worn out t shirt

Wanna park and act like an a**hole? Enjoy paying thousands.

Years ago, I worked as a security officer in a high-traffic tourist area (graveyard shift).

One of my responsibilities was to make sure my building’s loading/unloading zone is kept clear because at all hours of the day we’ve got vehicles coming and going for people going to meetings, visitors, tourists, cabs, etc. The curb is painted white and marked in big bold letters ✶ LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY ✶ NO PARKING ✶. At the end of the zone there was a single handicap parking stall painted bright blue.

Now the building I worked at was nearby a few large night clubs, so every Friday and Saturday the area would be crazy busy with drunken fighting, vomiting, occasional alleyway sex, etc. All night long there’d be cute girls milling around in skimpy outfits, so the job had its perks too.

Clubbers would take advantage of my building’s valet parking service and pay to park in our garage before heading out to one of the clubs across the street.

Some clubbers would think they could get away with parking in our loading zone all night. My coworkers and I would aggressively patrol the area in the earlier evening hours and advise as many people as we could so they’d leave and avoid getting a ticket. It was also better for us if they left, because when there were too many vehicles parked out front, traffic would become a complete clusterf*ck regardless of the time of day.

Most people would be grateful for the information and leave. Occasionally, some douche would laugh in our faces, say something about pigs or rent-a-cops or whatever and leave their car anyway. In those cases, we’d call our city’s parking enforcement and they’d get a $90 ticket for their troubles.

One Saturday night, after finished a round of patrols, I went to take a leak. On my way back out, I walked past Dispatch and my buddy calls me over to the surveillance bank.

“Hey bro, you got one out front.”

I turned to the grainy feed just in time to see a piece-of-junk ‘97 BMW sloppily parking in front of our building. I murmured that I’d go out and advise the driver, but before I could leave, the driver exited his vehicle.

My buddy and I watched in silence as the driver, a young black male adorned with flashy cheap bling, hiked his pants up at the crotch and blocked the path of a couple girls walking by. He started hitting on them in the slimiest way possible, even trying to grab their hands and asses at one point, staring shamelessly at their tits while he was schmoozing them. He took out his phone and shoved it at them, presumably asking for their numbers.

Eventually the girls were able to dodge his grabbers and ran off toward the club across the street. He repeated this routine several more times with various groups of girls walking by, even taking out a small bottle of vodka from his back pocket and offering swigs. With each rejection, he’d get angry and presumably cuss out the girls as they hurried off (our cameras didn’t pick up audio but this seemed a reasonable assumption).

I sighed and looked at my buddy.

“Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him.”

I made my way out to the front and approached him just as another group of girls ducked away from him. I called out to him. He turned and stared at me blankly.

“Hey, man, just wanted to let you know that this zone is for loading and unloading. Normally it’s not a big deal to park for a bit but if everyone does it on the weekends, traffic gets backed up pretty bad here.”

The douche looked at his vehicle, then at my badge.

“F*CKYOUB*TCHASSN☻☻☻☻I'LLF*CKYOUUP. PIGASSWANNABECOPMOTHAF*CKA.”

I looked at my watch. It was about 10:30PM. I continued my spiel.

“Parking enforcement here is pretty strict. You should move your vehicle or you might get ticketed–”

“F*CKYOUN☻☻☻☻SUCKMYD*CK. BETTERNOTTOUCHMYSHITN☻☻☻☻ILLF*CKYOUUPN☻☻☻☻.”

“Have a good night sir.”

He flipped me off and went across the street, where he was promptly denied entry for dress code violations. He cussed out the bouncer and wandered off down the block. I walked over to his vehicle and saw that it was parked crooked, the rear of the vehicle partially blocking the lane of traffic. Half of his vehicle was in the white zone, the other in the blue zone. I key’d up my radio.

“8million to dispatch.”

“8million, go ahead.”

“Can you call parking enforcement for this vehicle? Lemme know when you’re ready for the plate.”

Fifteen minutes later, the parking officer arrived. He looked at the vehicle and promptly issued a $90 ticket for parking in the white zone and a $900 ticket for parking in the blue zone without a permit.

I thanked the officer and went back inside to have a snack.

A couple hours later, two of the local cops stopped by to say hi. As Officer Morris and his partner walked over, Dispatch radio’d me.

“Hey 8million, is that Jones and Morris?”

“Sure is.”

“You gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”

“Yep.”

Officer Jones and I lit up our cigarettes as Officer Morris looked on disapprovingly. We all smoked and chatted for a bit, then I casually motioned over my shoulder at the BMW.

“Hey, Jones, check out the parking job on that piece of shit.”

We all walked over to the corner and looked at the vehicle, the two tickets stuck on the windshield flapping in the wind. Officer Morris grabbed one of the tickets, read it over and looked at me.

“What’s the story here?”

I told them what happened and the driver’s response. Officer Jones and Morris looked at each other.

“8million, you got the time?”

“Yeah, it’s… 12:27AM.”

“Well it’s a whole new day now isn’t it?”

Officer Morris proceeded to write another $90 ticket for the white zone, then another $900 ticket for the blue zone. He paused for a moment after finishing the second one.

“Hey Jones, looks like this vehicle is parked more than twelve inches from the curb. What do you think?”

“Sounds about right.”

Officer Morris wrote another ticket for $120 and slapped it on the pile of tickets on the windshield. I shook both officer’s hands and they left to continue their patrols.

The next few hours of my shift went by fairly quickly. Around 5AM, Dispatch scared the hell out of me.

“HEY 8MILLION, ARE YOU STILL ON THAT CALL?”

“Negative, I just finished clearing it.”

“RESPOND TO DISPATCH ASAP.”

I ran down to the surveillance bank, where my coworkers were all gathered and laughing their asses off. Sunday was street cleaning day and the BMW was getting ticketed again by parking enforcement.

After that, we all stopped by Dispatch every 5-10 minutes to see if the owner had returned. Finally, at about 6AM, douchebag came stumbling up the block, looking completely worn out. His formerly-white t-shirt was stained and dirty and it looked like he’d lost at least one fight.

We watched in suspense as he looked at the pile of tickets crammed together on his windshield and slowly removed them. He stood there, pants sagging below his knees, shuffling through each ticket as if he were a toddler with a handful of Pokémon cards.

With a look of abject defeat on his face, he got into his vehicle and drove off. The whole room erupted in laughter and high-fives.

As the laughter died down, I picked up the office phone and started dialing. My coworkers eyed me curiously. I put the call on speaker just as the call connected.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“Yeah, hi, I’d like to report a possible drunk driver. I have the vehicle and driver description when you’re ready.”

for you pt. 7 [m]

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Badboy!Taehyung, angst

Word Count: 5.3k

Originally posted by vminv

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Six Months Later

You walked down the hallway of the academic building slowly, the weight of the paper in your bag causing you to drag your feet. Each footstep bringing more and more uncertainty about the next chapter of your life. You noticed that the door to your professor’s office was locked, and a small sigh of relief escaped your lips.

You didn’t want to have to explain to him how all your interviews had turned to dead ends. You didn’t want to have to explain how you were still going to be stuck in this town. Stuck in the memories of the past year when all you wanted to do was move forward. There was nothing that you wanted more than leaving. If he could leave, so could you. But instead you had gotten hired at the coffee shop in which you first met him. Left to repeat the same memories over and over again.

And as you left the building for the last time, you didn’t feel any different. The emptiness that had filled your chest the day he left was still there. You held your phone up to your ear, the familiar number having been dialed like clockwork. “We are sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.” seared through your ears after the first dial tone.

You kicked at a rock while waiting to cross the street. There was no reason for you to continue to call that number. But there was still a large part of you that hoped he would come back. That when you called his voice would saying hello on the other end. But no one had heard from him. Not you. Not the boys. It was like he had erased himself from your universe.

Taehyung crept into your mind during your most vulnerable moments. Like when the sun hit your skin in the middle of the afternoon, reminding you of the hours you would spend sitting next to him in the front seat of his car. Driving the two of you around while blasting old music and singing along so out of tune that everyone else would stare at you from their cars.

You missed him when you couldn’t get a jar open, not because he was strong enough to open them. But because you would hunch over in fits of laughter as you watched him turn red in the face while trying to open it. He wasn’t much of a muscle pig, but you thought his effort was the cutest.

He was in the worn out t-shirt hidden in the back of your closet. A piece of clothing you didn’t know you had until your nose caught the smell of his cologne the first time Mina came over to your apartment to do your laundry since you hadn’t left your bed in weeks. You had her put it down, worried that if she held it for too long you would forget what he smelled like when he held you.

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spd tony stark who can’t focus with the visual stimulus of pepper’s desk toy, who invents a spectacular holographic display to avoid the textures/sounds of paper & pencil, who wears sunglasses every time he has to face the media + the flashes of their cameras, who blasts music in his workshop to drown out any grating machinery noises, who stims by fidgeting and tapping at the arc reactor, who wears the most worn out t-shirts when he’s alone because they’re soft and who wears the most expensive suits when he must because they’re the most comfortable when they’re custom-made, who spent years self medicating with alcohol to dull his senses and having a ton of sex to drown his nerves in positive feedback

Red Fire (Crowley x Reader x Lucifer) - One Shot Smut

Originally posted by crowleysloverr


Originally posted by lucifersagents

Summary: You’re Crowley’s personal, little pet and you enjoy every second of it. But when you hear that a more powerful creature is held prison by Crowley, you decide it’s time to move up on the ladder.

A/N: This is just 4000 words of pure, filthy porn but I regret nothing. Set in S12 E15

Tags: @socktrollqueen @tori-supernatural @karlamoriarty

Warnings: SMUT, So much smut everywhere, Explicit Language, Pet Play, Blow Job, Facial, Threesome, Double Penetration, Anal.

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“My son went to Goodwill today to find some work clothes… He made the following observations and took action… I am proud of My Son for his efforts to his fellow man:

Ryan Muncy What seems like a fitting place to post this as this is my question to you goodwill industries.
What are you doing for others?
I was just in one of your stores and was witness to a def, mute boy who had a clothing voucher
This boy had an aid worker with him he had just been dropped off by his parents at a shelter with the clothing he had on .
jeans that looked to be too small, no socks some worn out shoes, and a food stained t shirt .your employee took the time to explain to the aid worker that the jeans he had picked out from your store the t shirt he had picked out and 2 sweatshirts were not covered by the clothing voucher because of the color of the tags on these items also the boots he had picked out that were some worn Stanley workboots that were priced at 17.99 they arent even $30 new by the way were not covered by the voucher as you might imagine a person who can’t really hear and can’t speak takes the time to pick things out just to have an employee at your store tell his aid worker he can’t have these things he was obviously in need ,isn’t this what you are here for ,to help people in need.
I find it shameful that your store a non for profit that sells donated items cannot help someone like this boy so instead I bought him the shirts and the jeans I spent a grand total of 21.69 and that is the last money I will ever spend in a goodwill store your CEO can make bonuses bigger then my years salary but you can’t even afford to help a kid with some donated clothing shame on you and shame on your employees.
And just so you know I will be posting something similar to this on my Facebook wall I wonder how long it will be before enough people see this one story and begin to feel the same way I now do toward your stores ,your company, and your upper management.” i hate this so much. what the fucks up goodwill??

“Walt Disney was just a regular guy. He would wear a worn-out white t-shirt. Most of the time he just sat on a stool and watched. He never said, ‘You’re great!’ or ‘You’re lousy!’ But if there was something that I didn’t do correctly, he’d tell me or have one of his animators tell me.

“One of the lines [I had a lot of trouble with] was, ‘Grumpy. I didn’t know you cared’. I couldn’t get the DNT at the end of ’didn’t’. I would say ‘din’. We rehearsed this thing over and over again, and Walt said, ‘Listen, you’re going to have to put this thing in there’. So I tried again – fine in rehearsal, and then came the take. I still got it wrong. Walt said, 'Oh, the hell with it…’ And it’s still there!”

– Adriana Caselotti, the voice of Walt Disney’s Snow White

I wrote a thing:

The apartment is far too quiet when Justin finally gets home.

Adam always makes it home first, when they work on the same day, and he’s usually in the kitchen making dinner, or singing along to something in the living room, or perched precariously on the table in the front hall, waiting to tell Justin all about his day.

All of the lights are still off, and Justin heads blindly in the direction of the living room, brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and worry.

He lets out a breath of relief when he sees Adam’s head poking over the back of the couch.

Justin flips on the floor lamp just past the doorway and walks around the couch.

Adam doesn’t move. He’s pulled his feet up onto the couch, and is hunched over his emergency pint of ice cream, glaring at the opposite wall silently. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but he’s still wearing his dress pants and button up shirt.

His suit jacket is on the floor in front of Justin, and Justin picks it up, placing it over the back of the couch before settling himself down on the middle cushion, close enough that he’ll be able to touch Adam if Adam wants, but far enough to maintain a bit of space in case he doesn’t.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Adam doesn’t say anything, instead shoving a spoonful of vanilla and cookie dough into his mouth.

“Rough day?” Justin continues.

Adam shrugs, keeping his gaze firmly on the opposite wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Justin offers.

“No,” Adam says, as though  that question had been particularly stupid.

“Okay,” Justin says, shrugging and ducking his head to hide his fond smile.

Grouchy-Adam is kind of adorable, but Grouchy-Adam definitely does not appreciate having that pointed out.

“Can I sit with you?” Justin asks.

Sometimes Adam finds cuddling helpful; other times he needs to be alone, and will come find Justin whenever he’s ready.

This time, Adam shrugs again, and lifts a corner of his blanket.

Justin stops trying to hide his smile as he shifts to settle himself under Adam’s arm, pressed up against his side.

Adam wraps his arm tightly around Justin’s shoulders, bringing the blanket with him. It’s too small to adequately cover them both, but Justin figures it’s more for comfort than warmth at this point.

“Want to watch something?” Justin asks.

Adam shrugs again, jostling Justin’s head where it’s resting against his shoulder, and Justin wiggles out from under his arm to go grab Adam’s laptop from the bedroom. He impulsively grabs a pair of sweatpants and an old, worn t-shirt as well, then heads back out.

“Do you want to get changed?” Justin asks, “I’ll order something for dinner.”

Adam nods, face still pulled downward into a frown, but he’s glaring slightly less so Justin will count it as a win.

He passes over the change of clothes, and gets the laptop set up, sending off an order for pizza, then pulling up a random episode of 30 Rock.

Adam settles down next to him just as he’s pressing play, and leans his head on Justin’s shoulder, picking his ice cream back up.

“You’re not going to have any room for pizza,” Justin test-chirps him, half-holding his breath while he waits for a response.

Adam snorts something that could be considered a precursor to a laugh and Justin relaxes.

“I’m a giant,” Adam grumbles, “I can eat as much as I want.”

“You’re only two inches bigger than me,” Justin points out.

“And those two inches are entirely ice cream.” Adam shoots back.

“As a medical professional, I’m going to have to disagree,” Justin says.

“Well as an ice cream professional, I think I’m the authority here,” Adam says, eating another spoonful for good measure.

Justin is about to respond, but suddenly there’s a spoon shoved in his face and he has no choice but to join Adam in ruining their dinner.

Being grown ups sucks, like, most of the time, but being able to eat ice cream for dinner definitely helps.

“Does this mean I’m going to grow two inches?” Justin asks, stealing another bite that Adam definitely intended for himself.

“In your dreams,” Adam huffs.

They settle into comfortable silence, only broken by the arrival of the pizza, which they still manage to eat most of.

By the time they head to bed, overly full, and still wrapped around each other in their blanket, Adam seems nearly back to normal.

“Hey,” Adam says, as they crawl into bed, getting their limbs tangled in the most comfortable way possible, “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Justin tells him.

Adam falls asleep with a tiny, almost invisible smile.

———-

Important notes about the thing:
1) I feel like we, as a fandom do not do enough with the fact that Holster is canonically the most giant grump on the face of the Earth. (Except for maybe Jack, but that argument was never resolved to my satisfaction)
2) No, this has no plot. I didn’t even try, tbh.
3) This could kind of take place in the nebulous future where they live together and somehow got together and Ransom still refers to himself as a medical professional (whether or not he is one)
3) I had more things to say before I got home. I may remember them later and add them in.

She Tastes like Candlelight 

MSR

Explicit 

It starts with, of all things, a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.

Logically, he knows it doesn’t make sense. She comes to work in form-fitted jackets that go tight about her waist. She’s been foregoing the baggy slacks in favor of skirts that stop just below the knees, with nylons clinging to the defined musculature of her calves; he’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her wear shoes other than heels, excluding the clinical, white shoes she wears with her scrubs during autopsies.

He’s seen the looks she gets. Sometimes, it’s during an interview, when a witness’s gaze will linger just a little too long on her bustline, and her hand will go up and fiddle with her necklace, her arm blocking her chest in subtle defiance. Other times, it’s men on the streets of the city, shouting out obscenities to her, having the audacity to call her “baby,” and “sweetheart,” and he fights the urge to yell right back, brandishing his badge and his gun, wanting to scare the misogyny right out of the bones of anyone who thinks they’re entitled to her body, but he knows that she would find it condescending. “Thank you, but I can handle myself, Mulder,” she’d say, and it’s not that he thinks she can’t—he just doesn’t want her to have to.

And still other times, the looks come not from strangers on the sidewalk, or from people he can reduce to photos in a casefile, but from their peers. Educated, talented men who transform themselves into slobbery, teenage boys when sitting adjacent to her in meetings, eyeing her with an inappropriate hunger while she jots down notes in the margins of her agenda sheet. More than once, Mulder has found himself in the elevator with a man who will look down at Scully, and then catch Mulder’s eye over the top of her head, just so that he can wink, including him in some inside joke he has no interest being a part of.

He supposes that he empirically knows that Scully is attractive—it’s more or less objective fact—but he’s never allowed himself to notice. He’s trained himself to observe her through a filter. He considers her appearance through what he aptly names the Sexual Harassment Video Gaze. He quickly shuts down any thought that could be used as an example in a training tape on inappropriate office behavior.

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Just Marauder Things

James: Worn cotton t-shirts fresh out of the dryer; back scratches; sliding in socks on slick hardwood floors; the sudden sleepiness coming from eating too much food; the smell of sulfur from fireworks; singing at the top of your lungs in the car; air guitars; cracking jokes to break the ice; snapping; accidentally biting your tongue; spinning around with your arms out; hot, buttery popcorn; victory dances; knuckle biting; whispers that are a little too loud; trying to tell a joke but laughing too hard to deliver the punch line; laughter so intense it draws tears; smiles that crinkle your eyes at the corners; driving with all the windows down; slight breezes; backwards baseball caps; popping the joints of your spine; the underlying smell of sweat; deep collarbones; high fives that leave your hands red and stinging; nose crinkling; goofy faces; over exaggerated yawns; hidden freckles; endearing dimples; scrapes; getting over zealous during a game of monopoly; whispering during movies; repressed laughter; the pain in your abdomen when you can’t stop laughing; warm hugs; sincerity; sleeping au naturale; muddy converse; flannel shirts; the smell of sandalwood; milk moustaches; hip squeezes; daydreaming

Sirius: the tacky feel of leather on a warm day; bruised knuckles; the urge to keep poking at a bruise even though it hurts; lip biting; protective hugs; cold, rainy days; lingering sneezes; smirks with half lidded eyes; cracking your knuckles; tapping your fingers; your hair tickling the back of your neck; the smell of a new car; callused hands; the overwhelming urge to dance; soft chuckles; groggy delirium when you first wake up from a nap; passionate arguments; air conditioning on a sweltering day; back muscles to die for; the cold side of the pillow; nail biting; biting on a lollipop instead of sucking; scuffed boots; the power that comes from standing tall and crossing your arms; rough hands and long fingers perfect for flipping someone off; folding the corner of a page to keep your place in a book; classic rock; falling asleep on an airplane; unsweetened ice tea; platonic kisses; walking with your chin level to the ground; running hugs; hugs where you’re swept off of your feet; scratchy, hoarse voices; handsomely scruffy faces; eyebrow piercings; lazing around the house in a towel for hours on end; cards against humanity; superstitious precautions; tangled earphones; whistling through the halls; butt slaps

Remus: Mumford and Sons; cat hair everywhere; the smell of chocolate and cinnamon; waffles in the morning; sleepy smiles; soft laughter; wholehearted hugs; broad shoulders; kind eyes; gentle let downs; shutting down during an argument; exasperated sighs; crisp smell of a new book; lingering touches; the feeling of cashmere; a glass of warm milk before bed; taking notes during class then rewriting them later so that they’re neater; eye rolls; sassy comebacks in a sotto voice; hardly ever wearing jeans; tired shadows under your eyes; Polaroid pictures; rock ballads; staying inside warm in bed when it’s cold and cloudy outside; reading a book before bed; barely being able to keep your eyes open because of how tired you are; really long, natural eyelashes; resting bitch faces; not-so-good posture; coffee with too much cream; keeping your closet light on at night; wooden spiral staircases; sliding on the banister; nonchalance; sparks fluttering off the flames of a bonfire; sand between your toes; the newfound feeling of warmth a tan brings your skin; riding a bike through town; post offices; carpet burns; coffee stains; writing crammed into the corner of a page; the shock in your feet when you sprint

Peter: tears; pain; suffering; ugliness; betraying your best friends; disgust; nausea; death

Is Bed Sharing Altruistic?

Part One of the Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt

In a rare twist of fate, Castiel was actually in the same vicinity as the Winchesters when another mass hunter’s gathering was announced. Evidently other hunters had no problem with networking. According to Mary, the gatherings happened at least once a month, with plenty of hunting tips, advice for hospitals that would look the other way with injuries and, more importantly, plenty of free beer.

While Dean still preferred to keep his distance, Sam rather enjoyed the few gatherings they’d manage to attend. In part because the guy geeked out over any transfer of knowledge, and in part because a certain Eileen was often present as well.

“Besides,” Sam argued as he packed his duffel, “It would be nice for other people to meet Cas for a change, being an angel and all.”

Dean glared. Sam had a good point. “Fine,” he muttered, before turning to Cas, who merely watched their conversation with confusion, “But we’re going to get you in some new clothes before we go.”

“Why?” Castiel tilted his head, protectively brushing his white and blue striped tie.

“Cuz we want you to come off as relatable,” Dean rolled his eyes, “And you aren’t doin’ that looking like an accountant. So.” He gestured vaguely with his hands in an attempt to make his point.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with something to say before meekly poking his head into Sam’s closet instead. Sam chuckled, setting down a shirt he was folding. “You’ll have better luck wearing Dean’s stuff.”

With a very serious expression, Castiel emerged from the closet with a nod and wordlessly made his way into Dean’s room.

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GOT7 accidentally finding lingerie in your (as gf) closet

[A/N: hello @amazzjin, I’m terribly sorry about how late this is… But thanks to all for 2.5k! Always grateful for your guys’ love + support <33 ]

Jaebum: He’s walking past your closet when a bright red fabric sticking out of a drawer catches his eye. Later that night, after dinner, you ask, “so what do you wanna do tonight? Watch a movie? Play Monopoly?” He replies, “How about you explain this to me?” As he holds up the crimson lace thong you bought a few months ago. Your faces turns as red as the thong and he says, “Wanna go put this on for me?” with a smirk and that look in his eyes. 

Mark: You’re trying to find a good outfit for a party next week and you’re asking Mark to help you pick. You’re skimming through the dresses you have hanging in your closet and Mark is watching closely to see what catches his eye. You skim past all your dresses and accidentally reveal the baby pink lingerie set you have hidden in the back. “What’s this?” Mark asks curiously. He slides back the dresses to take a closer look. He laughs a little when he sees what you were hiding, but approaches you and lightly kisses your forehead. “Don’t be embarrassed, y/n, it’s cute. But it would look a lot cuter on you.” He looks into your eyes and winks with a smirk.

Jackson: You and Jackson are finding a matching outfit to wear to a party and he comes across your black lace bra hanging nearby his shirts. Being the comical person he is, he puts it on when you’re not looking and says, “Y/n, I’m going to wear this, what do you think?” You turn around and burst out laughing at his “outfit”. You’re so busy laughing that you’re not even embarrassed that he found your lingerie.

Jinyoung: He arrives home early one day and instantly heads to the bathroom to take a shower. On his way to the bathroom, a glittery silver fabric reflecting light from inside your closet catches his eye. He walks toward it to get a closer look. When he sees that it’s lingerie, he laughs a little to himself but leaves. He doesn’t bring it up until you do, because he doesn’t want to put you in a weird position (yet ;))

Youngjae: You and Youngjae are cleaning out your closet and he’s sifting through all the drawers for worn out clothes. He’s digging up some old T-shirts of yours and comes across a pair of lingerie you forgot you had bought. “Y/n, what’s this?” He laughs, but not in a mean way. “Oh, that,” you’re clearly embarrassed, so he just hands it to you and doesn’t talk about it any further, to your relief.

Bambam: He’s walking past your closet when a shiny fabric catches his eye. He takes a glance at what he saw and discovers that it’s your satin lingerie set. He takes it out of your drawer and places it on your bed for when you get home along with a note that says, “put this on and wait for me to get back (or else I’ll have to punish you ;))” you can guess what comes next… 

Yugyeom: You asked Yugyeom to grab your favorite pair of sweats from your shared apartment before going to pick you up from your mom’s house. He’s digging through your drawer of pants searching for it and comes across your garter belt which you’ve been saving for an appropriate occasion. Being the young (and somewhat innocent) maknae he is, he has no idea what it is and assumes it’s some scarf or something and doesn’t talk about it.

anonymous asked:

Hi Elise the bright! Have you any headcanon about Grantaire and Éponine being friend?

PLEASE, Grantaire and Eponine being BEST FRIENDS

  • They’re both all about t-shirt bands, worn-out jeans, beanies and fingerless gloves, the matching aesthetics is real
  • Eponine also has the best playlist and Grantaire and she keeps adding stuff to it, it’s just the right mix of angry, mellow, sad and fierce
  • Eponine is such a slytherin friend. Like… she may not do what you’d LIKE but she’ll do what’s NECESSARY to help you. She also bunt and brutally honest when she needs to be, and lord knows Grantaire needs some reality checks from time to time
  • They favourite game is called “Why did the chicken cross the road” aka out-running the cops when they catch them doing street art, or as the cops call it “vadalism”
  • They’re a “I’d help you bury a body in the middle of the night” kind of friendship
  • Friends who apply black nail polish together stay together
Shape of You [Kyle Spencer x Reader]

Warnings: SMUT, alcohol, unprotected sex (remember kiddos, wrap it before you tap it), gross bar & grill bathrooms (pretend this one isn’t gross)

Word Count: 1,301

A/N: Aye I’m back with some Kyle Spencer smut (yes please excuse how ?? it is, all of my smut is like wow?) Surprisingly, I haven’t gotten any smut requests for him, but I needed this in my life, so I wrote it. And quickly, let me fucking share this with you. Like c’mere Eddy, I’ll ride your pony. Just hit me up. Also, the fact didn’t proofread this and it was written at 3:45am might lead to things being a little off.

But seriously, no glove no love. Special circumstances only.

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Can’t help | l.h

Originally posted by 5sospicturesque

Prompt: Loosely based on the song Can’t help falling in love

Word count: 1,829

A/N: So much fluff you might die


I walked in to see her in nothing but my worn out t-shirt and panties. She was jamming out to some weird remix playing on the radio, shouting her made up lyrics off-key. I couldn’t keep in my chuckle as she excitedly rocked her air guitar and whipped her hair like she was a rockstar from the 70s. I made my way to the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her energetic body, making her jump a little.

“Luke. You scared me to death dude.” She breathed, getting tired from her previous “rock show”.

“When will you stop calling your boyfriend dude?” I chuckled, pressing my lips to her sweaty forehead.

“Never.” She poked her tongue out teasingly while running away from my grasp. I shook my head at her childlikeness before rushing towards her, scooping her up and throwing her down onto the couch.

“Alright Titch. I still need to work on some stuff, but I’ll come down soon and help you with dinner okay?” I pecked her pouty lips before walking to my office.

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Laundry - warren x reader

Word count: 1k
Warnings: none

Request: ‘so imagine that warren has a problem with clothes getting too stretched out because   of his wings and clothes just not fitting properly and imagine that the mansion has a community laundry and dry cleaner system with everyone’s names written on the tags of their clothes ,and if someone needs something fixed or altered that’s we’re they go. Now, the reader(who is really quiet and shy) is then only one who manages it because everyone else is too busy to do laundry and Charles asks if someone could help and since she has alot of free time she volunteered. One day she notices that all of Warren’s shirts are either ripped or stretched out from trying to get his wings in them and so she buys him a couple of new shirts that he would like and that would fit him and altered it so that there are slits in the back where his wings would be with snap buttons at the bottom so he can slip his wings in without stretching the shirt and whenever he gets his shirts back he’s just like “oh my God who did this, who cared about me enough to go out of their way like this” and he thinks to himself he has to find this person. So he goes to the laundry room and waits like all day because he really wants to find this person, and when the reader finally walks in they just have a really fluffy moment.’ By @brianabrown4878
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It was laundry day and of course, everyone in the school had to be busy with something. Kurt was catching up in his classes, warren was training (probably just hiding from everyone to be honest), jean was practicing her powers again and almost everyone had some kind of excuse. Y/N was busy packing her laundry down to the laundry room and nearly tripped over some of the other students clothes. She stumbled, catching herself!f and sighed, someone had to do this, and she knew the clothes had their names tagged on them. She wasn’t much of a talker or anything, but found herself sorting everyone’s clothes into piles to do the laundry, since she hasn’t had anything else to do.
  Y/N spent most of the day doing laundry, she had everyone’s clothes put in the baskets and paused when she seen a very worn out Def Leppard T-shirt that belonged to the one and only archangel, warren Worthington III. A small frown appeared on her face, going through his clothes only to notice that almost every shirt was this way. She shook her head, sitting his clothes to the side before fixing her hair and distributing the others clothes back to their rightful owners. She had to do something, she was that kind of person, and her crush on warren didn’t seem to help the fact that she was now walking into Xavier’s office to ask him if she could work the laundry from then on. For Warren, of course. “Sir?” She asked softly as he looked up from the book he was reading, “yes?” He asked, he didn’t read her mind so he didn’t technically know what she wanted. “Today I went to the laundry room and-” “its messy, I’m sorry” Xavier frowned. “-that’s not the problem, but I washed everyone’s clothes and I think I’d like to work the laundry from now on and I need to go get…supplies, do I have permission to leave?” She rocked on the balls of her feet, seeing she was wearing sandals. He nodded.
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  Y/N found herself walking around the mall, checking out the clothes and of course, getting many band t-shirts in Warren’s sizes. Of course she didn’t have to do it, but she did. After she gathered supplies, she headed back to the school to work on fixing his new clothes. She contemplated how it would work, then it came to her mind that his favorite leather jacket had slits in the back! She worked with the clothes, fixing them so they would fit the angel without having to be stretched out. Then, she wrote his name on the tags.
  It was later on that night and she felt extremely tired, but wandered down the halls with the laundry basket of his old clothes to sit them away and replacing them with the new clothes…

  Warren finally had enough time to get his laundry done, he was walking down the halls shirtless, signing to himself. He walked inside, wondering where his old clothes were, only to find the new t-shirts with his name on them. His heart almost stopped, someone actually cared to do this for the angel? Why him? He wasn’t exactly a nice person, he didn’t think he deserved to be treated nicely, but someone had taken time to shop and fix these shirts for… For his wings! Warren’s eyes watered, which was a sight you’d probably never see. He picked up one of the shirts, Metallica. Whoever this person was, must have really thought about the clothes because they were all great and probably expensive too. He looked down for a moment, sitting down and sighing heavily. 'I have to find them, this person needs a huge ass thank you, but they better not tell anyone…’ He thought to himself, deciding to wait for this mystery person.
   Y/N woke up some time later, knowing there was to be more laundry done on the weekend more than during the actual week and this time, she even had to do some bedsheets too. Rubbing her eyes, she got up and took a shower, letting the hot water cascade down her body was merely relaxing. She washed off, taking the time to do her morning routine and dried her hair, taking her dirty laundry and putting it in a basket. She hoped that the students hadn’t piled up a lot of things as she slipped on some sweatpants and sandals, almost forgetting to grab her things and it took a little while for her to her things down to the room, struggling to twist the knob…
  Warren wasn’t really paying attention to a lot of things but as soon as the doorknob started to turn, his breath caught in his throat in anticipation. What if it was Xavier? Or even Hank? Should he be this nervous about it? He didn’t know but all of his feelings were changed when he seen the color of Y/N’s hair. He side smiled and got off of the washing machine, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as she pushed the door open, not yet seeing him there. Was it her?
  Y/N lifted her things to walk inside, her eyes falling on Warren who was reading a very unreadable expression at the moment, but seemed to be a little upset? She looked down, slowly putting the basket down. “I… I’m sorry, I just really wanted to be nice, you’ve been nice to me and you’ve not picked on me like other people usually do because I’m quiet and-” she looked up,swallowing hard. Warrens eyes were brighter, a small smile across his lips. “Me? Mad? Actually, I just… Got a little surprised that someone would care for me enough to do that, and quite frankly, darling, you are absolutely wonderful. I need to repay you” he stated as he walked closer, only clad in his jeans and boots. He smiled softly at her, “how can I ever repay you?” He asked softly, watching her expression changed to surprised. “Well… I’ve always wondered what it looks like from the rafters…” She trialed off, earning a small chuckle from the angel, who wrapped his arms around her. “How about this… I fly you around but I still don’t think that’s enough repay, so I guess I’ll be sticking around you linger than before, maybe we can become… Closer?” He suggested. To that, she nodded, wondering what exactly was going to happen.

A/N; let me know what you think??

anonymous asked:

Jack is wretchedly sick and Bitty is taking care of him. (Not hospital sick, but still total feverish misery.)

Jack doesn’t really get sick.  Years of spending hours a day in ice rinks have left him all but immune to the effects of the cold, he takes multivitamins religiously, eats well, sleeps consistently, and keeps up with his doctor’s appointments.  He’s the picture of physical health, and he’s gotten quite used to it.  

Jack doesn’t really get sick.  

But when he does, he gets really sick.

Like, truly, pathetically, bed-ridden sick.  In fact, the incident that cemented his friendship with Lardo came when they were the only two crashing at the Haus for spring break Sophomore year, and he came down with a late flu so badly that he couldn’t keep himself steady on his feet.  For the worst couple days of it, he was so weak she had to help him to the bathroom to pee.  They never spoke of it to the guys, but by the time everyone came back, they were ride or die.

And Jack hadn’t been sick again before graduation.  As he kicked into high gear preparing himself to enter the NHL, he was even more obsessively healthy, and with Bitty holding the Haus to a higher standard of cleanliness, there were fewer germs flying around than ever before.  The only thing that could’ve sabotaged him was the “awful green couch that probably had smallpox in it, good lord”, but even that, he’d built up an immunity to.  But being in a totally new city, in a new apartment, and surrounded by all new people - some of which had very tiny children - was enough to do him in.  And when Providence flu season rolled around, there was no vaccine or vitamin supplement that could save him.

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After Hours

She wakes up sweaty.

It’s the middle of the night — 4 a.m. to be exact, Alison glances at the clock next to her bed - laying down once again, eyes wide open as she becomes aware of her current situation.

Her breathing’s ragged, and the sheets feel way too heavy and constricting. She strips them of her body in less than a second — hissing when they brush against her sensitive and swollen breasts. She cannot believe this is her life right now.

Putting behind the homicidal maniac that is still out there right now, being impregnated with her friend’s eggs, having to deal with those (still very) confusing feelings for that friend, and now having to practically live with that friend — this is way worse.

She’s horny.

Fuck, she hates that word; always has (it reminds her of all those neanderthal boys in high school — it repulses her, and it’s no different now) but that’s the only word she can use to describe the state of desperation, want, and frustration she is experiencing right now.

She presses her legs together, biting back a whimper as the ache between her legs is momentarily relieved.

She’s aching. It makes her mad.

Goddamn hormones, she curses as she runs her hand through her now protruding belly, that just seems to grow bigger everyday. Probably because of Emily’s —

“Emily…” she whispers to herself, pausing as her mind starts racing.

Emily.

Emily, who’s sleeping down the hall right now, (because they don’t actually sleep together, at least not every night. Only when one of them has a nightmare, or when they pass out during an episode of Cupcake Wars, or on those regular occasions where they get takeout and Alison’s room seems too far away when she’s already half asleep on Emily’s bed, with her head on the brunette’s chest as she gets her hair played with). Emily, who told her to consider keeping the baby, and Alison did it because it’s Emily, and it’s been so long since she’s been able to deny her anything, (and maybe because the idea of having a little brunette with big doe eyes running around fills her up with longing, but with so much happiness too. And maybe, just maybe, because she gets to keep Emily because of this; and even though she knows it’s wrong, she can’t help it).

And safe, Emily always makes her feel safe.

Especially with that lean toned body of hers. ‘Ooh! And her arms,’ Alison thinks as she licks her lips, 'all muscley from all those swimming years’. Obviously, Alison’s aware Emily doesn’t have the exact same physique she had when she was 16 but she’s in good conditions. That much Alison knows. She carries like 8 more bags than Alison carries, when they get home after groceries. Emily mows the lawn — and that might be Alison’s new favorite thing to do on sunny days, because Emily wears practically nothing and she always gets really sweaty and hot and —

If it wasn’t enough confirmation for Alison to know how attracted she is to Emily Fields, she is certainly aware by the sudden and greater warmth between her legs.

It’s too hard to ignore now, she’s sure.

All of her being is just begging her to walk that 8 feet distance to Emily’s room; her body’s just aching for it because she hasn’t been able to erase what had happened almost a decade ago; the feeling of Emily’s warm skin on her, the brunette’s soft lips, her teasing tongue and the way she had whimpered when Alison had ran her nails through her back and —

“Fuck,” Alison groans, finally relenting and moving her hand to the waistband on her underwear, until she gives up on the thought instantly; her head falling back onto the pillow.

She wants Emily.

She wants her, Alison thinks as she rubs her eyes in frustration.

“You know what,” she says to herself as she sprints out of bed barefoot, “this is her problem too,” she mutters, marching decidedly to Emily’s room.

When she gets there, Alison opens the door in a blink, grateful that it didn’t wake up the brunette — because how exactly is she supposed to explain this current dilema — and stops dead on her track at the view.

Emily’s on her back; her worn out t-shirt riding up just a couple of inches short from her breasts to be exposed, and all Alison wants to do is touch and wow she hadn’t realized how close she was until she realizes she’s sitting by the edge of the bed and her hand is just an inch from the brunette’s tantalizing skin.

She touches, softly. Just a feather-like touch. Careful not to awake her. And then, she thinks, 'Maybe I don’t even have to humiliate myself to Emily.’

Maybe she’ll be good with just touching and taking in the brunette’s presence and then going back to her room, Alison thinks.

Yeah, that’ll work.

So Alison touches.

She runs her hands through Emily’s smooth legs - loving specially how the brunette hums contently when Alison reaches her thighs - and yeah, legs might be a dangerous territory. So she runs her hands up and down her toned arms, and her stomach - reveling on the taut muscles that flex when her hands go too high and she remembers how Emily’s always been ticklish in her belly so she stops that too, (also because Emily’s chest has always been a weakness of hers and she is not about to let Emily catch her fondling her while she sleeps, and— Oh, god. How creepy would that be).

Now aware of what the hell she was actually doing, Alison carefully stands up for her spot in Emily’s mattress and tip toes to the door.

It’s not when she hears a distinct, “Ali?,” coming from behind that she stops dead in her tracks.

This cannot be happening.

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Hey, honestly I’m kinda high rn and this was not meant to be to serious but if u guys like it and shit then yeah cool. (I might have written another part to it ?) Also idk send me shit to write about maybe ?

Also I haven’t watched the show since like season 5 so like sorry if it’s not accurate enough to what’s going on rn. I tried.

you can have this

It’s spring, and there’s sunshine floating through the kitchen window, settling on the counter where Bitty’s hands are kneading dough. Jack is standing at the opposite counter, facing away from Bitty, brow wrinkled in concentration as he carefully tries to lay lattice across the top of his pastries. He cocks his head slightly as he surveys his handiwork. Slightly crooked, but it’ll do.

Behind him, he hears Bitty chattering about jam–Jack had long ago given up on trying to absorb all the information tumbling out of Bitty’s mouth, but instead let himself enjoy the sound of his voice, the cheerful cadence of his speech.

Bittle’s good company, Jack thinks.

He turns around to ask Bitty what he thinks of the mini pies, lips parting to start his question–and stops.

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Owned

Summary: Marriage and a contract…from the cold, intimidating man who was next in line to run the multi-billion dollar, Lodi Industries. 

Originally posted by hopeatuuli

The opportunity he offered you was too great to pass up. There was no other choice. You had to save your family.

“Mom it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore. You and dad can live peacefully now. If I accept, he’ll pay off the rest of the debt and the interest. Everything’s okay now.” You cried, packing your bags and comforting your parents.

“But why do you have to go like this? So suddenly? Don’t go Y/N, if he wants to marry you then he can do it properly.” Your dad said grimy.

“It has to be this way, I’m sorry. When everything’s settled then I’ll call you guys I promise.” You smiled, trying to stay strong. “I love you.”

Dragging your bags out of the apartment, you rushed downstairs and got into the cab he sent.

You felt scared, unsure if this was the right decision but it was a decision that you made nonetheless. There was no turning back now. It’s for your parents’ sakes.

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