blurred lines of sight

a little birthday something for @microbino who asked for zimbits and moving in! happy (late) birthday, darlin’!


“Bitty, I didn’t say I was judging. I just said I didn’t quite get why one person needs so many shirts.”

Bitty rolled his eyes as his hands deftly moved his shirts from boxes to the stack of hangers lying on the blue bedspread. “Jack. Sweetheart. Darling. I love you, but you have twelve shirts. I should know. I’ve counted. Three Samwell. Two Falconers. And seven plain v-necks in different colors.”

Jack looked up from where he was crouched by the dresser, putting away Bitty’s socks. “Well, yeah. That way I have enough for the week, and then I do laundry.”

Bitty smiled to himself as he finished with the stack of shirts. This boy.

Keep reading

storm ; [yoonmin || bts]


Pairing: Park Jimin x Min Yoongi
Genre: angst, kinda smut
Music: first love - BTS / sad piano music tbh
Plot: Jimin’s caught out in a storm, and forced to park his car in a nearby neighbourhood. By chance, he crosses paths with his former lover, Yoongi, and feelings of bitterness, regret, and lust emerge in the tight space of Jimin’s car.

Notes: first time writing angst, first time writing for bts, and first time posting to tumblr so forgive me if the writing sucks or there’s weird formatting errors. anyone have any tips on how tf formatting works?

Word Count: 3,600

The windshield wipers moved furiously, batting the rain out of the way. However, not a second later, it would be covered by the raindrops once more; whatever actions he did was futile against the aggressive storm. Wind howled outside, sending leaves flying from their branches, the thunder roaring in the distance, lighting flashing and illuminating the surrounding sky. The rain beat down on the roof of his car, loudly and angrily, similar to a kid throwing a tantrum. 

A loud clap of thunder made him jump in his own skin, and his hand yanked the steering wheel to the side, his car swerving onto the side of the road. 

Shit, he mentally cursed. Thank god there were no other cars on the highway, it was him and him alone, caught in the misfortune of driving home after a drunken party at one of his friends. The rain was falling down hard, blurring the windshield and his line of sight, therefore he had no choice but to turn out to the nearest exit. 

He kept driving for a while longer, praying that he wouldn’t get into an accident of any sort, before he parked the car to the side of the road in a small neighbourhood. 

Checking his phone, he opened up the maps to see where he was. It had turned out that he was in a neighbourhood an hour away from his place, and he sighed knowing that he could never get home safely, with how terrible the current weather was. His fingers dancing on the screen, he had opened up the messages app and was furiously typing away to his roommate Hoseok, attempting to explain why he wasn’t home yet. Just as he finished the message and pressed send, the signal bar on his phone glitched a couple times, before the two words ‘No Service’ sent his heart dropping down to his stomach. 

He wasn’t much of a curser, but he felt like one when a string of angry swears fell out of his mouth. They sounded bizarre coming from him, his sweet, angelic voice producing bitter words of frustration at the weather that was hindering him from returning home. 

The watch on his wrist showed the time, the two hands forming eight thirty three. 

Knowing that he had no choice but to sleep out here in the car as the storm showed no signs of ceasing, he groaned internally, slumping down in his seat. Unbuckling his seat belt, he attempted to make himself more comfortable, preparing for a night in the cramped space of his vehicle. 

Leaning back into his seat, he started playing a random mobile game he had downloaded a while back, fingers silently tapping at the screen, a grimace on his face each time he died. He continued playing, attempting to kill time, before a sign flashed on his phone, showing that he was low on battery. 

With a sigh, he put his phone down to conserve battery life. Seeing as it was somewhat stuffy in the car, he rolled the window down a slight crack, letting drips of rain, accompanied by fresh air in. 

It was then that he was hit by the smell of cigarettes. The musty stench of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he cringed as a certain memory wormed its way back into his brain. 

Yoongi, he thought, before shaking his head furiously to get rid of said thought. No, he told himself, stop, don’t think about Yoongi.

He leaned closer to the window, the tip of his nose touching the cold glass, rain dripping onto his pastel pink hair as he peered out to see who in the world would be smoking during a storm. 

His eyes made out a figure a few meters away, thin, arm wrapped around his leather clad body seemingly to keep himself warm, a cigarette resting between his lips, shielded from the storm by a tree he was standing next to, and his hand, covering it as to prevent the wind from snuffing it out. He squinted his eyes, looking more closely, trying to make out the facial features of the person that so closely reminded him of… him.

“Jimin. Get a grip.” he told himself out loud, trying to wipe the thought out of his mind. Please, he silently added. Turning his attention back to the stranger, he watched their movements, looking closely as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, the same matter being released out after a few seconds. 

“Fuck!“ he heard them swear, and their voice was so hauntingly familiar -  he had heard the same voice spit out curses and insults like a machine gun, fast and vicious. “Damn this stupid storm, the fuck is this dumbass weather?!” they hissed, obviously furious, before taking a long draw of their slowly disintegrating cigarette, huffing out the smoke along with a string of curses. This time, they noticed the curious gaze of a certain pink haired boy, and their eyes met, a shiver being sent down Jimin’s spine at the eye contact.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but it was clearly something as he opened his car door with a creak, stepping out gingerly, taking small but careful steps towards the other.

Black. Black leather pants, most likely going to be ruined by the rain, the same applying to the black leather jacket he was wearing. He was shivering, and you could almost hear his teeth chatter as he shook in the rain, mint green hair soaked and sticking to his pale white skin, his eyes,



No, not those eyes. A brown so dark that they were almost black, empty, dull and so cold that they could freeze an entire ocean, they belonged to the one and only Min Yoongi.



Dear god, what did I ever do to deserve this? he wondered, as he heard his own name leave Yoongi’s lips. Oh, his lips. Pale and pink and smooth like the rest of him, he was beautiful in every sense of the word.

“You’re smoking again.” he coughed out; it was the only thing he could think of to say.

“I never stopped,” was Yoongi’s reply. “You dyed your hair. Pink suits you.”

He shivered. He wasn’t very cold, he hadn’t been out in the rain for long and he had on a thick jacket, however he felt himself freeze at his past lover’s words.

“Thanks.” he muttered, his words barely audible over the wailing of the storm.

There was silence between them, the tension so thick that you could’ve cut it with a knife, before finally the older of the two spoke up, his burnt out cigarette slipping through his fingers and landing on the ground, before the sole of his shoe pressed down on it out of habit.

“Do you mind if I join you in the car? I would be home right now but the storm fucked me up and my phone’s dead.” he asked, his gaze remaining on the rose haired boy standing a meter or so away from him.

Yes, yes in fact I do mind, Jimin wanted to reply, but instead awkwardness took over his speech and he replied with a quiet: “Sure, I guess.”

The two went over to his car, and they stepped in, Yoongi immediately taking off his leather jacket which was drenched in water, tossing it aside. Jimin forced his eyes away from the toned muscles on Yoongi’s arms, smooth and perfect as Yoongi had held him - but it was all in the past, and he needed to stop thinking about it.

However, it was all too real, when Yoongi glanced at Jimin, mouth slightly open, trying to form the right words to say, his body language reeking of confidence however through his eyes you could see hurt and a desperate need for affection, despite him trying to hide it with his stone cold attitude. Unlike Jimin, Yoongi was a born liar, and Jimin knew that all too well.

Jimin, on the other hand was the opposite. Even after months of no contact, Yoongi could easily read him like a book, and he could still see the hurt and betrayal written on Jimin’s face, and the sight made his heart hurt, guilt being doused over his mind like kerosene and set ablaze, burning in agony.

He ignored the feeling, however. Yoongi was never one for feelings, he despised them with a passion. That had led to him shattering Jimin; frail, sweet little Jimin, innocent, caring, who had loved Yoongi with all his heart, yet had been let down, hurt - shattered and torn apart by the very same person.

The pieces never fell back together.

And Yoongi knew that, he knew that all too well when the minutes of silence that had passed was finally broken by a shaky whimper, proceeded by a single word, why.

“Why?” Jimin had asked, however he received no reply from the green haired male sitting next to him, in the passenger seat.

“Why what?” Yoongi asked back, although the truth was, he knew exactly what Jimin had meant, however he didn’t want to answer it, he couldn’t since he didn’t even know the answer himself.

Jimin didn’t know what to ask either, therefore he stayed mute.

Why did you cheat on me? he wanted to scream. Why did you fuck Taehyung? He was my best friend, you know? You knew that, Yoongi. You knew that. So why did you fuck him? And… And you had the nerve to blame it on me, as well! You accused me of sleeping with Tae even when I saw you two pressed against each other on my bed, and then you told me to fuck off when I told you what I had seen.

You said I was being overly dramatic. You called me miserable, desperate, horrible names that hurt me, and even when I was crying and begging for you to just stop, just s t o p, you continued and then you left. You left, you packed your bags and went out the door, and you never came back. I heard you blocked my number, I heard you started dating Namjoon within a week after our breakup. Yoongi, why him? Why Taehyung, why Namjoon? Why me? Why?

All those thoughts were jumbled and messy, similar to the tears that began flowing down his face, and he sniffed loudly, fingers searching the car for something to wipe away the tears.

He still looks like an angel, Yoongi thought, and he reached out, he took his thumb and wiped away the salty streaks that ran down Jimin’s face. Jimin, who’s eyes were red and puffy and bloodshot, who’s tears were streaming down his face rapidly, like a waterfall, Yoongi’s finger carefully wiping them aside, something he wished he had done in the past. He wasn’t one to regret, but not doing so was so fucking regrettable, he hated himself for not comforting Jimin when he cried, and even more so because he was the reason Jimin cried.

Yoongi was a shitty person, and everyone knew that. Everyone besides Jimin, although perhaps he had known but instead chose to ignore it out of love. The thought of that made Yoongi wince, thinking of the pain he had caused.

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi apologized, his hand cupping Jimin’s cheek. He brought Jimin closer to him, burying the younger’s head in his chest.

Jimin kept crying, his tears soaking through Yoongi’s shirt, his tshirt that smelled of rain, of cigarettes and of him, the smell not having changed even slightly, and it was then that he realized how much he missed Yoongi. Stop, he once more told himself, but it was weaker than the previous times. He was in such close proximity to Yoongi that he just simply couldn’t, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he just couldn’t.

“Baby,” Yoongi spoke, his voice rough, tired, filled with exhaustion, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You know I am, you know that I regret it so badly, Jimin - babe, please.” He ran a hand through Jimin’s soft locks, the other around his back, holding him closely, just like he wished he did.

Removing himself from Yoongi’s embrace, he looked into his eyes, darker than black, full of regret and shame, while his own full of sorrow and want. Their faces and lips were just mere centimetres apart, but Yoongi should’ve still waited. He should’ve waited, waited for Jimin to make the first move if Jimin decided to.

But he was Yoongi, and Yoongi was selfish. He was cold, careless, and ignored whatever common sense he had left, instead connecting their lips.

Jimin had mirrored Yoongi’s lips almost instantly, he kissed back gently, their lips clashing, Jimin’s soft, plump ones moving against Yoongi’s, smooth, and hungry, before the kiss turned rough, Yoongi desperately trying to access Jimin’s mouth as he took Jimin’s bottom lip between his own.

Yoongi was a scarily good kisser, which was the reason Jimin hesitated, because he knew that once he started, he couldn’t stop. Yoongi was a drug, and he was an addict, the craving for Yoongi coming back with full force after so long of an absence.

“Yoongi,” he gasped out in between kisses, their lips touching and moulding against one another, “h-hyung.”

That nickname drove Yoongi off the edge, his grip in Jimin’s hair tightened, a few strands sure to have been pulled loose, his tongue dancing with Jimin’s as he deepened the kiss, other hand pulling at Jimin’s jacket, opening his eyes for a split second to find out how to take it off, which he did soon after, the clothing being tossed to the side. His nimble fingers worked at Jimin’s shirt, navy blue striped and long sleeved. Yoongi ran his hands up and down Jimin’s body, caressing every curve and muscle, stroking his abs, before he lightly traced his index finger around Jimin’s nipple, pinching at it gently - just the way he knew Jimin liked it.

“Ahh - Yoongi, please - please don’t tease me like that.” Jimin begged, and Yoongi loved the sound of it, desperate, needy, Jimin wanting none other than his green haired friend.

Friend, ex lover, lover, whichever one it was, it didn’t seem to matter as Jimin moaned into the kiss, his hips grinding against Yoongi’s erection, who let out a strangled groan at the sudden movement.

Jimin was always the more vocal one, and Yoongi had always loved hearing Jimin scream his name. He was intent on hearing it once more, at least just once, he thought as his fingers unbuttoned and zipped down Jimin’s jeans, his erection obvious through the thin fabric of his boxers. Yoongi’s hand lightly stroked him through the cloth, moans and gasps escaping Jimin’s lips, which were now swollen as Yoongi broke off the kiss, instead trailing down towards his neck, pressing his lips slowly down Jimin’s smooth collarbone, a trail of nerves set alight where ever he went. Slowly, he took Jimin’s dewy skin in between his lips, gently sucking and nipping at the flesh, before he went in rougher, marking Jimin as his, marks of crimson and violet blooming on Jimin’s pale skin.

He loved the love bites that he could leave, he loved marking Jimin as his - except for, was Jimin really his anymore? The answer was made clear when Jimin pressed his lips into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, reciprocating with his own, Yoongi letting out small groans as Jimin attacked his neck, however much more gentle than the elder’s movements.

“Yoongi, hyung, I-” Jimin’s voice faltered into a moan as Yoongi’s skilled hands stroked Jimin’s hard, pulsing erection, palming it as Jimin gasped hard, thrusting his all too desirable hips into Yoongi’s palm, the precum leaving a small stain on his boxers.

“Jimin. Jimin, fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.” Yoongi hissed, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Jimin’s boxers, pulling them down, watching as Jimin’s erection was set free, pressing into the firm skin of his stomach.

Yoongi leaned in, pale pink lips kissing down Jimin’s dick, his tongue pressing flat against his length, running along every vein, feeling Jimin’s breath hitch, which urged him to continue, his lips wrapping around the head, a sharp intake of breath being heard from Jimin.

Jimin moaned as Yoongi’s skilled tongue swirled around his tip, before gently running down the length, taking his dick back in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, before he went deeper, taking all of Jimin’s dick until it hit the back of his throat. He had done this so many times before, but the sensation felt new each time, he could feel Jimin’s hands tangle into his mint hair, pulling at it as he continued moving his mouth.

“Yoongi, I c-can’t-” Jimin moaned out in between gasps. Yoongi’s eyes glanced up, looking into Jimin’s, which were beginning to water.

“Jimin, angel-” Yoongi began, however he was cut off by a quiet sob.

“Yoongi, stop, you-” he choked out, taking a moment to cough and sniff a bit. “you can’t just do this. You can’t just hurt me and waltz back into my life like nothing happened.” Jimin stammered, a bit more firmly this time.

“Jiminie, sweetheart, you know I’m sorry-”

“No. No, you’re not. You’re not sorry, you never are.” the younger of the two cried out, his voice trailing off into a broken cry of anguish.

“Baby, I am. I really am, please believe me. You know I never meant what I said, I didn’t mean a single word of it.” his voice began cracking, Yoongi’s tough facade breaking apart, but Jimin knew better. It has been months, and he knew better than to give in to Yoongi’s sweet talk. It’s what he had done best, what made Jimin give in to his every demand, believe him, trust him - love him.

“You cheated on me with Tae. He was my best friend - you knew that. Do you know how I felt? Do you understand how much it hurt, when I walked in on your lips against his, and your bodies tangled together? I pretended I didn’t see that and a week later I asked you, I asked you if you had any feelings for Tae - I mean what else was I supposed to do? Turn a blind eye to it even though that was the reason I was up at night, crying? Crying because you had fucked Tae the previous night on the bed we shared? You didn’t notice though. You didn’t even question the crying, since you never heard it. You weren’t even home, you’d be out late ‘practicing’, or was that screwing Tae as well?”

Jimin’s words turned harsh, and bitter at the end of his rant, all the bottled up feelings that he’s held in for so long bubbling to the surface in the form of a hateful, vicious anger.

Yoongi stayed silent, he had no idea what to say. He simply looked down into his lap, watching his hands nervously fiddle as he sat there in shame.

“I hadn’t talked to Tae since, but that Saturday when I asked you, you glared at me, and I remember these words clearly, you asked me, ‘What the fuck, Jimin? Just because you’re sucking his dick doesn’t mean I am.’ and that hurt. You knew I wasn’t. I would never cheat on you; I wouldn’t then, I wouldn’t now, and I still love you, that’s why it hurts so much. You wouldn’t ever understand though, would you? You couldn’t, you don’t ever truly love anyone - at least not me - and you couldn’t hurt.” Jimin finished, hot tears burning down his face, and this time Yoongi couldn’t wipe them away. He was shocked, motionless as he sat there, not knowing what to say.

He finally spoke up, voice defeated, quieter than usual: “I-I do love you. Jimin, you may not believe me, but I really do. I know what I did was horrible, and I said all those things because I was scared; I was a coward and Jimin, I’m sorry. Babe, please, I’m so sorry.”

“Yoongi, you had your chance, you had so many, and you know that. You could’ve apologized then, maybe even a week later, but don’t even get me started on Namjoon.” Jimin cried out, hurt fully taking over his soft features, and what was once a cheerful, happy boy, was now a betrayed, bitter soul, once warm eyes now filling with never-ending tears.

“Jimin, chimchim, please, I’m sorry, I’ll change, just please…” Yoongi had never felt so desperate before, but he could’ve been on his knees, begging. All pride and defiance in his character was gone, the only thing left was regret, and his love for Park Jimin, which was now tainted and destroyed by himself only.

“Yoongi… leave, please. I still love you, but you hurt me, and I simply can’t trust you anymore, so just leave, please.and so Yoongi did, not even bothering to grab his leather jacket, he simply opened the car door and walked out into the rain, letting the storm destroy him, the sky crying, its tears mixing with Yoongi’s salty tears that he shed as he walked away from Jimin, just like he did in the past, with his heart aching, an undeniable hatred for himself and his own mistakes pumping through his veins.

I’m sorry, Jimin. I’m so fucking sorry.

And this time he truly did mean it, but there was no one around to hear it anymore.

Originally posted by loveblushes

Don't Look Back

When you called for an Uber cab to pick you up, this was not the car you expected to arrive. 

It’s an old black Bentley, carefully restored and gleaming in the sunlight. The long-muzzled low rider has a profile more like a pistol than a car; all angles and chrome, and the engine that rumbles beneath its lengthy hood sounds like the growl of a caged monster. 

The driver is not who you would expect behind the wheel of a car like this: It’s just a girl, maybe pushing 30, her hair tied back and her eyes regarding you seriously over the rims of black-framed glasses. 

“You called for a ride?” 

This wasn’t what you had in mind, but before you can find some way to put that into words, the driver leans over and opens the passenger door and you feel oddly compelled to climb inside. The cabin is oddly spacious, and you lean back against the leather bench seat and try to make sense of why you feel so uneasy. 

“She don’t look like much,” the driver says, glancing at you sidelong; a hint of an ironic smile touches the corner of her lips. “But she’s the fastest ride you’ll find in the city, that much I can guarantee. Buckle in. And whatever you do, don’t look back.” 

“Wait, what?” 

She pulls the car into reverse, executes a 3-point turn to get out of the parking lot. At the edge of the lot, prepared to enter the on-ramp to the highway, she turns and fixes you with a cold stare. 

“That part’s not a joke. Don’t look back. Keep your eyes on the road. We’ll be there soon.” 

The car rolls forward, and you do as you’re told, keeping your eyes focused ahead of you. You can’t help but notice that there are no mirrors. You wonder how that’s legal, and think of asking the driver, when you catch the first glimpse of something strange. 

It flickers, just at the corner of your perception - some little ripple, like a mirage rising over concrete. 

“Don’t,” the driver says, before you give in to the urge to turn and look, and you force your head back against the seat and close your eyes. 

It does not feel like the car is moving. Even as the driver eases her way up the on-ramp and out on the highway, you never feel the sensation of the wheels moving beneath you. Instead, you have the odd feeling that the world around you is rushing past while the car itself stands still - like a car in an old Hollywood picture, the landscape projected behind it. 

But the images seem to pick up speed. Ahead, the road approaches at the general speed you’d expect for the highway; but off to the sides, in your peripheral vision, things seem to be moving much faster. They meld into a blur and vanish outside your line of sight. In your peripheral vision, you catch glimpses of motion, of flickering, like flame. 

You could swear you see other things, too, dark shapes prowling the edges of your vision; you have the skin-crawling prickling sensation of being watched. 

The driver maneuvers left, passing a car, and despite the instructions to keep your eyes on the road ahead, you can’t help but sneak a glance at the other vehicle. 

Its driver is a large man, dressed in business attire - but as your car rolls past, the flesh seems to melt from his face, rolling like candle wax down his collar and forming a puddle on the driver’s seat. All that’s left are muscles - and then, not even that, simply bones. Bare teeth and empty eye sockets, bony fingers curled around the steering wheel. 

The skull grins at you from behind the wheel, and you ignore the plea of your driver. You turn and look back over your shoulder. 

Behind you, the road has fallen away into nothing. Just behind the car’s rear wheels, the asphalt crumbles; within seconds of your departure, the road you had been traveling falls away into a dark pit. Beyond, like a sun low on the horizon, you make out the glow of fire. 

“I warned you,” the driver says, with a tone like regret. 

Behind the car, in the crumbling world, a thousand souls rise over the flames like escaping wind. The ghosts gather in the sky like smoke, circling overhead like water around a drain. 

The car around you vanishes. The road beneath you vanishes. Everything is gone - and then, just as abruptly, you’re gone too, your awareness snuffed out entirely. 

When you come to your senses, you find yourself behind the wheel of an old black Bentley, parked at the curb. A woman approaches your car, arms full luggage. 

“Get in,” you say, pushing open the door for her. “Wherever you’re going, we’ll get you there the fastest. Just don’t look back, whatever you do.” 


This is one of the four entries I’m writing for @buckysmetallicstump‘s Disney Challenge! My prompt for this entry was #19: “Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.” -Lilo & Stitch. Quote will be in bold.

Song Inspiration: “BLUE” cover by OXEANZ (originally by Troye Sivan - read the author’s note)

Summary: Sometimes the best lessons are learned from Disney.

Word Count: 2400-ish

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Warnings: SPN level injuries, language, first time writing Castiel (I feel like that should be a warning)

A/N: I just want to point out that I love love LOVE Troye’s original version. However, I remembered coming across this cover a while back and felt that the tone fit the story better. Plus, it really is a beautiful cover and if you haven’t heard it it’s honestly worth checking out. Here is a link to both versions if you’re interested:

Troye Sivan (Original):

OXEANZ (Female Cover):

From the first moment you found yourself staring into those electric blue eyes you knew you were a goner, and when you learned that he was an angel it had surprisingly been, well… unsurprising. The commanding power within his eyes and the sheer depth of their color was to beautiful for any human to possess. Sure, his body was technically only a vessel, but you were convinced that everything about that vessel had begun to shine brighter from the moment it was touched by the angel. Besides, the vessel was empty now. Castiel was completely and utterly himself, and you were completely and utterly in love with him.

Of course, you would never tell him that. He was an angel. You were a human. Thinking you had any kind of chance with him was a disillusion you didn’t bother to burden yourself with. You had accepted that a long time ago, happy to call the angel your best friend instead.

And he really was. You might have known Sam and Dean the longest, having spent a large chunk of your childhood being babysat by Dean when your parents were off on hunts, but with Cass it felt like there had never been a day you spent not knowing him. You had been able to open up to him about things you thought you’d never share with anyone, and it was easy. He listened, without judgement, and when he could he offered advice. But more often that not he realized that all you really needed was a shoulder to lean on. You had never been more yourself with anyone, and there were moments when you met his gaze that you realized he truly saw you.

Currently, you were curled up next to him in your room at the bunker watching Lilo & Stitch. That was one of the many things you loved about Castiel. He was always happy to watch endless amounts of Disney movies with you. Whenever you were lucky enough to get Sam and Dean to watch one it wasn’t without a series of complaints. But Cass never complained. Not once. He even seemed to enjoy them most of the time, and you for sure as hell enjoyed the time you got to spend with him.

All to soon the end credits began to role and you snuggled further into Cass’ side, letting them play out. “So Cass, what’d ya think?”

“I think this one has been my favorite.”

Keep reading


Pairing:  Jumin X MC/Reader

Summary: The RFA and MC experience complications with their pregnancy.

Genre:  General, Fluff

Rating: PG (because apparently, I write Jumin sensually)

Word Count:  Approx. 1500

Protip: Listen to “Love Songs for Robots” by Patrick Watson.

He had always been protective of you.

When you told him about your surprise in 9 months, his eyes had brightened with such joy and love.  He had been overjoyed!  His beloved wife would be the mother of his child!

But Jumin being Jumin, the more precious something was, to him, the more effort he put into protecting it.  And he never seemed to know when he was going overboard.

He had Jaehee book all your doctors’ appointments, an architect for the nursery, and within a week of getting the news, had already started screening for a nanny.

“Husband, I’ll be home to care for the baby anyway,” you had said when you found out, annoyed.

“Wife, even I know child-rearing is taxing,” he countered, a slight smile on his lips.

Keep reading

Caught in a Storm

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4216

Warnings: Smut, fingering, blood kink, very slight dub!con, sex with strangers, unprotected sex, slight angst but not really.  

Summary: You’re on your way to a new school and new life when a freak storm and some bad timing lead you into the arms of a dark stranger. 

A/N: This is for @roxy-davenport SPN Birthday Celebration, it was a few days late but I think I like how it turned out. My prompt was the movie Susperia(1977), blood!kink, demon!dean x reader, and the quote “Was that supposed to scare me?”   

Covering your head with the back of your jacket, watching as the rain poured down around you, you rushed towards the door. It was late, and part of you doubted that anyone would be here to let you in. Still, it was going to be hard to find a hotel in a strange city in the middle of the night, while trying to navigate through the horrible weather. Knocking as loud as possible, your fist banging against the wood and pounding out a dull thud you could hear echoing inside. Closing your eyes, letting out a silent prayer that it was going to be noisy enough to rouse someone.

Pressing your face against the seam you tried to hear any signs of life coming from inside, but it was silent.

Keep reading


@hpshipnet | lightning era ship event

Draco turned his head from the sun beyond the window, the sheer curtain rustling softly, and let the warmth seep into his skin. 

Harry lay against their bed, just barely inside his line of sight. He was blurred, at first, but a bit clearer once Draco had blinked the bright spots from his vision. Harry’s eyelids drooped low, on the verge of sleep, but his gaze remained locked - was he looking at Draco, or the window?

“Tired, Potter?”

“Of you,” Harry drawled, smile as sleepy and slow as the rest of him. 

Draco’s heart warmed, not in quite the same way as the sun had done; softer, easier, more enveloping. He turned back towards the window, and smiled out at the landscape.

The Blondie and the Hot One


Enjoy! :)

“Okay, so you fall in love with the person of your dreams,”  Magnus said, glancing up from his phone to examine Cat’s face, “but your country’s leader goes crazy and everyone goes into poverty and dies of… starvation? That’s a little extreme.”

“Press the button,” Cat said. Her fingers found her water glass and she raised it to her lips, without ever breaking eye contact.

“Are you kidding me?” Magnus laughed. “You’re going to send an entire country into chaos because you fall in love?”

Cat nodded, taking a sip.

“True love can overcome anything,” Cat said.

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You’re My Everything

Thank you so much to the nonnie that requested this, my first ever 40s Bucky fic, I really hope I did your idea justice and that you like it. It’s super long, I’m sorry I got carried away but I really hope you like this as much as I liked writing it, please let me know x

The title comes from this Al Bowlly song. Al Bowlly is seriously one of my most treasured singers who just so happens to have been around in the 1930s so this was quite fitting. Also this song influences some of Bucky’s dialogue towards the end, again from the 1930s.

You have no idea how much feedback means to me, so please do not be shy my little lovelies. 

Request: i was wondering if you could write something about 1940s Bucky? maybe about him making a bet to date the reader, i mean we all know he was a ladies man, but eventually falling for her and since i always need a bit of angst i thought like she could find out about the bet and got mad a bit maybe? i don’t know if it’s even clear but honestly it’s all up to you, i won’t mind it being different from the request.

Warnings: Bucky is a bit of an asshole, partly because of another asshole named Thomas making a bet with him about reader. A lot of angst when reader finds out this.

Words: c 3,840

*gif not mine!*

“What you honestly don’t remember her?” Steve sighed and Bucky looked at him incredulously.

“Steve, do you honestly think I could forget a dame who looked like that?” he quipped.

“Well I’m tellin’ ya punk she was in our class at school. She didn’t look like that then but I know it was her.”

“Wait, she was the girl who used to sit by herself at lunch and read right?” Bucky suddenly remembered, Steve simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Bucky let his eyes linger on you sipping on a lemonade in your best dress, hair perfectly curled and lips red.

People dancing blurred his line of sight from time to time but he kept his eyes locked on you.

“I wouldn’t waste your time fella,” Thomas who was standing beside Bucky suddenly spoke and Bucky looked questiongly at him.

“She won’t dance with nobody, fellas have been asking for weeks and she turns ‘em all down. We’re reckoning she wants to be a spinster.”

“Well maybe the right guy hasn’t asked her to dance yet?” Bucky smirked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Or she’s frigid,” Thomas replied and in spite of himself Bucky found himself not quite able to laugh along with him.

“Do you remember her from school?” he asked Thomas, who took a sip of his drink before speaking again.

“Do I? She moved in when we were in what 11th grade? She didn’t speak to anyone, nobody really liked her.”

“She actually seemed quite sweet to me,” Steve interrupted and Thomas cut him off with a mocking smile.

“Maybe you should ask her out then?”

“No,” Steve muttered softly.

“Why don’t you try?” Bucky suggested to Thomas trying to divert the attention from Steve.

“Please,” Thomas scoffed “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“She’s not that bad,” Bucky sighed.

“Five bucks says you won’t go over there and ask her out to dance. Five more says you won’t ask her out to dinner.” Thomas was so smug that Bucky wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face, and a huge part of him felt like he wasn’t being a gentleman by letting Thomas run his mouth about you.

He downed his drink and turned to Thomas with an outstretched hand “Ten bucks?”

“Ten bucks,” he confirmed, shaking his hand.

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In the Back of the Alley [Chanyeol Vampire!AU: Pt.2/3]

Originally posted by yeollovemebaek

1 || 2

It was then you decided to struggle, when you could see how your life would end. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be by your vampire boyfriend. 

You wriggled and shoved and pulled, but only succeeded in making a manic, animalistic gleam come to Chanyeol’s scarlet eyes. In one large hand he seized both of your wrists and pinned them above your head, eventually utilizing his mass to push you against the wall.

“The more you struggle, the worse this is going to be for the both of us, jagi,” he warned solemnly, yet the corners of his mouth quirked up ferally, contradicting his implications. This time the gravity of Chanyeol’s threat got through to you, as you squeezed your eyes shut and prepared for your demise by vampire bite, of all things. “There’s a good girl,” he murmured, ghosting his lips over your rapidly pulsing arteries. You heard a sharp intake of breath by Chanyeol before two pinpricks stabbed into the side of your neck and a soft pair of lips created a seal over them, making your heart rate go haywire, much to his pleasure, as evidenced by his moan. Your eyes flew open, and you saw your boyfriend bent over you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, making contented sucking sounds every few seconds.

As Chanyeol’s lips continued to suck at your neck, the seconds began to stretch into individual infinities, making you dizzy and vitalized all at once. But just as you felt that revelation, the dizziness began to outweigh the surge of pleasure along with the throbbing drum beat of the aching on your neck. Sensing the imminent dangers of blood loss on your feeble body, you focused your blurring line of sight on the figure of the monster-no, your boyfriend, your Chanyeol- in front of you, you drummed up what was left of your draining strength and pushed at his firm chest to get him off so you could survive the night and tear Chanyeol a new one. Upon contact with his cold body and your application of force, your boyfriend turned beast growled at you, the growl of a panther warning other predators from his kill. He crushed his body to your prone form on the wall further, prohibiting any more struggle as he drained the life from you.

In a few sluggish pulses of your heart, dizziness gave way to numbing exhaustion, causing black spots to dance in front of your vision and your body to slump. Had it not been for Chanyeol’s body forcing you to the side of the building, you was sure you’d have collapsed by now.

Chanyeol must have sensed this crumble of your strength, as he released the grip on your mouth and your wrists, replacing his hands on you hips to support you. Slowly, he peeled his body from yours, not breaking his connection with your neck. As your body slid down the wall, Chanyeol used his grip on you to ease you down until you were sprawled under him, propped up against the brick.

Just as your eyelids drooped to accommodate the ever-growing darkness, Chanyeol removed his face from your dully throbbing neck, giving a cooling lick to the aching wounds he had created. A cool, pale hand rose to stroke the side of your cheek, his thumb brushing in gentle circles. It might’ve been from the lack of blood, but you felt placid in his embrace, reassured by his soft touches.

At the same moment, two shadows detached themselves from the alley wall beyond the two of you and distributed themselves in a manner that clearly meant no room for you or the vampire hovering above you to slip past. Even through the haze of hemorrhagic shock, you could tell that they weren’t lost. There was a coordination to the way they spread themselves, and the way that they advanced upon the two of you crouched against the wall that signified a common goal. You gasped slightly, nothing more than a slight inhale in your condition, trying to alert Chanyeol to the dangers that lay ahead.

He placed a hand against your cheek, and pecked your lips chastely. “Doing great so far, jagiya, don’t worry, alright?” he reassured you, not picking up on your signal. By this point, your fear and anger directed at Chanyeol had dissipated, replaced by only a dazed sense of acknowledgement that compelled you to give a shaky nod, placing a hand on your still bleeding neck, and turned your attention to those who stalked down the alley towards you.

Stiffening as he inhaled, scenting the intruders and realizing the situation, Chanyeol rose, turning his back to you, and focused his gaze on the approachers, standing in front of your slouched form in a subtly defensive pose. “Gentlemen,” he greeted them coolly, with a razor sharp undertone that was undetectable to you.

The other men picked up on the undertone, and found it amusing, judging by their twin derisive chuckles. “Someone’s found themselves a mate, haven’t they?” one sneered.

“And a meal,” the other added, scenting your blood on the damp breeze. “Mind if we steal her for a quick bite?”

The two circled around the two of you, in what looked like an attempt to see your face, but Chanyeol made a seemingly casual shift that kept your body out of their line of sight, also keeping you from seeing them.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol refused easily, as if he were talking about passing on a trip to a bar instead of you and your life. “I’m afraid I’ve about tapped her.”

One leaned to the left of him and caught a glance of you, looking you up and down. “She looks like she’s got enough life left,” he noted with a sharp edge, the edge of hunger, you realized dimly.

“Maybe I didn’t make this clear,” Chanyeol corrected smoothly, his tone like honey over a bed of sharp rocks, only barely tampering the razor sharp bite behind his words, clear even to you. “She’s mine. And I’m not the sharing type,” he growled.

“You’re barely a month old,” the one on the right scoffed. “What’s to keep us from taking her from you? We’ve got over a millennium between the two of us.”

“Sheer willpower? Possessiveness?” Chanyeol offered in a tone that you knew meant he was smirking cockily, shifting into a fighting pose to back up his statement. “Take your pick. Either way, you’re not getting near her.” 

I love cliffhangers. Don’t you?

-Admin A 

Relearning (Part One)

Title: Relearning (Part One)

Word Count: 2,755

Warnings: swearing, angst, slight violence 

Summary: Reader goes on a hunt with the Winchesters and gets hurt very badly in the head. She slips into a coma and Cas fixes her. Reader wakes up with no memory of the Winchesters whatsoever.  

Pairing: [Dean x Reader] [Sam x Reader Friendship]


              Dean rested the palms of his hands against the wooden tabletop, his eyes scanning the research laid out in front of him. His lips were pursed together in a tight formation, his eyebrows creasing in concentration. “What if we’re looking at this wrong?”

              Both you and Sam glanced up from your own research, looking over at the eldest Winchester. “How so?” You questioned, your elbow falling onto your knee and chin reposing on the palm of your hand.

              Dean stayed silent for a few beats before pushing his weight up from his previous position, peering over to you and his brother. “I don’t think it’s a demonic omen we’re looking at. I don’t think it’s a demon at all,” he informed, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

              Sam’s brows knitted together in confusion, leaning himself back into his chair, his limbs stretching out to an extent. “What is it then?”

              Dean returned back to his research, pulling a chair along with him, plopping himself down into the stiff furniture. “I think it’s a Draugr.”

              You flicked an eyebrow into a steep arch, standing from your seated post and stalking over to Dean, gazing down at the research spread out. “A Draugr?” you repeated, studying the papers sprawled along the beaten down furniture.

              Dean cleared his throat before opening his mouth to speak. “Uh yeah. It’s an Icelandic Ghoul basically. I’ve never dealt with one personally but dad did back when Sam and I were kids.” Dean flipped aimlessly through his father’s old, leather-bound journal, halting his search when he came upon the page he desired. You turned your attention onto the book, reciting the words scribbled along the crumbled pages in your mind. “It would make sense on how an entire section of that town back in Illinois was infected with a demonic disease. It would make sense how a damn cat killed its owner simply laying on it while the owner slept. Literally crushed to death. And it makes sense with all the livestock mutilations.”

              “How do all of those make sense to you? They have absolutely nothing in common,” you pointed out, crossing your arms and pressing them against your chest, shifting your weight onto your left foot and jutting your hip out. Dean shoved the journal into your hands, pointing to a section on the page silently, raising an eyebrow. “Icelandic Ghouls, also known as the Draugr. (Draugar for plural.) Superhuman strength, can increase/decrease size at will, shapeshift, see into future, control the weather. Very heavy. Can enter dreams of the living, curse a victim and bring disease to villages. Immune to weapons. Two ways to kill them: pushing it back into its grave or cut off its head, burn the body, and dump the ashes into the sea. Livestock, mostly sheep, are targets for the Draugr.” You read word for word what John Winchester had wrote along the paper. “Huh.”

              Dean pressed the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, taking a large sip of the alcoholic beverage. “They’re very rare. I’ve only come across about two other hunters that’s dealt with one of these suckers.”

              “It sure is a specific way to kill ‘em,” Sam piped in, looking up to face his brother. “I mean throw the ashes into the sea? There’s no body of water anywhere near us.”

              “We could flush ‘em,” you spoke, closing the book shut and setting it down onto the table. You reached over to grab your own drink, taking a long swig of it. The beer slid down your throat with a slight burning sensation, the drink satisfying to you. Your eyes darted back and forth from Dean to Sam, an eyebrow raised. “Either that or we drive 300 plus miles just so throw the damn things in the sea.”

              Dean shrugged in response. “Either way, I think I know where it is.” He pushed away a few books and papers away from a large map of Illinois. “All attacks are centered around this stretch of forest.” He his left pointer finger directed to a part of the map with a large, red circle drawn.

              Both you and Sam nodded in response to his words. You set your beer down onto the table before marching over to your duffel bag, checking to make sure you had all your supplies. Once satisfied, you pivoted around on your heel, arching an eyebrow. “Well? You guys ready to torch the sucker and send him on his merry way down into the sewers?”


              You crouched down, your machete and blow torch in both hands. You peered around the corner of the room, your eyes darting around the quarters. The boys and you had come across an abandoned house about five miles into the woods, only to find out that the ghoul had resided there. The stench of rotting corpses of mutilated livestock and probably human flesh brought an unpleasant feeling to you, causing your nose to cringe in disgust. Blood trickled along the walls; some streaks fresh and others dried up. The Winchesters decided that the best plan was to split up: Sam taking the back, Dean taking the front, leaving you to explore the old tornado shelter, other known as the basement. Sam had offered to come with you, but you quickly shoved his gesture off, saying how you could handle it by yourself.

              Your grip tightened against your weapons, inhaling deeply to try to calm yourself down. Hunting had always been an easy task for you, but for some reason you had an off feeling tonight. You fixed your posture to standing in an upright position, rounding the corner only to come in close contact with your target. The Draugr was a towering figure, almost resembling a man, though its skin was a pale blue hue that matched its glowing eyes. Its body was thin, its bones jutting out. Its breath was hot and sticky against your face. Before you were able to react, its hand clasped around your neck, staring at you coldly before flinging your body against the opposing wall. You yelped out in pain, your body falling limply onto the concrete flooring. Your head pounded and vision blurred, black dots dancing across your line of sight. An ear piercing ring sounded in your eardrums, your eyes growing heavy. Blood oozed down the back of your shirt from the new wound on the crown of your head. Blackness engulfed you, the last thing you hearing was your name being called and the sound of a fire burning.


              The white walls and bright lights were becoming far too familiar to the Winchesters. The cold, watered-down coffee and doctors and nurses patrolling the corridors were becoming far too familiar. Far too familiar. Dean stared at the tiled flooring in front of him, his hands falling limply into his lap. His eyes were fixated on nothing, though he gave the impression to be lost in thought. But in reality, his mind was empty. He felt numb. He wished he felt frightened and angry and sad. He wished he would feel something. But instead, the eldest Winchester felt absolutely nothing.

              Sam’s eyes were fixed on his brother, his facial expressions soft and eyes filled with fear. Sam felt frightened and angry and sad. He wished he couldn’t feel anything. He wished he felt numb. He wished he didn’t have the pang of guilt firing in his gut, his mind screaming at him. “You should have gone with her. It’s your fault why she’s here. You should have never left her alone. It’s your fault if she dies!” Sam winced at his own remarks, tearing his gaze away from Dean. His jaw was clenched tightly, angry tears filling to the brim of his hazel eyes.

              “Family for Maddie Weston?” a man called out, Dean and Sam darting their attention onto the man in white, recalling the name they used as an alias for you. The brothers stood from their chairs, Dean hurriedly rushing to the doctor’s side while Sam staggered slowly, his knees growing weaker and weaker with each step.

              “Is she alright?” Dean inquired, his evergreen eyes drowning in a pool of hope, something the hunter rarely had swimming in his irises. Sam stayed silent, staring at the doctor, his heart pumping faster and faster.

              The doctor peered down to his shoes then back up to the brothers. Not a good sign. The doctor paused a moment before opening his mouth to speak. “The swelling in her brain is quite severe. It’s a wonder why she even survived the injury. I fear that Miss Weston has fallen into a coma, and we’re not sure if she’ll awaken or not.”

              Sam’s knees buckled beneath his weight as he stumbled backward, his body falling into a chair. His head bowed, his hands raking through his long hair. Dean remained where he was, his stare hardening. “She might not wake up?”

              The doctor inhaled slowly, withdrawing a long string of air. “It’s unlikely that she will. You both are free to see her if you wish. My deepest condolences.” And with his final words, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the waiting room, leaving the brothers to their own thoughts.

              Dean glanced over at his brother, slowly licking his top lip and desperately trying to swallow the large lump forming in his throat. “Come on, Sammy,” he spoke, barely above a whisper, leisurely venturing down the hallway to your room. Sam shakily stood from his spot, lazily following his brother, his eyes glued to the floor.

              Dean placed a trembling hand on the door handle, twisting it and releasing, the door swinging open. Whatever image he had in his head of you in a hospital bed never would have been the scene he saw before him. Your skin was paler, a breathing tube shoved down your throat. Cuts coaxed your face and machines were connected all around you. An IV was stuck in your forearm. A heart monitor was to your left, the beeping of your heart echoing in the other than that silent room. If the heart monitor had not indicated you being alive, Dean would have pronounced you dead. Easily.  

              Sam walked up to your sleeping form, touching his large hand to your forearm, indicating to you that he and Dean were here, and they weren’t going anymore. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted solemnly, surprising himself that he was able to speak clearly. Sam peered his eyes up quickly to face his brother, exchanging a soulful glance before returning to you. “Dean and I are here. And we’re not going anywhere…” Sam smiled sadly to you, though it immediately shifted into a tight line. “I promise.”

              Dean cleared his throat, drawing Sam’s attention onto him. “Hey, Sammy… can you give me a moment alone with her?”

              “Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be outside if you need me.” He patted your arm with affection before walking out of the room, the door clicking behind him.

              Dean remained silent for the pressing moments, grabbing the chair against the wall and bringing it to the side of the bed, falling limply into it. He stared at you with caring eyes, though dots of fear indeed coaxed the evergreen shade. Once Dean laid eyes on you in your hospital bed, the numbness was replaced with a deep sadness and fear. Fear of losing you. He would never be able to forgive himself.

              “I think about our first hunt together a lot. Hell, I think about it all the time. It’s hard to believe that this was what… seven… eight years ago? It’s amazing how time goes by,” he babbled on. “God, you hated me when we first met. What did you call me? Right… a spineless horny douchebag. Can’t really disagree with you, can I?” He released a dry chuckle from his chapped lips, gliding his tongue along across his top lip in attempts of moistening it. “I watched you and Sam bond so… easily. I only played along to the hate charade to so I wouldn’t appear weak. Pathetic, I know.” He sniffled quietly, taking his hand into yours. “But it’s amazing what time can do for us, ya know? I realized how much I actually cared for you. I only went along with the games so you wouldn’t think I was weak. That I didn’t fall for someone easily. But man, if I’m being brutally honest here, I did. I did fall hard. Hard and fast. I hated myself for it.” Dean leaned forward in his chair, wiping away an escaped tear with his thumb. “I told myself that I couldn’t fall for you. I couldn’t let myself get close to anyone else. But I did. And I’m so glad I did.” He hoisted himself up from his position, leaning over your sleeping figure and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. His salty tears padded against your pale features, leaving a small track of tears streaming across your cheek.

              Dean fixed his posture, staring down at you before peering up to the ceiling. “Cas? God I hope you have your ears on,” he began, dragging his hand down his face to dry away his tears. Dean stepped away from your bed, pacing around your room. “I don’t know what to do, man. I can’t lose her. Man, she’s my girlfriend. My best friend. My girl. I can’t keep losing people, Cas. Please… I’m begging you, dude. Help her.” Dean’s eyes fell to the ground, his eyelids enclosing to create the illusion of darkness. But the sound of fluttering wings caused him to open his eyes once more, coming face to face with Cas.

              In silence, Cas slowly approached you, pressing his fingers gently to your forehead. Dean stared in awe, hope riving within his veins.

              “She will be alright.” Cas informed shortly afterwards, gazing over at the eldest Winchester. “She’ll awaken in a short while. Give her time to heal.”

              Dean stayed frozen to his place, his eyes darting from you to Cas. “Thank you, Cas. Thank you so much.”

              The corners of Cas’s lips twitched into an unsteady grin as he bobbed his head.

   Dean smiled widely, mostly to himself, as he walked over to his chair once more, plopping his weight down and grasping onto your hand. He did not need to speak words, for his actions spoke for him. Sparkle erupted in his evergreen hues. His smile was radiating. He was the happiest he could be.


                 A short while later, your eyes slowly fluttered open. You squinted at the blinding light, allowing your pupils to adjust before opening them fully. Your gaze darted around the unfamiliar environment, your mind growing weary. Where were you? What happened? You turned your head to the left to see a stranger sitting next to you with his head bowed, a soft snore sounding through his lips. Who was he? A hoarse cough vibrated through your chest, stirring the man beside you awake.

              The stranger’s eyes burst with life as he stared down at you. He leaned over, gripping down onto your hand with his, a large smile on his face. “Thank God you’re okay, Y/N,” he murmured, pressing his lips onto your pounding temple.

              You grew confused, your eyebrows furrowing with the contact of his lips. He parted, staring down at you with loving eyes before calling two boys in by the name of Sam and Cas. The men answered his call by stepping into the room shortly after, a proud gleam radiating from the taller man. But the man dressed in the trench coat’s head tilted to the right, his blue irises filling with concentration. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered, approaching you.

              You slowly sat up as if you were attempting to back away from him. You swallowed hard, your heart monitor slowly beginning to spike to a rapid beating. The man stopped his approach, his mouth hanging open slightly.

              “What’s wrong?” the man standing next to you asked the one in the trench coat, glancing back and forth from you to him. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

              “Sam, go tell Y/N’s doctor she’s awake,” the man in the trench coat—Cas—instructed to the taller man—Sam. Sam stared at you for a few extra beats before rushing out of the room.

              “Cas, what is it?” the unknown male inquired, stepping forward to Cas, his face stern and written with slight fear.

              But before Cas was able to reply, you opened your mouth to speak.

              “Who are you?”


So this is the first one shot that I wrote! I hope you liked it! Request things! Yay.

fic: i’m coming for you and your simple existence

septiplier // Part 1 of the Prequel to my Hitman/Soulmate AU // based on @earthbooty’s Criminal AU art

Author’s Note: This is a prequel to the other pieces I’ve written in this universe, and it details the story of how Mark and Jack first met. This is only part 1, but the second part will be forthcoming very, very soon. I hope you enjoy and I’d like to know if you have any other ideas you’d like to see me add to this universe! I really appreciate feedback!

If you prefer to read on AO3, here.

Part 2 of the prequel: here 

Other parts: 1st, 2nd

Summary: Most soulmates don’t meet in bed at gunpoint.

Jack peeks out the window of his cabin in the woods with trembling fingers, and braces himself for the stuff of nightmares.

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How Shall I Keep You?

Okaayyy so I am SUPER nervous to post this because this is hands down the darkest, most disturbing thing I have ever written. MAJOR WARNINGS on this it creeped me out even WRITING it. This was largely inspired by the MySpace AU (though it is not set in the MySpace AU) and there is vivisection, blood, gore, and Hux straight up KILLS Kylo, I’m not joking DO NOT READ THIS if you are squeamish this is NOT a “fun” piece it is a dark and disturbing bit of horror fiction PLEASE heed the warnings. Dedicated to @greedlingtrash for getting me down this damn rabbit hole :D

Setting: Star Wars Universe, Post Force Awakens
Rating: Excplicit
Pairing: Hux/Kylo Ren
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, GORE, GURO, DEATH/MURDER
Summery: General Hux has turned against the First Order’s Supreme Leader, killing Snoke in a grand coup to seize power and control within the Order. Unfortunately Kylo Ren did not side with him, and he awakens after battle to find himself paralyzed and at the mercy of the very crazed and power hungry Hux….

His eyes fluttered open, reality a blur of colour for a brief moment before it was brought into focus. He could see Hux standing over him, and for one breath it was a comfort. The bright orange of the man’s hair contrasted with the jet black of his uniform the first thing he saw before the blurred lines sharpened to show his face. A familiar sight, welcome in the midst of the fog that clung to his mind like cotton. As his mind sharpened in tandem with his sight, however, he remembered with a rush that this was no longer a friendly face.

Memories came screaming to life in his mind like a tidal wave. He remembered the rush of the Force through his veins, the propulsion of power as he fought. Images sprang to him of the red flash of his lightsaber and the smell of burnt flesh. Kylo Ren was strong, powerful. He was more than a match for most of the First Order turncoats that he fought off like a swarm of angry insects. Death and blood had been all around him, the bitter sting of rage and betrayal still coursing through him. And he remembered the sight of the man who had orchestrated this coup, standing just a little ways distant. The treacherous General who had killed his Master.

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Just Another One*Rich Boy AU

Luke Hemmings AU*
writer: Drey
writings    if you’re on mobile, click for masterlist

You were the kind of person his parents would prevent him from associating himself with. It was clear from the moment you had gained a debate scholarship to the most prestigious private high school that you and people like him weren’t meant to mix.

He was an elite and you were just an ordinary middle class person.

Your parents had managed to get a job in upstate Manhattan and had somehow managed to buy a roomy upper middle class house in a suburb near the Hampton manors. You were used to this- moving around due to your parents jobs but this time, your parents had promised you that you would get to spend your last two years of high school in New York and maybe get that scholarship you wanted at NYU. 

Since you were one of the very few people who had gained a scholarship to New York’s most prestigious private school, you were, of course, the target of many upperclassmen in your grade level, often mocking you for not having as much wealth as they have. People thought that the insults you were getting weren’t as bad as the ones victims of rejection got at public high schools but they were wrong. Deadly. 


“Hey, Y/N, you should probably get surgery for that ugly face of yours. Oh wait, you don’t have the money!” some snob yelled at you as you made your way to your locker, tucking your head behind your hair.

The richer girls giggled at you, pointing at you with their fake manicured nails, making their way to their lockers with their designer bags and hairdresser-fixed hair. Your eyes wandered all over the hallway as you looked at all the familiar faces you had nailed to the back of your mind the last 6 months. 

Tears clouded your vision, the blur of the liquid threatening to block your line of sight. You held them back, afraid of another line of mockery coming from your fellow peers. 

Your one and only friend in the school approached you, handing out glares to the people silently giggling at you. 

Casper was just another one of the scholars who got to attend the private school. He got more shit than you on a daily basis since he was gay but he handled the hate better than you ever could. With his witty remarks and venomous icy glares,  it often reminded everyone that he wasn’t a force to be reckoned with if they somehow flipped the switch and got on his bad side.

“Ignore them, crackers. They’re just trying to get to you,” he mumbled pitifully, using your nickname to somehow comfort you.

You hiccuped silently shaking your head in a fast motion, your hair flying everywhere.

“It’s just so hard not to,” you muttered, choking back a sob. 

All you could hear were the murmurs and the whispers of the not-so-nice things said about you and it was the only thing clouding your thoughts at the moment. But a sudden rush of silence filled the halls, your heart stopping for a brief moment in fear of another prank bringing you down.

You brought up your head lightly, low enough to hide your face from everyone else but high enough to see what the cause of the sudden silence was.

Luke Hemmings.

Luke Hemmings was teen royalty, the possible dream boy of every girl in the East and West coast. His family had moved from Australia for hopes of a future for their business and had stayed here ever since, his family’s business now an empire, the holy grail of wealth. 

He was the prince, the heir to the throne and everyone wanted apart in his fairytale, a piece of his fortune. His older brothers had strayed from the family line and went their own way and all there wasleft was Luke, the youngest of 3, so he was expected to take the throne once he graduated from college. 

The girls batted their eyelashes at him as he walked down the hallway, his 3 best friends following him, laughing about somethingthat had happened earlier. Everyone threw themselves at him, either saying a simple ‘hello’ or inviting him over after school.

You rolled your eyes and looked at Casper, nodding at him as your eyes cleared up from the tears that almost fell just a few minutes prior.

“Let’s just go. Please,” you begged quietly.

Casper nodded and held the small of your back, leading you away from the crowded hallway.


You had tried your hardest to keep your mind off of him but as every girl in the school, you had found some sort of interest in the blonde boy. You knew someone like you could never end up with someone as vital as he but somewhere deep inside your mind, you knew you wanted the universe to change its ways so the odds could be in your favor.

You never intended to find the blonde boy attractive but somehow, his cerulean eyes and god-like stature had buried itself in the deep, dark ends of your mind, a hole you could never get out of no matter how hard you tried.

Every girl in their right minds stared longingly at Luke as he stumbled across the auditorium to the stage.

You were sitting on the left wing of the stage watching curiously as Luke approached Casper smiling. 

You were in the auditorium for your first debate of the semester and you couldn’t be more ecstatic.

You watched intently as Luke talked to your best friend, laughter bubbling up between the two before Casper pointed his thumb back, pointing at you. They turned up at you, Casper waving a 'hello’, Luke following his move.Something froze inside you as you thought of what you would do. 

After what seemed like an hour mentally, you raised your hand to give a simple wave as the corner of your lips slightly turned up, feeling your cheeks heat up. You ducked your head back down to the paper you were trying so hard to focus on, looking back up for a millisecond only to see Casper’s back turned towards you and Luke still looking at you, a smile etched on his face. 

The girls near your spot on the stage had seemed to notice this small signal, sending daggers your way as they closed in on each other and started whispering and giggling. You couldn’t help but to smile at that; you were too busy thinking about that smile sent in your direction.

Your debate teacher, a short woman with mousy black hair and glasses, stood in front of the stage, a clipboard in her grasp as she explained what the class was going to spend the next hour and a half doing.

“Alright, kids, settle down we’re going to start. Each of you will be able to participate and go against each other. Each argument will last 5 minutes and whoever has the most reasonable points will stay and if you are eliminated, the next person in your line will come up and go against the winner of the last round. Whoever remains last will be able to gain extra credits for the class. Let’s begin.”

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As Quickly as I Do

Fic Request: Stydia wedding day?


 “Are you still breathing?” Scott inquired with a breath of a chuckle as he walked into the dressing room of the groom, brushing past a frantic caterer being sent on a wild goose chase by the maid of honor. The door closed behind him with a thud and the groom glanced up as he pulled his tuxedo coat on with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Y’know, it’s funny,” Stiles divulged calmly, smoothing his fingers along the flaps of his jacket, a deep shade of black in the traditional sense. He would've gone with something a little less common, but his wife to be would settle for nothing less than perfection. He gestures with his hand as he searches his brain for the proper way to put his emotion in actual words, “I’m vibrating, but like in a good way. That’s probably the wrong way to describe it.”

He moves toward the floor-length mirror and Scott comes to stand behind him, placing a reassuring hand over his shoulder and shaking gently.

“Sounds about right to me,” Scott bolsters softly, admiring their formal attire in the reflection of their adult faces staring back at them. Both boys - no - men were feeling sentimental, and they weren’t afraid to show it. The feeling went unspoken for now, but Scott knew it was mutual. “Who’d have thought we’d make it here?” There’s something sad about the inquiry, but the very fact that he can stand here and ask it gives him a sense of achievement, and gratitude toward the world. He’s proud. Proud of his best friend, proud of himself. The pack.

A blinding grin overtakes Stiles’ entire face and lifts two apple-shaped cheeks. “I’m marrying Lydia Martin.”

Scott chuckles. He’d be embarrassed for the guy if he wasn’t so damn honored to be standing here beside him to celebrate it. “Eat your heart out,” he says with a matching smile. “I never thought she’d give you the time of day, now look where we are. It hasn’t even been that long since the last time she told you to get lost.”

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah, that happened two nights ago,” he quips.

“Huh.” The floppy haired best man squints his eyes. “Still, I’m surprised you proposed after eight months of being official.”

“When you know, you know, Scott.”
“Yeah, and I guess you knew the moment she pushed you off the swing so she could sit next to Jackson,” Scott reminisces with a chortle, pinching the bridge of his nose at his recollection of the humiliation that Stiles endured from that day forward as he tried every desperate attempt to catch her attention. He even asked his own mother for advice, and Claudia told him that the best way to catch a woman’s attention was to ‘woo’ her, and then you could catch her heart by catching her tears. After that, she just had to learn to love you because of who you are.

Stiles had tried many times to get her to notice him, the first being when he bought her a flower on Valentine’s day in 3rd grade. He showed up to school with a bounce in his step, and he didn’t even care that Scott was teasing him about it, because he knew that it would work. But then he walked into Mrs. Mullberries class and saw the six other ones already laying on her desk, so he threw it in the trash with a sadness that could only come from young love, one he buried deep into his 3rd grade heart.

He’d finally been successful in capturing her attention when he bought Lydia a replacement doll after Jackson broke it. They were friendly for almost three days before Jackson told him to leave her alone and shoved him into the jacket closet. She ignored him for years after that, until he was finally able to catch her tears in the school parking lot. Then it was all about waiting for her to love him for who he was.

And now she did. And here they were.

“Are you crying?” Scott asked. “Because if you’re crying then I’m gonna cry.”

Stiles blinked at the water in his eyes and laughed, rolling his honey eyes at his best man. “You’re my best friend, Scott. I never thought we’d make it here, not when every week was the end of the world. And I’m not talking in a teenage ‘my life is over because I farted in front of my crush’ kind of way.”

Scott swallowed hard, his head bobbing in a short nod. “Me too.” he takes another look at his friend’s outfit. “You look good… but that tie…” he shakes his head. “Let me fix it.”

“I knew I did it wrong. These stupid things never work. You should have let me get a magnetized one.”

Scott choked on his own saliva at the unexpected comment. “Yeah, Lydia would've loved that.”

As Scott finishes adjusting the groom’s tie, a gentle knocking at the door pulls them out of their conversation.

Kira pops her head in, dressed to the nine’s in a velvet blue dress, her hair curled perfectly and strung up in most places. “Are we ready?”

Stiles breathes heavily. “It’s time.” Nervous laughter fills the room. “It’s time.”

“Let’s go, Mrs. Martin,” Scott pats his back as he leads him out of the dressing room.

“Thankfully Lydia didn’t win on that debate.”

She was as perfect as he thought she’d be, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her at the end of a long line of silky red carpet. Unfortunately his line of sight was altered by the blur of tears that skewed his vision. He could feel his chin wrinkle, could feel her elated happiness, even through the entirety of people crowding the room and staring with invading eyes. At the very end of the carpet, Stiles could see exactly where he wanted to be.

He and his friends were in a perfect triangle. Lydia at the point in a dress fit for a princess, gleaming white and silver aligning the cascading drapes of the bottom of her dress that swayed outwards and covered feet that she still felt the need to accent in the highest and most expensive pair of heels that she could find.

Kira was with the other bridesmaids, and Stiles honored Allison with a simple wish that she could’ve been there. It had been one of the most difficult parts of wedding planning for Lydia, and she’d been so thankful when Kira stepped up.

Scott stood by Stiles’ right with watering eyes, taking in the sight of Lydia and not bothering to swallow the gasp at the sight of his closest female friend, more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

But Stiles knew better. He knew she was capable of expressing every bit of beauty that this world could offer. His breath caught in his throat as she got closer, because he noticed the little piece of red string tied around her pinky finger. It was their thing, a representation of fate.

Hi,” she whispers tearfully as she takes her position by his side, right where she fit in.

Hey,” his voice cracks, and the tears finally leak from her eyes at the beautiful sound.

And Stiles couldn’t say ‘I do’  fast enough.

awesomemaple  asked:

KA, apodyopis? :D

Apodyopis – the act of mentally undressing someone

Oh.” Anna’s head slewed around, the floppy brim of her sun hat smacking her sister in the face.

“Ow!” Elsa straightened her sunglasses. “What?”

“Mm?” Anna was leaning over the railing so far that she was standing on her toes, the hem of her summer dress fluttering around her thighs.

“What are you staring at?”

“Huh? Oh! Umm, nothing.” Anna dropped back down onto her heels and smoothed her palms over her skirt. “Nothing, I just think I could use some air, I’m going to go down and walk on pier a little ways. I’ll be back in a minute!”

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anonymous asked:

18, souharu?

“Things you said when you were scared.”

I know people wanted more mer!haru and cop!sousuke so have Haru saving his boyfriend.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this, Sousuke thinks, as he struggles for breath.  He gasps as he tries to keep his mouth above the icy water.

He’s cold; so cold it’s a struggle to even to move his body at all. He stopped being able to feel his limbs minutes ago, and his vision is slowly growing more and more blurry.  He knows he’s going to lose consciousness soon, and that will be it…

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Imagine Barry Allen

Originally posted by kiserinu

Requests Are Open

Imagine being Leonard’s adoptive daughter and taking up his mantle while he’s away, much to the surprise of Barry as he is trying to apprehend you mid-heist.

A/N: I haven’t seen Legends yet, so I apologize for any errors that may be in the imagine.

Edit: Wrote a prequel of when Barry and reader first meet.

You were sure that the silent alarm had gone off by now, but you didn’t really care, you were having too much fun. Taking aim with the cold gun that had been left in your care, you took a shot at a nearby display case, taking pleasure in the sound of shattering glass as the shards rained on the floor. You spent a good five minutes in that same employment before a beep from your watch brought you back to what you were supposed to be doing at the museum. You were on a job and you needed to get it done.

With a sigh you turned your attention away from your next victim and to the display case that held what you were here for. It didn’t take long for you to extract the contents from the case and start picking your way through the shattered glass towards the door. That’s when the gust of wind accompanied by a red blur passed across your line of sight and came to a stop behind you.

“Put the jewels back, Cold?” Barry demanded.

You slowly turned around so that Barry could see your face, “Guess again.”

Barry stared at you in astonishment, “(Y/N)?”

“I should really get Cisco to think a name up for me,” You murmured to yourself before looking up at Barry, “Hey, Bar.”

“What are you doing here?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, “Dad’s out of town, so he needed me to take over the family business until he gets back.”

Barry glanced around the room, taking in the wreckage from your little joy ride with the cold gun before glancing back up to you, “Was all that really necessary?”

“Necessary? No. Fun? Yes.” You replied with a mischievous grin.

Barry’s gaze hardened, “You really shouldn’t be doing this (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, so please, just put back what you took.”

Sticking your bottom lip out, you pretended to pout for a moment, “You’re no fun, Barry.”

“I might not be fun, but I’m trying to keep you out of prison.” From the tone of his voice, you could tell that Barry was starting to get frustrated with you.

You pondered what he said for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh and tossing him the bag that was filled with the jewels you had taken, “Fine, but only because you’re cute when you get all bossy. But now, I’ve really got to go.”

Without a second glance you were out the door and on your motorcycle. Once you were far enough away you took something out of your pocket and smiled. “Lets hope Barry doesn’t check that bag any time soon.” You said to yourself with a chuckle as you redeposited the jewels into the pocket and sped away.

We’ll begin fading, the way the sun does
after a long day, but the sun doesn’t die
there, it’s constant radiant heat traveling
over the hemispheres, giving light to one
side and then to the other. But we’ll fade
into the night, boundary lines will blur beyond
our vision and our eyes will lose their sight;
for most, we’re living but we’ve already lost
the sight we should have cherished, blinded
by the poisoned vapor released by society,
we’re bound by expectations and our
breath stolen by being told we’re not good
enough, but soon, we’ll fade and society
will win on a loop of their torment.