.

“It’s not midnight, it’s two in the morning, you’re welcome,” he winked.

You ran your hands across your face with an agitated shake of your head.

“Plus,” he winked, “I like coming now, when you look really cute in your pj’s.”

You dropped your hands and gave a snort at yourself, looking over your clothes; oversized white sweatshirt, battered blue knee socks that stretched up your legs, and a messy pony that stuck out here and there.

“You do, princess” he insisted, stepping closer, the distance of your bodies clearly bothering him. He pulled you in gently by the wrists, lips planting to your forehead before he brought his arms slinking back around your waistline.

“Kai,” you bit at the inside of your cheek, “you do remember I’m living with Elena, right? As in, Elena Gilbert who hates your guts? If she or anyone else finds out about us, can you imagine what that would get me into?!”

Kai’s plump lips spread into that familiar smirk, dimples lighting his cheeks, “so there’s an us?”

You rolled your eyes, but seeing Kai flash a patient and goofy smile, chuckled in defeat, “Yes, okay, fine, there’s an us.” But…I,” your smile faltered as you pieced together a troubling thought.

“What?” Kai said with sudden worry, “tell me.” He closed the gap between your bodies, knuckles coming up to stroke your cheek lightly.

“I love what we have, Kai. And I don’t want to lose it, but if we get caught…” you trailed off.

Kai froze, his expression going serious, blue eyes saddening,”Y/N.”

“Yeah?” you raised your head, eyes meeting with his, which he promptly pulled away, his jaw pulsating lightly.

“Answer me honestly,” he whispered to the wooden floor.

You nodded, trying to catch his gaze to no prevail.

“Are you embarrassed to be with me?” he said quietly.

Your eyebrows drew together in surprise, lips tilting down, “what?”

Kai’s expression was pained as he flickered his attention back up to you, “honestly,” he said again.

“No, no,” of course not,” you murmured, fingers coming up to graze his stubble and tilt his set jaw back up to your eyes. “Why would you say that?”

He sighed and chewed at his lower lip, releasing his hold around you.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he sighed, voice low. “But I’m not ashamed of ‘what we have here,’ and clearly you are since we’ve been playing this game for weeks.”

You closed your eyes and turned away, pacing lightly as you formulated your next words.

“It’s not like that, Kai,” you breathed lamely.

“So then what? Why do we sneak around like this all the time, I-I hate it,” he stammered, shaking his head.

You stopped in your tracks, feet planting to the ground. You raised your head, and in the reflection of the glass window you could see Kai staring at you, blue eyes glistening and slender fingers twisting at his silver rings with worry.

“I want to…” he trailed off softly, his bright eyes meeting yours in the reflection.

“Want to what?” you stood your ground, heart hammering away.

“I want to hold your hand,” Kai whispered, approaching you from behind, his fingertips coming to graze lightly against yours, sending electricity through your blood.

“I want to tell you how beautiful you are,” he flushed rose, tracing a pattern against your opened palms.

“I want to bring you flowers,” he said, swishing his hand and plucking a yellow dandelion from the air before pushing your hair softly back to tuck it snugly behind your ear.

He stepped around to stand in front of you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks as he held your face in his hold, eyes darting over your features as you breathed in a shaky breath and lost yourself in his soft aroma of pines and spice.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, brushing his parted lips on the tip of your nose.

“I want to do all these things with you all the time, without having to feel scared, without having to hide how much I love you,” he said. “Because I do love you, with every beat of my dead heart, I love you.”

He stared at you, gaze intense, waiting for a response, but your words seemed frozen in your throat. He dropped his hands, taking a step back with a gulp, “but if you don’t feel like that…”

“I do,” you cut him off, taking him by the wrists and bringing him back to you. “I’m not scared to be caught because I’m scared of what people will think of me, I’m scared to get caught because I’m scared of what they’ll think of you. I couldn’t care less about judgement against myself, but if they found out, do you think they would be happy for us? I’m supposed to be ‘the good one’ you know, the one who always does the right thing, and you’re-”

“The psychopath,” he finished quietly.

“No, but you’re not,” you said, tilting his face to yours when he tried to turn. “You were outcast for something you couldn’t control, so you put these walls up because nobody would let you in. But I did. I saw a boy who was abandoned and abused to the point where no one could see him for what he was; the most clever, witty, charming, and compassionate guy I’ve had the privilege of falling in love with. But they don’t see that, and I hate it. I hate it because it means they would think you were a bad influence, because they would try and take you away from me, or hurt you, and I don’t ever want to think of a life without you in it, Malachai Parker.”

His lips trembled, tears escaping from his eyes and rolling across his sculpted cheeks.

“You love me?” he murmured, almost barely audibly, as if the thought alone was unbelievable to him.

You bounced onto your tip toes, catching his tears with little kisses before planting your lips softly against his own.

“With all my heart,” you smiled softly.

Kai smiled faintly, unable to speak as he practically flew into your arms, wrapping you in his embrace, arms firm around you as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, his hands gently pulling through your locks, cool rings brushing against your flesh.

“What’s wrong?” you said into his skin, eyes closed.

“I’m happy,” he assured, “I just don’t know how to show you how thankful I am.”

“For what?” you said, brushing your lips against his jaw.

“For you,” he said.

You blushed furiously and pecked him on the lips, “you can start by being my boyfriend.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiled against your mouth.

“You sure? I didn’t scare you off just now?” you asked.

“I’m sure,” he said, squishing his nose against yours. “I’d do it all for you.”

Every now and then I remember structural adjustment policies and the impoverishment of the third world and then I get REAL mad

Steve Rogers/Captain America - Avid Reader

You love to read and everyone knows it and they often give you new books to read or come to you for opinions on books to read. One person who gives you books more often than anyone else is Steve, he’s always bringing you new books and asking you to recommend books to him. One day, he comes to you and tells you that he has a surprise for you.

Steve x Reader

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rainy day study aesthetic

> Slytherin

light drizzle, foggy window pane, studying with your best friend in a secluded alcove of the castle, bulky sweaters, distracted glances, dark mocha lattes, squinting at tiny text, notebooks with neat bullet points, the gentle purr from your cat cuddled against your hip, witty remarks about past lectures, looking over questions from old exams handed down by an upperclassman, exchanging notes to see if either of you missed any details

> Ravenclaw

heavy downpour, low rumble of thunder, kneeling on the floor at the coffee table in the common room, sweeping loose hair behind your ear, hot cup of tea, rereading sections of the textbook, sliding glasses up the bridge of your nose, underling key points, writing notes in the margins, a semicircle of empty mugs enclosing your study area, lots of leaning back and sighing in deep frustration, scoffing when a classmate asks if “so and so” will be on the test because the hell if you know

Change Your Mind || Part 2

Synopsis: Jimin is finally returning home to Busan after a few years of college. His friend, Jungkook, tags along as well. Rather than being interested in the new sights, he finds his eyes following Jimin’s old friend- you.

Originally posted by baebsaes

Pairing: Jimin x Reader x Jungkook // (childhoodFriend!AU)

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 6334

SERIES: Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || FINAL

Includes: alcohol, fingering, & blowjob

A/N: i can officially declare that this series is the most basic thing i have ever written.

The next day comes by within a dream and the second sunlight rolls past the window pane of the kitchen Jimin calls you and proposes that you three hit the club for once instead of staying locked in his room to engage in more mindless video game playing. The thought of sweaty bodies drunkenly bumping into one another on the dance floor near other couples whose lips are attached makes you cringe. You would rather be lounging in the comfort of your cozy apartment while binge watching your new favorite show on Netflix, but Jungkook’s child like begs through the telephone line makes you give in.

That’s the first you exchange words with Jimin since you stepped foot out of his house. Last night when you bursted through the door, face too pink and being too flustered. He was confused and spammed your phone, but you ignored every second of it. You then realized how much of a kid you were acting so you finally picked up this morning.

You spend your day binge watching that show, losing track of time and is left with a mere twenty minutes to get ready. You change out of your grey sweats and white shirt and hop into a little black dress that rests right above your knee, hugging your figure as if it is made for you. After the swish of your waterproof mascara that follows the whole makeup routine, Jimin calls you to let you know that they’re both outside your apartment. You hear the constant blare of the car honk that is capable of leaving your neighbors bitter. Grabbing your bag and slipping on your pair of nude heels, you shut the door and see their smug grins plastered on their faces. Jungkook is still pressing the honk with a grin and you slide inside their vehicle in hopes of them stopping. Luckily, they do and he manages to press the metal to the pedal and bounce the moment one of the neighbors step out of their own apartment.

After you greet them with an awkward ‘hello’ and a forced tug of your lips, you scoot yourself to the very right corner of the backseat and divert your attention out the window, gawking at the city lights that illuminate the shadows of the night. The pleasing sound of the car radio is broken after ten minutes when Jimin clears his throat. “So-” he locks gazes with yours from the side mirror- “you still never answered my question from last night.”

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I am still awash in feelings about that sad girl leaning her forehead on the window pane at the door. And ‘cause I’m evil and left to wallow in my angst, I am left imagining Emma leaving that light on all night. So here. Let me share the pain.


She gets ready for bed and grabs her phone as she crawls beneath the blankets. Sends him a quick text message, ‘just hope you’re all right.’

She sleeps fitfully, waking at 2 am to find the bed still empty and her phone screen with no return messages. When it’s then sunrise and there is no pirate tiptoeing quietly across the hardwood floors? That’s when it sinks in that he hasn’t come home.

She doesn’t want to believe he’s not coming back, but she flashes unwillingly to those first couple nights in prison and how certain she was Neal would come from her.

And she can’t do it again.

Emma shuffles from bed and down the stairs, wrapping a cardigan around her as she goes. She heads straight for the switch plate, but her hand pauses when she reaches for the switch. But her quick glance outside, to the undisturbed snow that runs up their stairs, confirms what she’s feared. So she presses on the switch and rights the curtain before heading to the kitchen.

Coffee. She’s going to need a lot of coffee.