and the two on the insides of the shoes are potential tattoos

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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After the Storm (Happy x Reader)

Who’s ready to cry? You can thank @thats-so-rhyan for that. This was her request and I’m not sure I can forgive you for making me feel all the feels! Rude, if you ask me.

EDIT: I’m only realizing now that I did this out of order. I will have the 5 year anniversary one up soon!

Originally posted by wakinguptheneighbours

Playlist: Red Lighter - SoMo

A box of clothes
Some written notes
Is all I have left now
She closed the door
No turning back
This time it is clear now

It was a dreary day for California. One of those rare ones where the rain just wouldn’t stop. He wasn’t about to complain though. Rain was infrequent and he wasn’t in a position to grumble about something that didn’t hinder his riding 360 days of the year. The perks of living on the west coast. Seeing as he couldn’t go out on a ride, he’d settled in for cleaning out the garage. His OCD had been on a twinge the last while, and he couldn’t ignore the mess of the addition any longer. He propped open the inside door with an old shoe and went straight for the rolling sectional. He tugged on the yellow rope he tied around the handle and yanked it open. The wheels squealed, the bearings dry from being unused. The door rolled into the track overhead and rocked until it was settled.

He stood on the edge of the opening peering out into the street. The sky was grey, clouds covering the horizon. He’d remembered to drape the weather cover over his Harley the night before and it sat untouched by the water, in his driveway. The consistent plunks of droplets against the asphalt creating a steady rhythm. He breathed in tasting the hint of salt in the air. He turned around, assessing his potential work. Without leaving too much room to analyze he moved forward, grabbing a box and began sorting everything into three piles; to keep, to throw out, to give away.

Forgotten words and hopeless hurt
All left in the past now
Maybe it’s for the best
I’ll call it an angel’s test
My heart has no fear now

After a good two hours, he had the majority of the garage labelled and sorted into piles. Only three boxes left. He bent down to grab the next one, when he observed the name scrawled across the side. He paused. That was not a name he’d thought of in a long. He hadn’t even realized he kept anything from those days. He wiped off the top of a sturdy box and sat down. He stared at the box, the name piercing into his eyes. The stark black of the marker he used to label it had faded, just like his memories. He pulled the container forward, placing it between his feet. As he leaned over to unfold the flaps, a tiny tug on his heart strings made him pause. He pressed on, flipping open the box, the action caused a dust cloud to fly up and he coughed, waving a hand in front of his face.

When the dust settled he peered down into the cardboard. A shiver ran down his spine. He dropped a hand in pulling out the bandanas and a folded shirt of some kind, sitting on top. As he lifted the clothing out of the box, a swoosh sounded and dozens of little papers fell from their place scattering around his running shoes. He placed the items in his hand down next to him and bent forward, flipping over the assorted post-its and folded notes. He picked one up and it read: There’s a surprise for you in the bedroom. He let out a breath, remembering exactly what that note pertained too. He let go of it as if it stung him and glanced back over into the box. He ground his teeth together, reaching in and pulling out her favourite zippo. He turned it over in his hand, seeing her name inscribed on the side. The tick of his teeth grinding together obvious on the side of his jaw. He flung open the cap, running his thumb over the igniter. He flicked his thumb heavily over the wheel, seeing the spark and then the elongated flame burst to life.

But you’ll always be a part of me
And I got this red lighter, red lighter
Got this red lighter, red lighter

“Happy!” You chuckled.

He barreled through the bedroom door to see you perched on the edge of the bed in a new lacy lingerie baby doll. He didn’t even bother taking off any of his clothes as he raced towards you. He knocked you down on the bed, one of his rare smiles sprawled across his face.

“This for me?” He grumbled.

You ran your hand over his head, tracing the snake tattoo, “Everything I do is for you.”

He growled in your ear, biting down into your neck. You squealed and scrambled away from him.

He crawled after you, “Get back here!”

His arms encased around your head, pinning you down in place. He bowed his head towards yours, his lips aiming for yours but you whipped your head sideways laughing as you went. He was met with your ear and took advantage, nipping on your ear lobe.

“HAPPY!” You giggled.

You tipped him over, using your knees to hold him down. You raised yourself up over his chest and wiggled. He growled, as you shimmied for his entertainment. He reached up, his fingers gripping into your sides. He ran his hand up your back and bent you forward. You obliged, melding your mouth to his. You nibbled on his lower lip. His tongue slipped out running along the crease of your lips. You opened your mouth, accepting his advance. When he had you good and distracted he flipped over, laying you out on the bed below him. He paused, taking a moment to gaze at you. You smirked as he used one finger to trail along the swell of your chest.

He leaned in, his lips warm against your ear and murmured, “I love you.”

You placed both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him backwards. You bit your lip at the raw passion in his eyes.

“Forever.” You responded.

All these sparks are driving me insane
The memory of your eyes hide in this flame
You can’t take any of that away
We let it burn out, we’re caught in the rain
Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain

He flicked the cap closed, extinguishing the flame and narrowed his eyes. He grabbed the metal garbage can next to him and began tossing everything into it. He didn’t want to read the lost notes. He didn’t want to see the bandanas. Or remember the way you wore them. He growled as he shoved everything in the bin, closing his eyes as the picture of your smile reflected in his memory’s eye. You always had your hair up in a bun, a bandana tied around your head, the knot in the front positioned off to the left. He could still see the gold hoop earrings swinging as you moved and the way you rolled the sleeves up on his old SAMCRO t-shirts. He always come home to you wearing that exact outfit paired with some cut-offs. He tipped his head back, opening his eyes to stare at the rivets in the sliding garage door. You always kept his house clean, up to par with his OCD. He screwed his face up into a grimace and dumped the entire cardboard box into the bin. He punched the box into the bin, making everything fit. He stomped over to the work bench on the other side of his garage and rummaged around. He opened drawers and knocked things out of his way, searching for an extra bottle of lighter fluid. Finally he spotted an old yellow carton of fluid, snatching it up and shook it to make sure there was liquid in there. A sickening grin covered his face as he stalked back over to the can. He popped the lid open and poured the flammable liquid all over the contents he’d spilled in there. He tossed the emptied bottle into the can and flicked open the top of your old lighter. The flame burst to life and without a second thought, he dropped the ignited item down into the bucket of old memories. The fluid ignited with gusto and the flames roared to life in front of him. Dancing in the reflection of his glazed over eyes.

Even after the storm, the clouds are reborn but it’s never been wetter
It must have been fate, two hearts didn’t break, it’s gotta get better
I’ll keep these thoughts alive inside to remind me whenever
I’m down and out, I’ll think about when you said forever

He stalked down the hallway and kicked the bedroom door open. You were sniffling while shoving everything you owned into the first travel bag you found. He reached forward, grabbing the handles and yanking the bag away from you. You caught it in the last second and tugged it back towards you.

“Fuck off.” You screamed.

He twisted the handles around his fist and ripped the bag away from you, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Like hell I’m not.” You hollered, stomping over to the closet and grabbing the few pairs of shoes you owned.

You heard as he dropped the bag onto the floor, and then felt as his fingers circled around your wrist. You flung your hand down trying to dislodge his grip on you. He held on tighter, pulling you into his embrace. You burst into tears and began pounding your fists against his chest. He waited. He let you beat against him until your screams turned into sobs and then as your sobs turned into hiccupped breaths. He let go holding you at arm’s length away. All your fury gone, replaced with sorrow, you let your head hang. He lifted your chin up with two fingers and you could see the pain behind his blank mask.

“What happened to forever?” He asked.

You frowned, your vision blurring.

You wiped the new tears from your eyes and stared at him, “What happened to ‘you’re the only woman for me’?”

And you’ll always be a part of me
Cause I got this red lighter, red lighter
Got this red lighter, red lighter

“Shit!” He swore.

Realizing his drastic mistake he kicked the garbage bin out onto the driveway. The metal can rolled, bits and pieces scattering about in the rain. The downpour extinguished the flames. Charred mementos strewn about his property. He stood on the edge of the barrier of wet and dry. He swallowed seeing his only physical reminders of you burned to ashes. He wiped a hand down his face, frustrated with his reaction. He stepped away from the garage, immediately soaked from the downpour. He bent at the knees, sifting through a few of the notes, trying salvage what he could. He sighed. Nothing could be saved. He clenched his teeth together, twirling one of his rings around his finger. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. He let out a deep breath and stared at his anger manifested. He moved to stand back up when he spotted the only item not burnt to a crisp. He reached for it, plucking it up off the ground and turning it over. He ran a finger along the inscription of your name. He stood up and backed into the garage. He tugged the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulled one out. He flicked the cap open, igniting the flame and running along the end of the smoke until it lit. He inhaled, holding the fumes in his chest and then exhaled, letting the smoke billow around him. He clicked the cap closed and slipped the only living reminder that you existed into his pocket.

Your red lighter.

All these sparks are driving me insane
The memory of your eyes hide in this flame
You can’t take any of that away
We let it burn out, we’re caught in the rain
Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain

a/n: basically there is never enough fratboy!5sos so here I am contributing to this movement. i’m trying to get back into writing so feedback is highly appreciated to help me improve and give you the stories you guys want to read!  let me know if you want more of this because I’m thinking of making it a series…anyways enjoy

requested: no
word count: 3,802

Alpha Kappa Psi. You’d only been on the college campus for a few days now, but you’d already heard the name being tossed around by just about everybody you’d met. They were all talking about who was going to the fraternity’s “kick off the school year, goodbye summer!” party on Sunday. Even your roommate Mae was talking about it, how excited she was to finally meet some cute fraternity boys. According to those you’d talked to, Alpha Kappa Psi was not only well known for being home to some of the most competitive business majors at the university, it was also notorious for throwing the best parties.

Still, you were hesitant to go. It’s not that parties weren’t your thing. It’s just that, the idea of showing up to your first day of classes tired or potentially hungover was not the most appealing. And you didn’t really fancy the idea of grinding up against drunk, horny frat boys all night. Not to be pre-judgemental but they didn’t seem like the most respecting of types. You’d have to be careful.

However, after some careful persuasion on behalf of your roommate, you found yourself walking up the the front door of a very large, very daunting house that particular Sunday night. The party was already in full swing by the time you and Mae arrived. People were standing outside on the wrap around porch, drinking beer out of plastic cups, a few people were even passed out on the front lawn already. Music was blaring through the open windows and doors, the bass nearly making the house shake. Carefully stepping around a couple of boys sitting on the front steps, you managed to make it inside.

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                                                      The Mark

Request: “Please do one with kylo x reader where whatever mark you get on your skin, your soulmate gets it too!”

A/N: So this is quite similar to my multi-part fic Soul Mate, but less dramatic and…well, you’d know if you read it. Thanks for the request, anon, here’s some bitch ass Kylo Ren for you! [GIF NOT MINE]

Warning: None.

Word Count: 2.7K+


Yet another long day had passed in Star Killer base, which also meant another restless night. If it wasn’t for the fact that your position under the First Order was ‘important’, you were sure you would have a much easier life. But this was the life you chose ever since you could remember–it wasn’t like you had a choice, actually, you were young and vulnerable and had no one. Anyone was better than no one. Thus, the First Order became your family. Of course, no one in said organization saw each other as family, maybe the troops that went into battle, but other than that…everyone else was just a mere pawn in a game of war. So there you sat alone on your couch, with nothing better to do thanks to your insomnia, knees pulled to your chest as your left index finger traced the mark in your palm.

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right back where we started from (california here we come)

Because I am re-watching Season 1 of The O.C., and I realized that there were too many awesome ways to make these characters fit into that world to not write this.

Fandom: The 100 (TV)

Characters: Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Wells Jaha/Raven Reyes, Finn Collins, John Murphy, Jasper Jordan, Monty Green, Abby Griffin, Jake Griffin, Thelonious Jaha, Harper, probably a ton of others too

Rating: Teen

Additional Tags: Alternative Universe - The O.C., Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Humor, classic WB/CW teen shenanigans

Warnings: n/a

Summary: When troubled teen Octavia Blake comes to live with the Griffin family, worlds collide as she and her street-smart brother Bellamy become entangled in the posh lifestyle of the Griffins and their friends and neighbors. Drama, romance, and more than a few laughs ensue as these teen delinquents try and find out just where they fit in the world. Or, The O.C. AU no one asked for.

Links: AO3 | FF

That is a really frickin’ big house was Octavia’s first thought upon the car pulling into the long, barely-lit driveway. If you could even call a palace like this a house. It was eight times the size of the rundown two-bedroom ranch her family had briefly lived in when she was seven, and ten times larger than the barely-affordable apartment her brother and she had been calling home. Well, it had been home up until last week when she had gotten arrested for using a fake ID at a club (goddamn Jasper and his supposed ‘top of the line’ forger). So, the fact that she’d spent the last six nights in a juvenile detention cell no bigger than the fancy black car she was sitting in, and now she was going to be staying in this place, well, that was unbelievable.

“Home sweet home,” her public defender said from the driver’s seat, turning off the engine and shifting to look at her. Octavia snapped her gaze from the villa-style mansion to Jake Griffin’s kind face. It was the same expression he had worn when he had sat across from the table in the juvenile detention center visitors’ room that morning. Wearing a presumably expensive, sleek black suit and an even sleeker smile, he had told her he could get her charges down to a misdemeanor, meaning a fine and probation instead of jail time. He didn’t stop there, though, no. He went through her grades (just above average) and her behavior record (not stellar), but he had smiled upon seeing her SAT scores, telling her that she had potential and how important it was to think about her future. I’m on your side, he had said.

Octavia had scoffed at that, and at his talk of college and big dreams. Where I’m from, having a dream doesn’t make you smart, she had said. Knowing it won’t come true, now, that does. Despite her conviction, she almost winced after saying it, because it would break her brother’s heart to hear those words on her lips, not when he had tried so hard the last few years to make Octavia believe they could make it out of Chino. Bellamy still believed, for her, but she had given up that dream years ago, right around the time her mother had started trading sex for favors from her brother’s probation officer. It hadn’t gotten any better when her mother had died last year, leaving Bell and her to fend for themselves. The dream of rising past their background was best left in her childhood, along with her fairy spells and jungle games.

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Breaking The Mold [Zianourry/Narry] 1/?

Summary: Niall gets shipped off to boarding school for being the world’s rowdiest omega (read: exaggeration) and he gets to room with four devastatingly handsome alphas (read: disaster). He’s not going to live through a week.

A.N.: This is what I’ve been working on instead of WTC. It’s a WIP and going to be a super long one shot but I just wanna know what you guys think of it so far!

So, Niall kind of hates his parents. Sure, he’s realized he isn’t the easiest child to take care of in the world but all his life he’s been told to sit still and be quiet and look pretty like a good omega should, sit there and wait for potential mates to come sweep him off his feet. Really, it was kind of stupid to expect Niall not to want to rebel. Sending him off to boarding school though? That is a serious overreaction.

And yet, his parents had packed his bags, shipped him off with a cheery Bon Voyage before Niall could even step through the door after classes that day. They hadn’t even given him a lift to the god damn train station, just a ticket and dry kiss against his forehead and, yeah, Niall kind of hates his parents. A lot.

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anonymous asked:

Jikook where jimin is a lead singer in punk band and jungkook is a big fan ;---)

If all else fails, wear something embarrassing enough to catch his attention, scream his name, and hope for the best.

Jeon Jungkook’s Holy Rule Trio to get Your Favorite Band Member To Notice You

  1. Stalk the shit out of your favorite celebrity on the internet until you know all their schedules on their down days and you casually ‘bump into them’ and proceed on how to contain all your feels afterwards.
  2. Use all the money you have saved for college to get a backstage pass to one of their concerts, completely disregarding the fact that you will be an awkward fish when you meet the object of your affection in person.
  3. Be the first to yell on all their social media till they have no option but to notice.

But when it came to Park Jimin, things were not that simple.

“What is it now, Kookie? I’m in the middle of a movie marathon with Yoongi hyung.”

Jungkook sighs from the other end of the phone. “Tae, we need to figure out how to get Jimin to notice my existence as a human being and potential husband he will have four children with in the next four years.”

“I thought you said you have the Holy Rule Trio thing to help you out,” Taehyung says. He can’t for the life of him understand Jungkook’s obsession with that random underground performer Park Jimin.

Jungkook groaned into the speaker. “How can I stalk them if they don’t have any damn fan sites? They don’t even have ‘concerts’ I can get passes to. They perform whenever the local stages are free. Plus, they have no personal social media for me to stalk, so I’m basically a goner,” Jungkook grunts, flopping on his seat in front on the laptop. 

The many struggles of being in love with a guy who was yet to acknowledge you was new territory in Jungkook’s eyes.

“He’s in an underground band, Tae. They’re virtually internet unknown.”

Taehyung shrugs. “What do you want me to do about it? You called me to whine? Yoongi hyung is going to -”

“They’re performing underground tonight in-,” Jungkook glances at his watch. “Forty eight minutes. And I need you to help me get noticed.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, well aware Jungkook can’t see.

“Bye, Jungkook.”

There is a silence on the other end of the phone, and Taehyung knows Jungkook is probably pouting and likely to give Taehyung the silent treatment for a week if he actually did hang up now.

Alright fine, but you owe me like, a billion friendship points, Kookie,” is all he says but he grins because Jeon Jungkook in love was a first and Taehyung wouldn’t miss it for the world.


Everything about Park Jimin sets Jungkook on fire.

The underground scene was easily not popular, about fifty faces in the crowd, half of whom Jungkook had learnt to recognize, thanks to the fact that he came here so often for the sake of working up the courage to talk to a certain Park Jimin.

Jimin was on the shorter side, easily shorter than Jungkook at the very least. His dark bangs cover half his face, about eighty wrist bands on each arm, singing passionately to a small crowd of people that actually dug the underground scene like Jungkook did, extremely dark, thick eyeliner on his face that added to his overall punk rock aura.

Jungkook is head over heels for the boy that sang like an angel and looked like death and Jungkook is mesmerized.

It’s always too soon when the performance ends and Jimin says a polite ‘thank you for coming out’ into the mike with that shy smile that hurts all of Jungkook’s insides. He’s still in a daze when the people start dispersing around him and he’s so transfixed at where Park Jimin was standing on stage, it takes him a second to realize the figure of the actual Park Jimin advancing towards him.

“Shit, oh my god, it can’t be -”

“I remember you,” are the first words Jimin says and Jungkook yelps, frantically looking over his shoulder to give way to the person Jimin was actually addressing. Because Park Jimin couldn’t possibly remember Jungkook. No bloody way.

“M-me?” Jungkook squeaks pathetically after the realization dawns on him that yes, Park freaking Jimin was talking to Jungkook by choice. Jimin grins and Jungkook nearly has a seizure.

“Yeah. You’re one of the only people who comes out to every one of our shows,” he says and Jungkook blushes and looks at his shoes because of course, this was the moment he chose to forget what words were.

Jimin leans into Jungkook’s ear and Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“But do you really have to wear that? The guys won’t stop making fun of me,” Jimin whispers, jerking a thumb at the band and Jungkook glances down at what Taehyung had got him to wear after much convincing.

PARK JIMIN’S NUMBER ONE FAN’ was spelt over Jungkook’s once plain white tee in red marker along with flaming red pants and a flashy snap back to match. Jungkook would be the first to admit that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like this, let alone in public, but Taehyung had assured him there was ‘no way Jimin could miss you if he were drunk and blinded in one eye’.

Jungkook couldn’t complain. It had worked, after all.

“I, uh,” Jungkook mumbles out over the wolf whistles of Jimin’s band members from the background as Jimin hushes them by flipping them off.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Lose the sappy shirt and we’ve got ourselves a date. Think of it as an exchange,” Jimin says, ticking his finger between the two of them. Jungkook almost falls backwards. It takes every ounce of his dignity not to, and to reply with any semblance of a straight face.

“A date?” Jimin gives him one clear nod, wiggling his eyebrows. Jungkook struggles to maintain composure over the growing euphoria in his chest.

“But you seriously remember me?” Jungkook asks at last, trying not to sound to hopeful. The band members at the back toss cheers every once in a while as they pack of their equipment. Jimin snorts.

“You’re way too hot for your own good, you know,” Jimin says, huffing. “It’s kind of hard to forget a face like yours.”

Jungkook considers getting that tattooed on his forehead.

Jungkook probably should trash this shirt now anyway, he thinks, walking on air with Jimin’s number in his back pocket. ‘Number 1 Fan’ might change to ‘Boyfriend’ and he’ll be damned if Jungkook isn’t willing to make that change personally.


Jeon Jungkook’s (New & Improved) Rules to get Your Favorite Band Member To Notice You

  1. Stalk the shit out of your favorite celebrity on the internet until you know all their schedules on their down days and you casually ‘bump into them’ and proceed on how to contain all your feels afterwards.
  2. Use all the money you have saved for college to get a backstage pass to one of their concerts, completely disregarding the fact that you will be an awkward fish when you meet the object of your affection in person.
  3. Be the first to yell on all their social media till they have no option but to notice.
  4. If all else fails, wear something embarrassing enough to catch his attention, yell like crazy in the crowd, and hope for the best.

PS. Try not to faint when Jimin kisses you on your first date. Or become Taehyung’s slave for helping you go out with the guy you worship. Optional clauses, of course.