but he looks so small and frail compared to how he looks now

Twisted in Love Pt 2 (D.T)

A/N Hey Guy’s so here’s part two to Twisted In Love! Aka my collab with @scuteedolans!

Hope you guy’s enjoy it, Leena and I have been having a lot of fun writing this! Hope you enjoy, part 3 should be up soon! Let us know what you think, feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 2.5k

Part One

Warnings: Sexual mentions 

Text Messages are Bolded

Readers Pov~

“So Y/n, How’s the pizza?” Ethan asked me, as i continued to take another bite. “Oh it’s really good actually!” i replied. 

The so called “Not a Date” has been pretty good so far. No fangirls of his bombarding us,  It was nice, and he was nice. I liked him, not going to lie. But he wasn’t Grayson. I mean he was and wasn’t in  a way. But, i had feelings for Grayson, not Ethan. Well, i might have a little crush on Ethan now, but nothing compared to my crush on Gray. I mean he was my “celebrity crush” after all.  And speaking of the god damn devil, he just sent me a message on snapchat. And of course i open it. It happened to be the Picture i posted that said, “Good pizza with Great people” and he sent a little winky face. I really hope he doesn’t mind I’m with Ethan honestly. But i mean why should he? It’s not like we’re even dating!

As the date continued Ethan started to act a little, well weird i guess? Every now and then his hand would brush against mine, and he would brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear every so often. Does he like me? No! Of course not Y/n! You’re just a friend to him, right?


Grayson’s Pov

So, here i was standing out side of the small pizza parlor preparing to take a seat. Basically stalking my twin brother and friend. 

But what can i say? He lied to me, and i need to see what the fuck is going on.   Because if this is more than just friends getting lunch together. I might fucking lose it!

Y/n’s supposed to be mine! Not Ethan’s, mine.  I mean i’m her “celebrity crush” after all! I should be the one taking her on a date! Hell Ethan should had stayed off of my territory, he shouldn’t had slid into her DM’S anyway, he knew how i felt about y/n. He should have let me fucking have her. We’re going to have some issues after this, that’s for fucking sure! But i mean, i already know y/n would pick me over that curly haired bastard any day! 

We’re perfect for each other. I know it, she knows it, hell everyone does. 

“So, table for one?” the frail lady at the counter asked as i paid for my pizza. 

“Oh  yea, do you think it could be behind that couple right there?” i asked, hoping their was a seat left.

“Oh yes sir! Here follow me!” the lady said.

Score! Now i get to see what the fuck is up with them now.

Oh wait what the fuck is Ethan doing? Why is he moving closer to y/n? 

Time to break this shit up, before it turns into something i don’t want.


Reader’s Pov     

“So  y/n i’ve been meaning to ask you something the whole night…” Ethan said, moving his seat slightly closer to mine.

“Oh yea… What’s that?” i replied, hoping this wasn’t going where i thought it was.

“I was wonderin- wait, what the fuck? Is that Grayson?” He said slightly in shock.

“Oh Hey what’s up brother!” I heard Grayson say, as he grabbed a chair, moving it between Ethan and I. A little weird i guess, but i didn’t mind.

“Gray what the hell are you doing here. And I was actually in the middle of asking y/n something before you came! So thanks for that!” Ethan huffed out, slightly angered.

“Ethan, i’m sure Gray was just hungry! Plus, who says company’s a bad thing?” i said, pinching Ethan’s cheeks slightly attempting to cheer him up. 

“Forget about it, why are you even here i said i’d bring food home.” Ethan defensively said to his twin.

“Well, you were taking forever! Plus y/n’s snapchat story looked fun! Thought i’d join you big brother!” Grayson said enthusiastically 

“Well you still should have stayed home.” Ethan huffed out once more. What the fuck was his problem? It’s his brother for god sakes! Not a demon, his twin.  Brotherly competition i guess?

“Y/n let’s go.” Ethan said grabbing my hand.

“What? No let’s stay here with Grayson!” i said.

“Yea let’s” Grayson said flashing an obviously fake smile.

“Y/n come on! I still need to talk to you!” Ethan said grabbing my hand once more.

“Ethan, if you can say it in front of me you can say it in front of your twin”

“Yeah what she said!” Grayson backed up.

“Whatever, i gotta go. You can go home with Grayson i guess.” 

“Well, i should head out too, Do you think you could drop me off at my place Gray?” i asked as Ethan left the lot.

“Oh yea! Anything for you!” He said, wrapping he muscular arm around me gently. Weird? We’ve always been touchy, yeah but not like this.

I Don’t mind it though.

*** Time skip, One week Later.****

I was now, currently on my way to the warehouse to help the boy’s out with their newest video. No, i wasn’t filming with them just their “camera man” for the day! I mean, i’m pretty excited though. I haven’t seen them since last week, at the pizza place, and to say i missed my friends was an understatement!          But, i was a little nervous it was going to be awkward. But, oh well.

As i pulled into their driveway i decided to shoot Grayson a text notifying him i was here 

“Hey! I’m here unlock the door please?”

“Sure gorgeous… ;)”

And with that i was about to walk toward their warehouse. But slightly shocked to see Ethan outside, waiting for.. me?

“Hey y/n you need help with the equipment?” he asked.

“Oh yes, please!” i said, handing off a few lights and cameras and heading into the warehouse with him.

“Hey how’s my favorite girl in the world!” Grayson said bringing me into a bear hug. As he said that, i could see Ethan tense up immediately.

“Oh here’s a key by the way! So you can come whenever you want!” Grayson said, handing me a key.

“Oh wow! Thanks!” i replied, shoving the key in my pocket.

“So you boy’s ready to film?”

“Yea let’s go!” Gray said.

The filming session consisted of them, doing challenges as always, which to be honest was hilarious to watch live, it was a totally different experience compared to watching their videos through a screen. It was funny to say the least. As filming wrapped up, the boys did their outros. And now it was time to just hang out, something we hadn’t done since the pizza debacle.

“So, Beautiful how have you been!” Grayson said plopping onto the couch Ethan and I were currently seated on.

“Oh nothing really, I’ve missed you guy’s a lot you know!” i said flashing a smile to the both of them.

“We missed you too Babe!” Ethan said, flashing a “Stern” look to Grayson.

“Well i’m pretty sure i missed you more Babe.” Grayson said, shooting an identical look to Ethan.

“I’m pretty sure i missed you guy’s more!” i said bringing them both in for a little hug.

“Okay so movie night?” Ethan asked.

“Oh yeah i’m down for a movie. That cool with you Gray?” i replied.

“Anything you want…” He said.

Ethan popped up running to grab a movie for us to watch.

And that left me and Grayson alone on the couch. “Hey y/n you’re pretty you know” Gray said out of nowhere. “You’re pretty too Gray” i replied stroking his hair lightly.

“I’m a little tired you know.” he said as he fake yawned, moving his arm over my shoulders. Right as Ethan entered the room.

“Gray what the fuck are you doing?” he basically yelled.

“I’m just resting my arm! Chill bro!”

“Don’t fucking tell me to chill! You’ve been fucking throwing your self all over her since she arrived!” Ethan yelled out.

“Have fucking not, That’s what you’ve been doing!” Grayson yelled out once more.

“Guy’s calm down!” I said, as they were now in each other faces.

“Stay out of this Y/n.” Grayson said, continuing to yell at his brother once more.

And i couldn’t stop it. It would only make things worse.

***Grayson’s pov***

What the fuck was Ethan thinking? Calling me out like that? He had no fucking right. This is how you start a war. 

“I don’t even get why you’re upset E! you’re the one who lied!”

“Lied! Grayson, what the fuck are you talking about!”

“You know what i mean, the DM’S, the Messages, the Date!”

“So you looked through my messages!” Ethan screamed, pushing me back.

“Yea, so what! You fucking lied!”

“About what? What i have with Y/n! We all know she likes me more anyway!”

“No she doesn’t!”

“Yes she does!”
 “She’s likes me ten times more. She would date me in a heartbeat!” I yelled

“How about we let her decide” I proposed. The both of us sitting between y/n.

“So. Who do you like more?” Ethan asked her.

“What! Like! How do you even want me to choose?” she said, putting her head in her hands.

“Just choose one y/n!” we both yelled.

“Fine! Neither! I can’t do this! Bye Guy’s.” She said as she ran out of the warehouse.

What the fuck.

She was supposed to choose me. Not run out, and not answer.

What does that even mean. I’m perfect for her. And she knows it.

***Readers Pov***

**Time skip Two weeks**

I haven’t talked to either of the twins in a few weeks. 

Two to be exact, and it’s been a fucking living hell without them. My life was grey and gloomy without those two goofs in it. And i needed it back. But it was hard to talk to them.

But how was it supposed to be easy after what i witnessed. They scared me, not going to lie. Two boys fighting over me, let alone brothers. That fucks your mind up, trust me. 

But, i needed closure. I needed to talk to them. I needed my friends back.  I don’t want to lose our friendship over a silly fight! Their worth way more than that! 

So i was now once again on my way to the warehouse. No i didn’t text them, i guess i wanted to surprise them. And I just felt weird about texting them. But i needed to get over this. I needed an explanation for what happened.

Do they really like me that much? I honestly thought it was a simple crush, not fight worthy!

As i pulled up to the warehouse, using the key they gave me to unlock the door, and talk to them. As i walked through the large warehouse. I heard noises, coming from.. the living room. And they weren’t nice noises either.

As i neared the living room to see what in the world was going on. I saw something that made my heart sink immediately. 

It was Grayson. Fucking someone over the arm of the couch.

She looked familiar though? Long blonde hair blue eyes and oh my fucking god. Is that who i  think it is? Tana Mongeau. It was.

Grayson was fucking Tana in front of my eyes. And i didn’t know what to do.       As i was standing there in silence, not believing my eyes. I turned around heading toward the door. Only to hear no one other than Ethan.

“Grayson.. Oh what the fuck! My eyes!” Ethan yelled out, seeing me instantly after looking around.

“Ethan what the fuck are you do- Wait Y/n? Why the fuck are you here?” Grayson said, covering himself with his hands, as tana attempted to do the same.

“I was actually here to make amends. But i guess you had other ideas! i yelled out.

“Who the fuck is this?” she said in a bitchy tone.

“I’m his friend!” i said.

“Oh she’s no one. Let’s go somewhere else babe. Where we won’t be interrupted. Grayson said, leading her to his bedroom.

I was now against the wall, nearing tears. I still liked Grayson believe it or not. My feeling never left. Even through the fight. I didn’t choose him because i didn’t like him. I didn’t choose him because i valued him as a friend. I valued both of them. I didn’t want the brothers to fight because of me. I thought it was a good choice. Apparently not. Since it led to him fucking a blonde bimbo, and me witnessing it.

“Hey, y/n? You okay?” Ethan said, sliding down against the wall next to me.

“Yea, i guess.” i replied.

“Well that was a sight, right?” he said, trying to cheer me up a little.

“Fuck yeah it was. Why is she even here anyway?” i asked, genuinely wondering.

“I don’t know. She’s apparently Gray’s new girlfriend. She’s been here all week. And trust me, those ugly ass screams get worse!” he laughed out. Pulling e in for a slight hug.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked

“Yea i’m good. I guess i’ll leave.”

“Wait no! How about we get out of here? Go back to the pizza place?” he asked.

“Yea, i’d like that. A lot actually.” i replied

“Okay let’s go!” he said, dragging me to his BMW.

***Time skip****

“Table for two” Ethan said, as we were lead to the same table we sat at this time three weeks ago.

“So you wanted to fix things up huh?” he asked taking a bite of his pizza.

“Yea, i missed you guys.” i replied, looking down at my food.

“I missed you too. The past two weeks have been boring as hell without my best friend.” he said reaching for my hand.

The next few minutes were filled with pointless conversation, but something was still there. Ethans hand on mine. And i liked it, a lot.

But all i could think About was Grayson. Just the sight i witnessed. Especially since i still liked him. It hurt. A fucking lot. And the scene played over and over again in my head. Maybe Ethan could make me forget about that?

As we finished our food and Ethan paid. He said something. Something i was not expecting.

“So Y/n. This was nice. Really nice. How about we make these little dates a regular thing?”

“What?” i replied slightly confused.

“I’m trying to finish babe! I guess i’m just trying to ask. Will you be my girlfriend y/n.” he said looking down slightly.

“Well…” i thought out loud. Thinking. 

Did i still like Grayson? Yes. But he had “Tana” and who said i couldn’t have Ethan. So why not.
“Yes Ethan Dolan. I will be your girlfriend.” i said.

“Do you think Gray will mind?” i asked.

“What?! No! He’s too busy fucking his new “toy”!” Exclaimed Ethan.

“Then yes Ethan, i’d be honored to be your girlfriend.” i replied.

Causing his features to light up as a christmas tree would.

“So, since you’re my “girlfriend” now. How about another date? Tomorrow at seven?” he asked.

“I’d love that.” i said.

Now it was time, to forget about Grayson. I mean according to Ethan He was busy with Tana anyway, so why should he care?

anonymous asked:

Hello! How about head canon or a scenario for the S and M brothers seeing their kid for the first time?

Hope you like it!


Ayato: He couldn’t stop the sense of pride and happiness welling up in his chest as he watched you cradle his child in your arms. You glanced up at him, beckoning him to come near. As Ayato moved towards the both of you, you lifted your arms up, motioning for him to take the child. “Go on Ayato, hold our son.” He slowly and carefully took the child from your arms, cradling it. Ayato watched in interest as the baby stared up at him with curious eyes. A content smile made its way onto his lips, was having a family always this nice?

“Ore-sama will make the both of you happy, that’s a promise.”

Laito: He observed his sleeping daughter who laid below him with a cheerful smile on his face. While Laito had fancied the idea of having a child, he never knew he could feel so pleased and fulfilled by just looking at his own child. “Hey Bitch-chan,” he turned to you, “isn’t she beautiful?” You looked back at him with a radiant smile, “yes she is!” Laito could only smile at your words as warm, pleasant feelings filled his body. This was his happiness.

“This child is a symbol of our love, and I’ll protect it with my life.”

Kanato: Kanato wasn’t fond of children, not at all. He felt like they took away too much of your attention. However, when he had seen you holding his child in your arms in such a loving manner, he couldn’t help but smile. He walked over to your hospital bed and peered over at his son. Kanato could see the small rising and lowering motions of his chest as he slept peacefully. As much as Kanato didn’t want to admit it, he was quite cute.

“You know, I suppose this isn’t too bad.”

Shu: Shu held his daughter in a cautious, and careful manner. It was funny, really. He was the king of the Demon World, almighty and powerful. Yet his daughter was so small, and so frail. If he used the wrong amount of force, he could end up killing her. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his head, that’s the last thing he wants to think of. Shu slowly places a warm kiss on his daughter’s forehead. Her body was so soft and squishy compared to his rough touch. Shu looks over to you, his eyes radiating with happiness.

“I won’t lose anyone dear to me anymore. I’ll always protect the both of you.”

Reiji: Reiji held his daughter tightly in his arms. He caressed the top of her head while her ruby orbs stared at her father in a curious manner. “I’m happy,” Reiji voiced, “she’s a beautiful, healthy baby girl.” You nodded your head in agreement. It was nice seeing Reiji so content, and relaxed. He presses a light kiss on his child’s finger before turning to you, a pleased look on his face.

“I’ll make sure to take the utmost care of the both of you.”

Subaru: When you had offered to let Subaru hold his son, he firmly refused. As much as he wanted to, he was scared. What if he accidentally killed him due to his strength? The thought alone made him sick to his stomach. He was fearful, but he couldn’t help the ecstatic, and proud feeling that was bubbling in his chest.

You couldn’t see it in his face, but you knew he was overjoyed at the fact that he was now a father. It would take a lot of coaxing before he felt comfortable enough to hold his own son. His voice is quiet, but you hear his words all the same.

“I’ll do my best to be a great father, I promise…”


Ruki: His face is calm and composed as he observes you holding his son. However, you know that deep down he’s very pleased, and excited to be a father. When you motion for him to take hold of his son, he has no hesitation in taking his son into his arms. Similar to his father, his expression is relaxed and reserved. Ruki cups his son’s chin into his hands, squishing his cheeks. He smirks before breaking out into a small laugh, “he’s so soft, it’s quite cute!” You giggle alongside him, while a lighthearted atmosphere surrounds the three of you.

“I’ll love and take care of both you and this child forever, do you understand?”

Kou: His son’s bright blue eyes stare back at Kou pleasantly. His toothless smile was quite a cute sight to behold. Kou continues to over exaggerate his actions in order to make his child laugh. The moment Kou was allowed to enter your hospital room, he rushed to your bedside and took his child in his arms happily. He had not let go of his son since. Kou was very excited to be a father, perhaps a bit too excited, but it was all the same. He was happy, you were happy, and that’s all that mattered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to take care of our child!”

Yuma: Despite his rough exterior, Yuma had a very gentle touch. He caressed his daughter’s cheek slowly, a jovial grin on his face. “Isn’t she adorable?” He said happily. You found it cute on how he already seemed fond of doting on his daughter. A soft giggle emitted from your lips as you nodded in agreement.

“This is our child, Sow! Let’s do our best to take care of her.”

Azusa: Azusa feels a sense of fulfillment and warmth as he stares down at his daughter. Her lilac eyes peer up at her father, intrigued. “She’s so small,” he mumbles out, “it’s hard… to believe we have… a child.” Azusa looks towards you, a serious look on his face. “Promise me… that we’ll always be… there for her, okay?” Your heart warms up at his words. You know he’ll be a great father.

“She’s our family now… so I’ll do my best…”

northern lights; prologue

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Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Genre: Romance ( Smut | Angst ) | auras!AU
Summary:  In a world that strives for homologation and demolishes any sign of individualism, Park Jimin is nothing but an outcast since the very early years of his life for he can see people’s auras in shade of colors that tell him so much about their personalities; all it takes is a glimpse of their true colors in the form of colored energy that surrounds them as northern lights in the night sky, to know even their darkest secret. He has learned the hard way that his ability is something it’s better to hide, to deny for he has no desire to be deemed as crazy. He has learned that solitude is a far better place to live in and he’s determined to not let anyone inside his walls. That is until she comes and asks him what her color is. And that’s when he decides pink is his new favorite shade.
Word Count: 2.030 K
AN: this story finds its origin in a dream I had after listening non stop for hours to “Colors” by Halsey (listen to it, it’s a beautiful song).

Originally posted by lostinbangtan

The sand is warm against his feet, infiltrating between his toes as he puts the whole pressure of his body on them, sighing in relief as the warmth engulfs him whilst his eyes fix on the cerulean expanse in front of him. His knees push against his ribcage as he encircles his legs with his small hands, his chin resting on the bare sun-kissed skin whilst the sea waves fill his ears erasing all the mean voices swirling in his rattled mind.
This is his safe haven, the desolated coast where no one will approach him, disturb him or accuse him of being crazy, an outcast that this world will never be ready to comprehend or accept.
Park Jimin is a peculiar ten-year-old boy whose best friends are shriveled books that won’t ever point a finger at him but, instead, welcome him in the worlds enclosed between the yellowish pages. Books don’t lie, don’t mock and most of all: they don’t have anything secret to reveal behind what’s already there.
He has learned the hard way that solitude is a far better place to live in when you hold in your heart a secret so ludicrous not a single person is ready to believe what you say it’s the utmost truth. Not even the people that claim to be your parents, and therefore supposedly able to love you no matter what abilities you’re born with.
In his ten years of life he has learned that people lie quiet often and expect to get away with it by being exceptionally eloquent with their words. They always doubt someone is going to be able to see right through them, especially when they are under a kid’s gaze. They do not believe, because they fear a reality where someone could spill all their darkest secrets with a simple glimpse in their direction. Deeming him insane is nothing but a convenient approach to dismiss the real matter.
In a society that strives for homologation and demolishes any sign of individualism there’s simply no place for someone like him, for he’s a nuisance, an inconvenience, an error in the perfect structure of what is claimed to be human and mundane.

Keep reading

princess and the pauper | pt.5

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And if the universe tells me otherwise, I will defy all laws of gravity that tries to pull me away from you, because without you, I don’t know what the taste of life is anymore.

pairing: jimin | reader ; royalty!au pauper!jimin
words: 4.9k
genre: angst with potential fluff (okay this is just gonna make you relieved) 
summary: royalty was no adventure to you. but when you find yourself in depths of the kingdom for the first time, you didn’t expect to find your favourite adventure in the heart of a pauper florist.
a/n: i’m so fucking sorry for this oNE MONTH LATE UPDATE i drafted this 81273021847 too many times but thank you @yoongsigh for actually being an actual angel and support my late nights to commit to this. so here it is, the…..nOT FINAL CHAPTER.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

The house felt quieter, a little more grueling with the silent self-abhorrence reeking the atmosphere and a little less hopeful with shattering dreams scattering at the foot of the door of the bedroom down the hall of the cottage.

It used to hold sonorous symphonies of endless laughter and melodies with mellifluous singing that bounced off the walls, the sweet giggles and contagious laughter that spread life to this flower cottage. It was the very voice that Jimin fell in love with, the one that he learns in hushed whispers as they spoke arbitrary declarations and confessions together under the night blue sky. The very one that he listens to lovingly as you ramble on and on about your hopes and dreams. It’s the very one he heard in all sorts of pitches and timbres, echoing in the back of his head like an unforgettable memory he couldn’t ignore.

It’s the very thing he heard broke in utter devastation as he watches you whisper goodbye, faint and weak, your figure disappearing in the nefarious mischief of the night.

Jimin doesn’t remember what heartbreak feels like. He recalls the first flowers he plants in the garden, as he sobs quietly at the dying roses in his hands because he didn’t take care of it enough. It was difficult to forget - the numbing feeling, the regret and unbearable thought of loss. Jimin particularly doesn’t remember what the side effect was but now he does feel it, right to the bones, piercing and spreading in him like a toxic poison, injecting his heart and soul in all the right and wrong places. Its like something in him withered because he just didn’t take care of it enough.

Keep reading

2. Can’t Refuse

Part 1

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2098

Thumbnail made by @1vyprincess

“It’s open.”

A shiver hurtled down Jungkook’s spine as the intercom promptly clicked off. He couldn’t tell if the chilling effect he felt was due to the knowledge of who the voice belonged to or if it was simply because of how much presence radiated from the sound alone. Regardless, he didn’t want to keep the voice waiting; with shaking hands, Jungkook began to push the door open.

It was heavier than he anticipated. The frail wood of his apartment door felt like a plastic toy compared to this, and he shamefully had to make a second attempt to open it properly.

Neon echoes of the city lights drifted through the deepening colors of evening into the enormous windows that looked down on the streets, barely illuminating the room with a soft, eerie glow. Only a few of the interior lights were set to a dim shine while the others sat in darkness, and their combination with the dying vitality of mixing neon created a strange haze of illusion.

“Heavy?” The voice spoke out, amusement just barely evident in its tone. Jungkook’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark atmosphere, and he saw a figure lounging in a padded chair at the far end of a long mirrored table. The reflection of the melding lights only added to the visual confusion.

A tailored suit of dark silk that was probably worth millions of won elegantly clung to his slim figure. He was tall with long, slender limbs in perfect proportion, his eyes held sharp observation and intelligence, and his voice, uninhibited by a curtain of technology, carried such immense weight and command that Jungkook felt the need to listen closely to every word spoken to him. The hint of playfulness in the gaze that met his eyes flustered Jungkook, and he struggled to find proper words in embarrassment from his failure at opening the door.

“Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat, Jungkook,” the man said, gesturing to the chair placed at the opposite end of the table. The sound of his own name rolling off the stranger’s tongue was seductive, and he found himself drawn into the voice even more as he sat down on the plush cushion of the chair.

He was frightened.

“Was the ride pleasant?”

Jungkook could only nod. He wished with all his heart that the friendly driver could be here next to him and calm his nerves.

“There’s one thing that isn’t included in the information files of my tenants,” Namjoon continued, “granted I generally don’t care for this, but with you, Jungkook, I would love to become familiar with it. Do you know what that might be?”

Jungkook shook his head and kept his eyes down.

“Your voice. What does your voice sound like?”

“U-uhm…s-sorry, I-I-”

Namjoon chuckled. “No need to be nervous.”

“S-sorry, I don’t, uh, I-I’m not really sure h-how I’m supposed to address you…sir?”

“‘Sir’ is fine.”

There was a heavy silence and the pressure was nearly palpable to Jungkook. He could hear his blood racing in his ears, and he was sure that his pounding heart was clearly audible to the man before him.

Namjoon had such a powerful presence that demanded utter awe and respect; it shrouded him with an aura of regal importance. Jungkook felt so small and insignificant and he nervously pat his hair down in an attempt to make himself more presentable.

When he looked up, he saw that Namjoon was staring at him, the smallest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth that Jungkook debated if he was actually smiling or not. His eyes darted away quickly, but he could still feel the pressure of the attention Namjoon was giving him.

What was he supposed to do?

Namjoon cleared his throat, breaking the silence, and Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t know was holding.

“I’m sure you aren’t completely aware of why you’re here?”

“I’m sorry, I-I-I really don’t know…”

“That’s fine, I will explain. I’m sure you know that both your parents and your uncle were tenants of mine?”

Jungkook nodded.

Namjoon folded his hands and leaned back in his chair a little. “I can only imagine how hard your living conditions have been after your parents passed away, and your uncle didn’t exactly provide the most friendly environment due to his…destructive habits.”

“How do you know this?” Jungkook blurted out, fearfully looking up at Namjoon, who was watching his every move.

“Because I was his supplier…for a time.”


“Most of the drugs he was on were essentially supplied to him by me through the chain of command and dealers and such.”

Jungkook sat in shock, staring at Namjoon, who explained all of this so casually as if he wasn’t actually involved in something so illegal. Jungkook could only swallow down his bewilderment and guess that with enough money, getting away with this was more than feasible. Namjoon continued, aware but unaffected by Jungkook’s less than subtle reaction. “His issues with refusing to pay his debt is what caused me to become somewhat familiar with him, and that’s why I’ve brought you here. I understand that your uncle’s death must have been quite jarring-”

“No,” Jungkook interrupted him. “It really wasn’t. I saw it coming for years, and he wasn’t gonna change, so I accepted his death a long time ago,” he said bitterly.

Namjoon looked surprised at his confession. “Well, then I suppose we can skip the condolences.”

“Please do.”

Namjoon smirked. “Then let’s talk business.”

“Business…” Jungkook repeated.

“As we’ve established, your parents were also tenants. They were in deep debt by the time they died, trying their best to keep your uncle afloat. Honestly, I think they were too kind, and their kindness has consequences now. Once they died, your uncle inherited their debt when he became your ‘guardian,’ so to speak. Now debt is an interesting thing. In the real world, the more debt you accumulate, the more interest it compounds, creating a nasty spiral of lifetime financial issues that can easily bleed into following generations. I’m sure you’re aware of this.” Jungkook nodded slowly. He was getting uneasy. There was something foreboding about this conversation and he half wished that they were still working on condolences.

“Now that your uncle has died and you are of legal age…I’m afraid you’ve inherited the three hundred million won consequence of your parents’ kindness.”

Jungkook sat in dumbfounded silence.

Three hundred million won.

The culmination of his parents’ debt, his uncle’s addictions, and the cruelty of a world revolving around money and power.

It was his burden now.

Jungkook was sobbing into the floor. He had tried to stand up and run away from Namjoon. This couldn’t be happening. Life was already hard enough. He tried to get away, but he collapsed, denial and reality clashing inside his mind to create a vicious maelstrom, rendering his body unable to support itself. A warm hand lightly rubbed the back of his neck, and Jungkook seethed with hatred. He smacked the hand away, wishing that he was alone with Yoongi, blissfully ignorant and safe, warm under their blankets. He wanted to feel Yoongi’s fingers to run through his hair. He wanted to hear his voice soothe him to sleep, Yoongi’s kiss ghosting over his lips at the edge of unconsciousness where Jungkook wasn’t entirely sure if was real or a dream.

But Yoongi wasn’t here.

Jungkook was cold and alone with this stranger. He felt humiliated that he was crying in front of this man, but he had nothing, nothing, that was worth that much. He had a minimum wage job, and it would take a lifetime and more to pay it off.

“How? How can I do this? I don’t have anything to-”

“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s stern tone cut him off and Jungkook looked up at him in fear.

“Please, p-please, sir,” he begged, “compared to your profits my debt can’t be that m-much to-”

“Business is business, and debt is a loss of profit,” he said, void of all emotions.

“I wouldn’t be able to pay this if I worked my entire life! I only get minimum wage and-”

“You can pay it off in eighteen months.”

Jungkook felt like dead weight. He lost all hope, and he was certain he was in the presence of the Devil. This man in front of him was going to ruin his life and Yoongi’s life. What was he supposed to say when he got home?

Jungkook lost it. He burst out screaming and crying all over again.



Namjoon grabbed his face and forced him to look up at him. Jungkook hiccuped in surprise, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he was pulled into a kneeling position. Namjoon’s gaze bore into Jungkook and he felt like he was under heavy scrutiny. He watched Namjoon’s eyes slowly scan his features, examining the curve of his cheeks to the tip his nose, lingering just slightly over his lips. Jungkook licked them nervously.

“I believe you misunderstood what I said.”


“I said that you can pay it off in eighteen months, not that you had to.”

Jungkook racked his brain, desperately trying to find the solution Namjoon had come across. “I don't…”

Namjoon let go of his face but maintained piercing eye contact. “You’re worth at least one hundred fifty thousand won an hour, but I’d give you a price tag three times that amount.”

“I-I don’t understand…I wash dish-”

Namjoon grabbed a fist full of Jungkook’s hair and pulled his head back swiftly. Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat, and his lips parted involuntarily at the sudden force. Before he could register what was going on, Namjoon was kissing him roughly, pushing his tongue into Jungkook’s mouth.

It took two seconds for Jungkook to process his situation, and another two seconds of struggle to shove Namjoon away.

“No! What the fuck?! I’m NOT going to become your personal prostitute!” he yelled in disbelief, finding the strength to pull himself back on his feet. He furiously wiped his mouth, feeling completely defiled by the kiss and what this pervert had implied. 

He continued to glare at Namjoon as he stood up to meet Jungkook’s height. He was taller, but Jungkook wouldn’t back down. Namjoon shrugged, as if unaffected by the harsh rejection. “Then I suppose, you’ll find a more suitable way to pay your debt,” he said with indifference and returned to his chair, watching Jungkook go to war with himself over the realization. “Without a doubt, you’ll end up having to sell that pretty face and tempting body of yours to make enough money to scrape by. You’ll get plenty of customers, don’t worry,” Namjoon said with a smirk, and Jungkook flushed in humiliation.

“But that’s not very safe, is it? You’ll probably contract a disease or two and visit jail a few times while interest builds up.” Namjoon watched in satisfaction as the fight left Jungkook’s eyes. “You could sell yourself until your youth has been long gone and you become older and unappealing to the eye. You’d still be in debt.” Jungkook was shaking. “With me, I’d pay you four hundred fifty thousand won per an hour. Eight hours a week, for about eighteen months, you’d still be around twenty million won short, but I’ll be generous. Good luck finding someone who will pay you for what you’re worth. At least I’m only one person and not thousands, but suit yourself.”

Jungkook hung his head in defeat, realizing that he wouldn’t find another deal remotely as gracious as this one. Tears began spilling from his eyes again. “I…I-I haven't…I never had…”

“Then I’ll pay you extra to compensate for your loss,” Namjoon said apathetically, as if negotiating a minor compromise before continuing. “I will contact you when I desire to see you. You will then give me your location, and a driver will pick you up. You can decide how many hours you wish to stay, and we’ll go further into detail during our next meeting. Now,” he stood up and pulled out a small stack of papers from a folder on the table and made his way over to Jungkook’s side. “Sign these. It’s our official contract.” He handed Jungkook a pen. Jungkook slowly took it with shaking fingers and placed the tip on the very first line.

This man would take everything from him. His time, his money, his body. There wasn’t anything left to lose.

Jungkook began signing.

Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

He's Not Real- Part Three

Tags: @skeletoresinthebasement @assbutt-still-in-hell @bluecookiesandbooks (send an ask if you’d like to be tagged!)

A/N: I AM SOSOSOSOSOSO SORRY THAT THIS IS UP LATE!!!! I haven’t had much time on my tablet lately, sorry!! Just a heads up, I will be away for a couple days so I won’t be able to post, but I have a bunch of stuff queued up, so hopefully that will make up!!

Part One

Part Two

Sam didn’t even bother trying to listen to Dean for the rest of the car ride. He eventually gave up trying to explain himself to his brother. After twenty minutes of absolute silence, Sam recognized the road leading up to Bobby’s house.

Dean tried to say something again, but Sam was out of the car and walking up the steps before the engine even cut out. He ran up the steps and all but barreled through the door on his way to Y/N.

“Y/N?” he called out warily. When he saw her figure on the couch, he rushed over to her.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, dropping to his knees. His hands waved all over her body uncertainly, never once touching her. He felt Dean- rather than heard him- suddenly behind him, and there was no mistaking the feeling of gut wrenching guilt that seemed to seep out from his eyes that bore onto his little sister.

Sam finally reached out to touch her, brushing away at a hair on her face, when she suddenly lunged at him. With a yelp, he toppled over as she landed herself on him.

“What-” she spat out through her teeth. Blinking slowly, she relaxed her grip on the angel blade shoved against his neck. “Sam? What’re you- oof!”

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green-eyed monster

also on ao3

It takes Eleven a year to find her way out of the Upside Down. In the first few weeks she is so weak, she can barely stand up without dizziness making her sick in the stomach until, a few seconds later, her frail legs give up under the weight of her body. When she brushes her fingers against the soft fabric of her (now ruined) dress, she feels each and every one of her ribs, the jug of her hip. Even her cheeks feel sharper under her hands, but she doesn’t touch her face often – not with dirty caked under her nails and blood sipping between the cracks of her dry skin.

The food helps. Eleven isn’t certain who brings it to her at first, and it takes her months to figure it out until she hears the echo of Hopper’s gruff voice. ‘Hope you’re still there, kiddo.’ Eleven screams and screams until her voice is hoarse, but she never hears Hopper again so she gives up. The food appears every day at the same time, and she learns to wait for it. Mostly meat and pasta, sometimes something else, and Eggos. Always Eggos that she wolfs down in a few bits. She chokes on her food until it sits uncomfortably in her stomach, but each meal makes her stronger, better, until she can no longer feel the ribs beneath her dress, until her knees stop trembling when she stands up.

Her powers come back to her slowly, like a buzzing at the back of her mind. Softly at first, until it gets louder and louder, until she feels like herself (whatever that means) all over again. She waits a little while longer before she tries to open a crack between the worlds. Her first attempt is a disaster, and it takes her three more weeks to recover. Her second attempt opens a portal so small she can only slip her hand through it, and nothing more – the sun is hot on her skin on the other side, and she cries herself to sleep that night.

Third time is the charm.

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Fierce In My Dreams (Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, NC-17)

Inspired by Ed hallucinating a singing Oswald in Episode 3x15. Only this time Ed doesn’t tell him to stop. | Read on AO3

oneshot: 1172 words | warnings: mature content, rated NC-17

Thank you Kris and Jen or beta reading!

Ed crushes the pill between his teeth, lids fluttering shut before he opens his eyes to the lights flickering, before red warm light floods the room.

Seated in one of the antique and highly comfortable armchairs in the living room of the Van Dahl mansion, Ed draws in a deep breath. He is calm, he is prepared.

He’s fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts

He floods me with dread

Soaked in soul

Yet his pulse quickens when the familiar tune, along with the low and sultry tone of Oswald’s voice, reaches his ears.

He swims in my eyes by the bed

Pour myself over him

And there he is, green eyes bright and veiled by long delicate lashes, lips looking soft and pink - the sight enough to tug at something deep inside of Ed.

Donning the same suit, along with the top hat, Oswald performs his song, eyes hooded and glazed with a hunger resembling the one flaring up inside Ed.

Moon spilling in

And I wake up alone

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So Jaal says that Cora is the person in best physical shape on the Tempest? I beg to differ. 

Ryder is ripped and Jaal Greatly Approves.

Rated: T 

Pre-romance, situated between Voeld and Havarl but before the Vault on Aya.

Cora enjoyed physical training, Jaal knew. She was one of the first of the human crew to wake from her sleeping cycle and she usually stuck to a rigid routine. He saw her frequently doing push-ups, sit-ups, and a dozen other activities that got her moving. It was admittedly a nice show. 

When he asked her why she was so diligent in her routines, she said that it helped with her biotics. That made some sense except he never saw Ryder doing these things, and he was fairly certain that she and Cora used their biotics similarly. They both hurled their bodies into battle, a great comet of blue streaking across the field to slam into opponents, tossing them backwards and sometimes outright killing them. A brilliant show overall, and so it made sense that Cora would keep her physical prowess to support that tactic. But Ryder…hm, she was different.

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Misotheism Part I

Genre: Drama

Word Count: 1000ish 

Greek God AU! Series 

Originally posted by jengkook

‘Misotheism (n): the hatred of God’

December 31st, 11:59 PM

635 B.C.

You’re running.

The night is silent, save for the sound of bare feet slapping against the slightly wet soil, leaving a trail of imprints behind them. Your chest heaves as you struggle to run, and you can’t help the terror coursing through your veins as you hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind you.

What had made it come to this?

March, 635 B.C.

You sigh tiredly as you squint up to the sky, cursing at the sun for beating down your back with vigor. The sky is clear overhead, with the occasional shadows of birds flitting across it.

“What’s got you down, Y/N?”

You look to the right to see a crookedly grinning young man quirking a brow at you.

“Silence, Yun,” Your mood is admittedly down, “You’re being a pest.”

“So mean, sister,” He mocks you playfully, hand running through his silky dark tresses that you swear were created by Athena herself, “I’ve only come to call you back to our home; Mother is looking for you.”

“Again?” You groan in exasperation, “What does she want this time?”

He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“She just told me to search for you and I, like the absolutely fantastic person I am, have done it.” With a smug smile, he waves you off and you roll your eyes, before sighing yet again and trudging along the dusty trail to your home.

It’s small, much smaller than those huge villas you’ve seen dominate the inner parts of the city and though a part of you still feels bitter about it, you’ve learned to make do with what you have. It’s your life; you need to deal with it, as your Father says.

“Mother?” You call, ducking into your tiny rickety home, mindful of the pots dumped haphazardly on the cool ground, “You called for me?”

A frail woman peeks her head out from the tiny kitchen-come-dining, a thin smile playing on her lips.

“Oh yes, dear,” She beckons you forward, and you oblige, only to gape in shock when an entire platter of grilled goat’s meat and fruits is thrust into your unprepared arms, “Could you take this to the inner city for me? I’m feeling awfully tired today.”

“W-what for?” You demand, wide-eyed, unable to tear your eyes from the food, “Why aren’t we eating this?”

Mother smiles at you, though it lacks the warmth it usually possesses.

“We are going to war, my dear,” She whispers softly, and it strikes you then, “We must please the God of War.”

“No,” You angrily shake your head, vision beginning to tint blood red, “If we are going to war, we must fight it with our own hands, Mama, not by sacrificing the precious few resources we have for-”

“Enough!” She raises her voice, and you fall silent, knowing that the conversation is complete. “Do as I say, Y/N! I should never have encouraged your silly little beliefs!”

The last part is whispered to herself, but you hear every word; each one strikes you like an icicle through the heart. Your Mother is someone you have always looked up to, someone who you have always gone to for comfort, for understanding, so her disappointment…it hurts you, a lot.

“Yes, Mother.” You nod quietly, before turning on your heel and scampering out of the shack.

Your feet carry you automatically in the direction of the city and, even at the outskirts, you can see people preparing for war; throngs of men sharpening their swords, some men stocking their homes with necessities, such as food. Some women are dancing around a fire, grilling meat. And, sitting in solitude on a lonely rock is a young girl, who eyes the meat with hungry, desperate eyes.

A rush of anger courses through you, thrumming through your veins and heating them up. You remember a time when you were that girl, when you so hopefully, naively, believed in the Gods; when you, like countless others, fell for those foolish tales.

But you know better now.

Cautiously eyeing the crowd, you approach the girl, slipping her some meat from your plate; she looks up, startled, before breaking out into a bright grin.

“Thank you!” She exclaims cheerfully, and you beam back at her, happy to help, before you bid her adieu and are on course again.

A strange sort of guilt gnaws at you, but you push it aside in favor of trying to bear with the scintillating heat. It is really hot right now.

 You nearly collapse in relief when you finally reach the temple of War God, but your heart nearly stops when you see just how many people are outside it. It would likely take till midnight to reach the inside, and you’re in no patience to deal with such things. You decide to visit a lesser known sight, one that is mostly hidden from the scathing gazes of the city folk.

The small temple stands proudly at the top of a sloped hill; though it is a struggle, you eventually manage to scale it, thankfully not dropping any of the food.

Setting the platter in front of the deity, you awkwardly step back, having absolutely no idea what to do now.

“Um,” You start off hesitantly, “My Mother asked me to bring this to you, I suppose. For the war and all that. But I think that’s plain foolishness; who would know if you actually exist? We’ve been taught so many stories by now, but they’re just that: stories.

“If you Gods really existed, our people wouldn’t be suffering like this! If you actually existed, I wouldn’t need to be here right now, I wouldn’t have to waste such precious food on something that doesn’t even eat!”

By this time, you’re shaking, anger racing through your heart, breathing rapidly, unevenly.

“I hate this! I hate feeling so powerless, I hate feeling so puny! I hate-”

You freeze when you feel a hand grip your shoulder, your eyes impossibly wide.

“You hate me?” A velvety voice chuckles into your ear, the hot puffs of breath hitting the shell of your ear, “Are you certain?”

You slowly turn around, raising your eyes to meet amused, fiery brown eyes. The man is tall, at least compared to you, with dark hair swept to the side, and bright pink lips that contrast oh-so-wonderfully with his pale skin. Not that you’re looking.

“Who are you?” You stumble backwards hastily, nearly tripping over your gown, “Where did you come from?”

“Why, I thought you’d know me, considering how you were just cursing my existence,” The man smiles, revealing pearly white teeth.

“But I’ll spell it out for you, if that is what you require. I go by Άρης, but mortals know me as Jungkook,” The smile transforms into a smirk, “God of War.”

Next Parts: Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V  Part VI  Part VII

Written by: Admin Midnight

Admin Midnight is working on this series with Admin Sangria [her wife ♥] who’ll be writing future parts with her! 

We hope you like it!

Imagine Being Alfred’s niece and visiting him at Wayne Maynor.

Title: You Can Call Me Bruce.

Warnings: Age gap.

Summary: Alfred’s twenty six year old niece comes to pay him a visit at Wayne Maynor. Taken by surprise, Bruce tries to warm up to her and make her feel at home, but things begin to go further than planned, and he begins to worry he’s gotten himself into a compromising situation.


Guess who’s started writing DC imagines?

I hope you like it!


Bruce stands in the doorway, a perplexed expression of confusion plastered upon his face. His brown eyes are squinted, and his brows are pulled together in one thick line of concentration; his eyes are trained on the two figures standing at the doorway, smiling and laughing with each other. One he can at least identify as Alfred. Smiling warmly and nodding, he converses with the other figure whom Bruce isn’t familiar with.

A girl.

He’s been standing here for the past two minutes waiting to see whether or not Alfred will notice his presence, abandon the girl, and come over to explain to him what’s happening. But he doesn’t. He hasn’t. Up to now, Bruce has been standing at the corner, sipping on his coffee as he stares down the form of the girl at the door.

She’s tall. Towering over Alfred the slightest in what he assumes to be high heels, and her hair, a deep shade of coffee brown, falls down her shoulders in big curls and ringlets. The outline of her silhouette looks as though she’s wearing a trench coat. The weather outside is misty and the sky is grey and wet—that would explain it. And from the way she stands with her back to door, light flowing in from behind her, her face is masked by darkness.

Who is she?

Today, the lower half of his face is tainted darker from the light stubble blooming from his skin, as he scratches it absentmindedly. Who is she, Bruce wonders? Who is this strange girl without a face, casually conversing with his butler? Why was she here? Bruce takes another sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving the duo at the door. He then notices Alfred glancing back over his shoulder, catching the scrutinizing gaze of the dark-haired man.

Alfred gestures for the girl to wait, and then makes his way over to his master leaning against the wall in his work attire. White pressed shirt. Black tie. Black slacks.

His hand is fixed in his pocket, while the other holds his mug. He pulls it away from his lips.

Alfred smiles warmly, his grey eyes creasing behind the frames of his thick-rimmed glasses. “Master Wayne—always the early bird I see.”

“Who is she, Alfred?” Bruce cuts right to the chase. He has no time for beating about the bush: work starts in thirty minutes and he must be on his way, but there’s no way he’s leaving without knowing who has just entered his home.

The grey-headed man casts a cursory glance over his shoulder, turning back to Bruce. “Oh! I haven’t introduced you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” Bruce’s gaze travels to the girl waiting at the door. “Who is she?”

“Ah,” Replies the elder man, “all in good time, Master Wayne. She’ll let you know herself.” He turns on his heel. “Y/N!”

The young-lady’s attention is grasped. She turns her head to them, and Alfred waves her over.

She ambles towards the pair of men, smiling shyly, with her hands both crossed over each other. When she comes out of the curtain of darkness, Bruce can finally see her face.

He was right: she is short. A pair of heeled copper boots are what add a few extra inches to her height, and her body is indeed clad in a burgundy trench-coat. Beneath it peeps out what looks like a plaid shirt too big for her tucked into a black pleated skirt, and when his eyes travel up, he meets her smile.

Alfred places a warm proud hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Master Wayne,” he begins,” this is my niece.”

Bruce’s gaze bounces from face to face, wrinkled to smooth and youthful. They rest on the young-girls gleaming expression; her lips are curled into a thin smile, her cheeks ingrained with dimples, and her brown eyes sparkle as she reaches out her hand.

“Y/N Y/LN.” She offers a frail hand so small Bruce fears he might crush it if he takes it.

He reaches out anyway and shakes her hand, nodding along as the wheels in his mind begin to click. Of course, he reflects. Of course it’s Alfred’s niece. He’d told Bruce that she’d be flying in from Metropolis to visit, stay the a few nights—he’d even given him permission to have her stay in his guestroom. How could he have forgotten?

His eyebrows raise in realization then turns to Alfred. “Oh, so this is the famous niece?”

“Indeed.” The elder man nods proudly. “I’m sorry I forgot to remind you about Y/N’s arrival, Master Wayne, but she too took me by surprise. I didn’t expect her to be coming in so early.”

“Sorry about that.” Y/N chimed in.

Bruce’s gaze flew to her, finding an apologetic smile on her face. She shrugged her shoulders.

“It was a bit of a last minute decision on the train—I thought “Uncle Alfred’s in Gotham. Why not pay him a visit?” Y/N laughed nervously. “So I…just dropped by. I can leave if it’s too much tr—“


Bruce cut her off. The young girl’s eyes widen, and out of the corner of his eyes he feels he can say the same for Alfred. He licks his lips, staring into her gaze. Brown on brown. Her eyes are doe like, almond shaped and laced with thick mascara while the rest of her face remains bare. Her skin is dotted with little freckles and scars. A few pimples here and there, but it’s understandable, taken the fact that’s she’s a teen.

Nineteen, twenty two, twenty six. Whichever, Bruce stills sees her as a teenager—a toddler even, compared to his prehistoric self.

“It’s no problem.” He tries to add a nod for extra confirmation. “Really.”
Y/N’s eyes glint with hope and excitement as a smile crawls onto her face. Small and shy.


“Really.” Bruce nods again, and he can feel his lips curling along as well. He doesn’t know why, for it is so faint and tiny, but her smile is infectious. He can’t help but mirror her.

The young girl lets out a titter of joy, then shakes her head frantically. “Okay—great.” A few strands of brown fall into her eyes as she turns to Alfred. “This is okay with you, right Uncle Fred? Me staying here?”

“Don’t be daft, child, of course it is.” He replies, smiling assuringly as he places a hand o her shoulder. Bruce watches from the sidelines with a content smile he’s not sure about, but he acquiesces it gladly.

Alfred lets go of Y/N’s shoulder. He turns to Bruce. “Master Wayne, I see you’ve already fixed yourself coffee. Anything you’d want to go with that?”

“Uhm…” Bruce glances down at the cup then back up. “I think I’m fine. I’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

“More for us then.” Alfred smiles at his niece, before heading off to prepare breakfast for the two of them. Bruce won’t be here to sit down and have a chat with Y/N over a cup of coffee or milk or whatever it is an infant like her drinks with her breakfast, so he decides to use now to his advantage. After all, she will be staying in his house, eating his food. He should at least get to know her a bit.

The young girl’s gaze follows her uncle down the hall until he disappears, and then floats to Bruce. She forces a smile.

“Master Wayne?” She morphs her awkward smile into a smirk, and Bruce laughs.

He shakes his head. “He’s the one insisting on that. Countless ties I’ve told him Bruce is just fine, but he….”he gestures wordlessly in the direction of the hall.

Y/N laughs. It’s smooth and sweet, like honey drizzled milk.

“Yeah, he’s a bit traditional. I can believe that about him.” She says. Her voice is resonant, but not loud. No. Clear as ice, and captivating, reaching your ears in a warm embrace. Bruce can hear her very clearly, but he still pretends that he hasn’t, too caught up in his own thoughts about a young girl’s baritone.

“Sorry?” he twists his brow.

“I said I can believe that about Uncle Fred—it’s kind of part of who he is.” She repeats, fingering the strap of her bag.

Bruce nods, chuckling slightly, and his gaze over her shoulder to her luggage. It’s still at the door, soaking up the drizzle and mist floating in the air.
He points past her. “Don’t you think they’ll get wet?”

Y/N cranes her neck to see what he’s talking about, and her eyes go wide as she realizes.


She quickly scrambles to bring her things in. She drags them into the house by their wheels, leaving trails of water. She rests them, and bends to inspect whether or not the water has leaked through, tsking distastefully.

“I’m an idiot.” She sighs as she runs her fingers along the seams and zippers of her suitcase. He’s about to offer help, but everything is fine, Bruce assumes when she stands up, and grabs the handle.

“Is everything okay?” Bruce asks.

She nods, and waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Just a little drizzle on the outside. The inside’s probably safe.” She turns to face him fully and asks, “Could you point me to the guest room, please?”

Please. Bruce can’t say no to that. He doesn’t want to, but even if he did, it would be beyond impossible. It’s too sweet and young and naïve. Just like her.

“Right down the hall,” He points to the left, and she nods. She goes to pick her things up, but Bruce stops her.

“Oh, here.” He places his coffee mug down somewhere nearby, and bends to pick her suitcase. “Let me help you with that.”

“It’s fine, mister Wayne.” Y/N chuckles, trying to pry the bag from his hold, but he merely smirks and pulls away.

“You’re no different from your uncle, I see?” He teases, and she laughs, shaking her head.

Again, the sound is infectious somehow, and Bruce joins in. He gestures for her to follow him as they amble down the hallway, Y/N keeping close behind.

“Well, I guess courtesy runs in the family.” She says.

“It doesn’t have to.” He says. They reach the bedroom at the end of the hall. A large olive wood door stands as the threshold, and the dark-haired man opens it with his foot. It swings open, revealing the inside of the guestroom.

“You can call me Bruce.”He turns back to the young haired girl. She’s smiling at him, but when he spots her, Y/N looks to the ground, abashed.

A nervous laugh escapes her, as she nods. She then looks up at him, and the timid demeanor is gone, now revealing her former self. She reaches out, and takes the suitcase from him.

“Thanks, Bruce.” She nods for emphasis. And Bruce can’t help but smile.

Because it’s infectious.

“You’re welcome.”


Part 2

Thanks for reading. If you liked this, feel free to like, reblog, or follow to keep updated when I post  any other imagines/oneshots. Writer for Supernatural, X-men (mainly quicksilver), and now, DC :) .

Have a nice day!

Below Zero- Taehyung(m)

Originally posted by orchid-bud

// (m)- mature (f)- fluff w/ a sprinkle of angst // word count: 6,175 // 

And if it comes back it was yours all along…

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate how much you think of him. You hate how much he makes you question who you are. You hate how much he makes you want to be a good person. You hate everything about Kim Taehyung.

Everything down to the individual strands of brown hair on his round head.

“Yah. Y/N,” Park Jimin’s teasing voice calls your name, throwing pencils at your back until you flip around, agitated and annoyed.

“What?” You snap, avoiding the watching eyes of Taehyung in favor of the thin slits of Jimin’s. You’d been avoiding him for a solid three weeks at this point, and you are pretty proud of yourself for it too.

“Ohhhhhh,” Jimin throws his hands up and wiggles his eyebrows at Taehyung, who just looks at you in unassumed thought, “someone’s sensitive today.”

“Shut up,” you retort, turning around with an indignant huff.

Tapping your pencil against the edge of your desk, you wait for class to end nervously, wanting to get out from Taehyung’s deep stare and from the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Maybe she’s blackmailing him. You don’t know why he’d even look at a bitch like her. Maybe if we hate her enough she’ll just transfer again. They aren’t even in the same social class. He sleeps on sheets more expensive than her rent.  

Words circle in your head like hawks, a lonely fox wandering in the desert, stranded and with nowhere to hide and no one to save it. It wants to just rip up all the dirt and burrow underneath the ground to where it’s cold and unsuspecting.

Where no one can touch it or talk to it. Where no one can break its heart.

“For the last pairing…” the teacher points to you, a long pink nail arched in the air, “since neither of you seem to be paying any attention in my class, I’m pairing you and Kim Taehyung together. I hope you can manage to pull whatever you have learned into a finished project.”

You open your mouth, standing up in your seat to begin a protest when the bell rings, loud and heavenly to your ears, zipping up and grabbing your bag just to be blocked by a small chest. “Move,” You lock your jaw and make your way from the expensive school bow, to the neatly pressed collar, to the long, thin neck of Myung-hwa.

You don’t need this right now. All you want to do is run into the darkest corner so you can cry and make it darker with a long pity party before you start on the project yourself. No way in hell you are getting anywhere near Taehyung again. 

“I said, ‘move’,” You try to shove past her plastic chest, but her frail hand reaches out to lock around your forearm in a vise like grip.

“Just who do you think you are?” Her voice is low, but by the way everyone is staring at you, you’re sure not a word is lost. “What kind of family do you come from to think that starting anything with someone of a different social status is okay?”

You’re so tired of this, fucking exhausted of all the shit, and the gossip and all glares of assault. You’re so done with the fact that everything is Kim Taehyung’s fault. So mad about how if you never moved you wouldn’t have had to transfer and you definitely wouldn’t have had to cross paths with your first boyfriend.

You wouldn’t have had to see him again.

And you could have just kept living as if he never existed.

He’d taken everything from you. He’d taken every last piece he could until you were stranded without a clue of where to go, of where he went. Of who you were without him. And apparently all of his wonderful friends knew about his triumphant steal too, because ever since you transferred they wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Sorry, I don’t have any interest ‘socializing’ with people like you,” you rip your arm from the snob’s expensively manicured fingers, sad you didn’t even rip a nail in the process.  

“Excuse me? I am the daughter of one of the world’s richest men, my father throws meals worth more than you down the drain every day-”

And there everyone goes again, making assumptions about your worth. You step forward, ready to backfire when a voice cuts in.

“Is everything okay over here?” Taehyung inserts himself in your conversation for the first time, deep voice grating against every one of your nerves and electrifying every space of skin.   

“We’re fine, Tae,” who knew rich girls were so good at lying? “just introducing ourselves.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment, weighing her worth in amounts of trust before cocking his head to look at you, “is everything okay…. Y/N?”

You snap back as if he’s struck you, scoffing softly and turning on your heel, ignoring every stare or hushed whisper as you slam the door to the classroom behind you and breathe in the significantly less hot air of the hallway, “like you care.”  

You can feel your face burning, ignoring the curious looks from your peers as you stomp down the hallway, trying to hold your head up and eyes straight. “Hey! Wait!” Taehyung calls from behind you, shoes pounding on the squeaky floor.

Your throat clogs, stopping for a split second before continuing faster. If you could just make it to the girls restroom…

“Hey,” Taehyung’s hand grips your shoulder, entire body convulsing at the feeling of him.

“Yah!” You startle yourself, twisting around in great agitation and annoyance, “what do you want? I have somewhere to be.”

“We’re partners…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you inch back, “I’ll do all the work myself and put your name on it.”

“But…” he reclaims the inches you’re putting between you two.  

“You don’t have to do charity work on me because you feel bad.”

“You’re not charity work,” his eyebrows furrow and you make the mistake of looking behind him for a split second to find everyone watching, Myung-hwa’s arms crossed and eyes shooting laser beams from across the hall.

“I’ll do it,” you repeat, growing panicked under more unwanted attention, you back up until you hit the stair railing, not letting him get a chance to speak before hurrying down.

“Y/N,” but he’s hot on your trail, wind lashing behind you as he continues to swipe for your elbow, your hand, your sweater, anything he can grasp to stop you from running. To keep you from moving away again.

Surging forward, he stumbles down the last step, falling against you and in turn sending you against the wall. A loud grunt leaves your lips and a pleased huff from Taehyung’s, finally getting a firm hold on your wrist and your back against the wall behind you as the harsh light plays shadows on your surprised face.  

You look up at him, “let go of me.”

His grip only seems to tighten around your wrist, thick lips parting as he holds you against the cool plaster, “no. If I let go, you’ll leave.”

“That’s the idea-”

“Well don’t.”

“Look, Kim Taehyung, I don’t know who you think I am or who you want me to be, but I’m not that. I’m not who I was four years ago and I’m sorry-”

His lips silence any of your further words, slamming you back into the wall as he forcefully kisses you. You are speechless, eyes wide open and staring at Kim Taehyung’s impossibly dark lashes.

You remember how he used to taste, you remember how he used to hold your hand and how shy he always looked when he’d brush against you or push your hair behind your ears. Little Kim Taehyung is nothing like his aged counterpart.

Little Kim Taehyung is but a novice compared the professional against you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You push him back roughly, lips tingling and stomach dropping through your ass. You want him back. And the feeling makes you sick.

“You said you’re not who you used to be… but you taste like you used to,”  his voice is laced with sigh, pulling back to open his eyes, “meet me after school for our project,” he pulls himself together as if nothing ever happened, “you remember where I live don’t you?”


It’s the big white house at the end of a long black road. The one with the curling iron gate and the expensive red brick to ground it. The one that looks like it’s worth more in one leaf of grass than your entire life savings.

The one you used to run down the halls of, screaming and laughing as Taehyung chased after you with his long legs in elementary school. The one where his mom always told him to take the couch and you the bed, but by morning he was curled next to you or you were snoring at his feet. The second bedroom up the stairs and to the right, where Taehyung stained his new satin sheets with tears as you said you were leaving for the summer. And the same room you had stained them three years later when he announced the relationship you had was over, moving off to an expensive boarding school while your mom moved you from one high rise penthouse apartment to the next. Guess a million dollar suite isn’t on the same galaxy as a ten million dollar mansion anymore. You suppose when you grow older things are run differently, and you understand why you’re parents never let you have play dates with certain kids and always dressed so expensively for every school affair.

There’s no room for a misstep. No room for false accusations or rumors.

And for Kim Taehyung there was no room for you.

Why are you even here?

Hitting the stainless steel buzzer, you tap your foot impatiently, wondering if maybe, just maybe you can make a run for it and say something came up. “Mr. Kim has been expecting you,” a small voice buzzes you in, crossing the courtyard quickly before anyone can see you walking to your own death.

“Welcome, Miss.” A well dressed housemaid opens the door, bowing to you as you pass inside, “you have grown well.”

You turn to her, startled, she doesn’t look familiar, but then again, you haven’t been in this house in four years. She gives you a small smile before shaking her head and gesturing for you to follow, “have you been well?”

“Yes, thank you,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, not letting any of the reflective jewels or glass catch your eye, “I trust you have as well. The house looks as beautiful and well taken care of as it did when I was here before.”  

You feel like you’re going into a warzone, a multi-million dollar, pristinely clean and crystalline war zone. Every step brings you closer to the enemy, every question from the housemaid is another for your demise.  

The stairs aren’t as tall as you remember, coming in front of that second door to the right all too soon, staring at the white paint and holding for a moment before the housemaid knocks for you. “Mr. Kim? Your guest is here.”

After waiting for a moment she bows again, a small smile bestowing her thin lips before she’s gone, moving with such grace that the thin hairs of her gray ponytail don’t sway as she moves, learning through her job how to be neither seen nor heard.

“Y/N?” The door swings open, soundless and smooth, revealing Kim Taehyung, half dressed in pants with a towel around his neck, collecting the sopping drops of water that fall from the ends of his hair.

“Did you forget I was coming?” You raise an eyebrow, desperately trying to keep your eyes on his face as his glistening chest heaves with laughter.

“No, I didn’t expect you to come at all.”

“Well you asked me to.”

“And since when have you ever done what I asked you to?”

Taking in a large breath, you turn around, “get a shirt on.”   

He chuckles, the deep sound going straight through your bones to punch a hole in your stomach as you hear the door close, cheeks red and fingers twitching at your sides as you stare at the wall and try to forget everything you saw.

You entertain the idea of running again, scared of being with him, but also too scared to let this opportunity slide. Your body has craved some sort of contact with him for years, your heart has pleaded to answer his phone calls and to hear his voice, when your brain told you to let him go. When your brain told you he didn’t want you anymore. That your worth was below his effort.

When the door opens again, Taehyung is fully dressed- much to your relief and disappointment, and he leads you into his room with a simple gesture of his hand, clenching your bag with a white fist as you walk past him, making it a point to not inhale his scent.

The light blue of his walls is so familiar, becoming confused at the similar room but different atmosphere, for everything looks exactly as it had, but the situation that brings you into it is entirely different.

He sits at his desk, laptop closed with a pad of paper and pen on top, beginning to spin absently as you sit on the very edge of his bed and let the silence encapsulate the space between you. Your mind is racing with a million things to say, all of the lines you’d rehearsed on the way over.

But now that you’re here you have nothing to say.

Giving your fidgety hands something to do, you twist your hair back into a bun, half hoping it will stay and half hoping it will not so you can have something to busy with other than watch Taehyung spin around in his chair.

“Are we going to start or…”

“You never returned my calls.”

You straighten, “I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Like hell,” he drops his pen on the desk with a sort of deafening click.

“I didn’t.”

“Well I did,” he counters.

“Then I didn’t want to listen.”

“Stop making excuses.”

“Are we going to work on this project?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You look at him for a long moment, grabbing your bag and standing up, “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not,” Taehyung is up and gripping your arm before you can talk a step towards the door, “you’re staying here.”

“Let go of me, Taehyung.”

“If I let go you’ll leave.”

You stop, swallowing thickly and shaking your head profusely, “why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” he holds your hand, “I gave up on you here,” he forces me to sit on the bed next to him, “and here,” he uses your hand to touch his heart, beating fast beneath your palm, “and here,” he brings your joined hands to his forehead, hair soft and smooth above his skin.

“You were the only one who gave up… I wasn’t worth your time and I get that now.” You say, pushing down the lump in your throat and trying to listen over the roaring in your ears as he continues to elaborate and correct all the wrong conclusions you’d drawn.

“My mother told me I would never see you again. And that a relationship would be unrealistic and foolish. She said it would hurt you more if I didn’t break it off and she threatened to cut my rich boy allowance off completely- and for a kid, that was a big deal. I didn’t know what I was doing until you started sobbing in front of me. Right here,” he points to the spot between you both, as if he’s marked it some grave sight in his mind for four years, “by then you were running out and it was too late. You didn’t answer my calls, my texts, my emails, damn Y/N I even sent you letters. I was so stupid.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” you square your shoulders and remove your hand from his, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hides his hurt with hope, trying to find your gaze, “when I heard a new girl was transferring in, I never ever thought it would be you. You’ve changed so much,” he fingers a strand of your hair between his fingers, changed in color and length from the last time he’d seen you, “but not at all.”

His dark eyes search your face, continuing on, “I thought I had changed too, but I haven’t. Not when it comes to you,” he grips your hand with more reassurance and brings it back to his chest, warmth radiating from his chest, “not here.”

You suck in your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, everything in your body stilling and speeding up at his words. The temperature in the room drops below zero and zooms to a hundred in the span of ten seconds, the time it takes for him to breathe rain down your throat and fire into your veins.


“I know it’s been a long time, but I haven’t forgotten you. Or us. What we wanted to become. Have you?”

You stare at him, a million thoughts racing in your head and nothing at all. A million contradictions fill you, overfill you, spilling in the tears with your cheeks and breath from your lungs. You feel relief and dread and fear and excitement and sadness and happiness and you can barely sort through all of them to find the word you are looking for, casting your head downward.


“Do you still want to become those things? With me?”

You nod before your brain knows what it’s doing, heart speaking out for you. Taehyung’s shoulders droop in relief, pulling you forward until your crashing against him in a hug, arms coming to tightly envelope you and scent wrapping itself around you.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he says, collectively, dropping bird-like kisses on your head.

Your shoulders shake, tears clouding your vision and clinging onto him like he’s the only real, tangible thing in your life, “hey, hey.” Taehyung urges you, forcing your head up to him. He watches you cry, watches the tears stain narrow paths down your cheeks and over your lips and down your chin. He watches them push down the space between you and land on his bed, soft, but too loud.

“Don’t cry,” his fingers brush across your face to collect the rain, “it’s okay.”

His words only break open a dam inside of you, crying turning into sobs as you try and hide from him, wanting to burrow your face into the soft cotton of his shirt and never come out. But he isn’t having it, he takes you between both of his hands, weighing the options as you break apart before him. So hauntingly beautiful.     

“It’s okay,” he says again, closing the distance between you to taste your lips, tonguing the salty flesh until the tears give way to sweet underneath. He moves closer to make sure you can’t slip away, pressing harder against you and breathing everything he has into you.

All of his strength and relief and love.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

Your desperate fingers push up the hem of his shirt, feeling his lean body beneath the cotton with growing desire. How many times had you imagined this? How many times do you wish he was there to crave those fillings you couldn’t?

With silent agreement Taehyung pulls back just enough to let you pull the fabric over his head, the string of saliva between your lips breaking as it passes through on its way to the carpet. His torso is ridged with quiet definition, small lines of muscle cutting across his stomach and beneath his pants.   

Next, his fingers inch under your shirt, goosebumps lighting beneath his path until the shirt is no more, the plain blue of your bra so pleasing to Taehyung’s eye against your skin, “I always loved how you looked in this color,” he baritone voice murmurs, looking down on you with a carefully consuming stare, “but I think I’d like it better off.”  

Your cheeks are still flushed from crying, makeup smeared below the rims of your eyes and hair falling from it’s bun. Taehyung takes your cheeks between his long fingers, getting to his knees so he can kiss you once before uttering the word, beautiful, nipping at the lining of your bra whimsically, nimble fingers reaching back to undo the clasp. The straps fall down your shoulders of their own accord, nipples hard and peaked not only from the harshness of the air, but from Taehyung’s eyes.

“Amazing,” he sings your praises, taking one of the rosy tips between his fingers and rolling softly, “so soft and pretty.”

You give him room to get between you, roughly exhaling as he gently licks your nipple before continuing down your stomach, tongue wet and warm against your chest. You watch with obsessive enthrallment as he disappears between you, humming every now and then as he leaves a trail of sweet saliva down your skin.

Taehyung lets his fingers tap leisurely up your thighs, watching you for signs of retreatment as the line of your skirt goes higher and higher, Taehyung’s face dropping lower and lower as the temperature gets hotter and hotter.

“Wait,” you gasp, Taehyung’s head snapping up to you in question.

“I’m sorry, did I go too fa-”

You cut his words off by standing abruptly, pushing your skirt to the floor and stepping out of it before hooking a finger under the elastic of your panties, wetting your lower lip before shoving those down your legs as well. Taehyung’s eyes wander from your ankles, to your knees, to your thighs, to your core and still up to your stomach and breasts and neck and face and all the way back down again, admiring you with a look of raw need on his voice, reaching out for you.

“Come here, princess,” he breathes deeply, unable to take his eyes off your shy figure as it sways towards him, plopping yourself down on the bed in front of him. You run your hands through his hair methodically, trying to calm your racing heartbeat as he plants flowery kisses on your legs, spreading them slowly.

“Taehyung,” your speech catches.

Taehyung looks up at you, reading what you want to say in your gaze as he nods with a smile, “I’ll be gentle, my love.”

You let your hands fall to his shoulders, the smooth chords of his back rolling beneath your fingertips as he leans forward, licking the innermost part of your thigh so playfully soft. You moan lightly, hips already shaking against his movements in sensitivity.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” He asks the intrusive question with such reserve, such a humble curiosity, you shake your head right away, telling the truth.

“Nobody could ever be you.”

His tongue snakes from between his pillowy lips to drag around your folds, the feeling of his wet muscle against your damp core giving you cause to dig your nails into his back, craning your neck towards the ceiling and moaning.

Taehyung lets out an appreciative noise, gripping the backs of your thighs in his capable hands so he can slide you closer, feet dangling closer to the floor. Breathing unevenly, you look down to find his eyes already even with yours, nose cresting your mound, chasing more of the unmarked territory with his tongue.

“I made a list of all the things I wanted to do when I saw you again,” his deep voice vibrates along your skin and ignites your nerves. You want to reply, but don’t trust yourself, looking at him in expectancy to go on.   

“I wanted to tell you I’ve missed you,” he plants a chaste kiss on your clit, throbbing with need, “and how much I’ve thought about you,” he moves down to fit his tongue into the tightness of your core, continuing on over the sound of your cries, “and how much I love you. And want to make love to you.”

Trailing the pad of his index over the place of his tongue, Taehyung seeks entrance, lightly pressing the long thin finger into you, listening to you whine and feeling you stretch around the simplicity of one, wondering how tight you’d feel at two, or three…

“How are you so beautiful?” He sighs, curling his finger up against your walls, intent on getting a reaction as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, “I can’t believe you came back to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Working another finger next to the first one, Taehyung observes as you unravel, ceasing to be quiet and forgetting to be modest in the face of pleasure, the burn of pain nothing compared to how unbelievably right it feels to have him inside of you. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally fitted together, completing the most sorrowfully beautiful mirage you’d ever seen.   

His speed increases, the wetness of you filling the air in oddly erotic squishing sounds, gripping his bedsheets with white knuckles and groaning at how he feels, at how utterly amazing this feels, “I- I want you,” is all you can manage to breathe out, pushing his face closer against you in desperation as he moves away.

“Lay back,” he instructs lightly, hands gripping your waist to help you against the pillows. The reality of this moment begin to sink into your bones, the abrupt fear and excitement tightens your frame and widens your eyes as he climbs over you, licking his fingers.

“Everything about you is so sweet. So sexy. So bewilderingly perfect.”

“Taehyung,” you whimper, lip quivering as he stares down at you, “I’m scared.” 

His gaze softens, smiling assuredly, “I know. But you have nothing to fear when you’re with me.”

You search his face, finding the courage to nod but not trusting your voice, licking your lips. You feel his hard, waiting length prod your thigh, tightening up beneath him at the contact and hearing him sigh tenderly.

“Flip over,” his wide hands grip your waist in feathery gesture.

“Why…?” You begin with apprehension, but you listen to him.

“I want you to trust me.”

You trust him.

You swallow, not making any sign of rejection but not affirmation either, trying to just breathe in and out, in and out as Taehyung’s soft hands glide up the naked curve of your back. Applying slight pressure, his fingers leak the tension from your bones, draw out all the fear and all the caution. His fingers are ridding you of clouds and stuffing you with sunshine.

Filling you back up with his love and his care.

Like you’ve wanted him to for so long.

“Taehyung… don’t hurt me…” You whimper, releasing ragged breaths as his tongue dips into the dimples at the base of your back.

“I’m not- nobody is- ever going to hurt you again.”    

Your bottom lip wavers, hot tears running down your face as his words scar your skin. The deepness of his voice draws blood from beneath your flesh, it carves out chunks of your bone and sucks streams of marrow from within them. He’s killing you to give you life.

He’s breaking you apart to make you whole again.

His warm hands grab at your waist, settling into their small curves as he rubs circles into your stomach, soothing you, “don’t be afraid,” he repeats, getting himself in line before moving his hips closer slowly, testing the waters before diving right in.

His palms work out the knots in your back, relaxing your sore muscles while you sink to your elbows, trying to catch your jagged breath and trying to breathe all at once, making a little sound in the back of your throat to let him know you’re okay.

To let him know you’re ready.

“I trust you, Kim Taehyung,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut so he won’t see the puddles in them as he spins you around, sheets too soft and too smooth against your back.

“Let me see you,” he insists, chasing the tears with his thumb.

Obeying, you blink away the emotion to find Taehyung aptly licking at his finger, tasting the salt of your sadness on the pink of his tongue. This boy is the most peculiarly beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The most profoundly passionate human you’d ever met.

“I trust you,” you repeat the declaration like it’s one of love.

His eyes roam over your features, looking for any lingering signs of hesitation, any indication that you’re not who he knows you to be, or any inclination that you don’t want him. That you don’t want this.

“Let me in then, jagi. Open up.”

Your lips part, seeking the taste and warmth of the person above you, moving your knees so they straddle his chest. Taehyung breathes autumn onto your face, he breathes falling leaves and steaming coffee cups, he breathes the smiling heat of summer and the intense cold of winter. He breathes color into you. He gives you more than grey.  

“Let me love you,” he puts his forehead against yours, “like you should be loved.”

The first push is long and deep, sensuality pouring from your lips. The pain is so beautiful, the alignment of your bodies is so artistic. The swamp of words unsaid is thick and tangible, years of penny wishes and birthday candles and shooting stars that all amount to this moment.

You’d never allowed yourself pleasure once in your life, never finding release in the slide of your hands or the intrusion of your fingers. You could never drown without thinking of him, without wanting him to push you under, without needing him to hold you down. But now he’s done more than that, in one ministration he’s got you completely submerged, he has you dripping and soaking from every crease of your lips to every cut on your skin.

“Because I’ve loved you for so long,” he continues, brushing the hair out of your face with a gentle hand, “let me show you.”

Everything about this is too perfect, too painless, too emotional. You’re waiting for it all to crash to the floor. For the vase of flowers to slide from the tilted counter and to shatter it’s round glass and spill its contents along the tile, drifting red petals along the floor.

You reach up with shaking hands to push the hair from his face, damp palms brushing over his temples. His eyes drift shut, moving himself deeper inside of you, as the warm cotton of his sheets slide along your back.  

It hurts so bad. But it hurts so good. Kim Taehyung makes the discomfort feel okay, he makes the pain beauty and the tension lax. With him, beneath him, it feels as if nothing in the world matters, none of your childish reasons to stay away or to never return his phone calls. His fingers press into your sides, leaving indents that are sure to bruise come morning, using his lips to leave more stains of possessive love along your neck, your collarbones, distracting you from the dissipating discomfort between your legs.  

You fall together in a cacophony of hushed passion, in foamy waves of whispered secrets and unforgotten memories. Of a million dreams filtered through the holes of your dream catcher and a million glasses of resolve shattered along the floor. You push yourself down the cliff of scattered wishes and clean cotton, falling headfirst to find Taehyung waiting at the bottom.

“Are you okay?” His smooth voice catches you from a reverie, forearms bulging at your sides as he supports his weight on top of you.

“I’m more than okay,” you say, moving your stiff arms from their sides and through the rippling strands of his hair, urging him to go faster with a moan from your lips and a tilt of your hips. Obliging without a thought, he snaps back into you like an elastic band, an addictive burn stretching you out and stuffing you up.

Pleasure consumes every atom in your body, ignites every nerve with dancing flame and every lick of blood with intense color. Your heart swells with love and happiness and appreciation for the absolute simplicity of such a complicated moment. At how nothing drives you, how nothing drives him, but love and respect.

You can’t name the moment you realized you weren’t getting over him, you can’t name the time you knew you still wanted him to be yours. Perhaps it was something you always felt deep down, from the second you walked out from his life until the moment you were forced to return. No one kissed you like Kim Taehyung did, no one gave you butterflies, and no one made you feel something like he did. No one made you feel as safe or as worshipped as him. And maybe he doesn’t deserve you anymore but you don’t care, you want him, you need him.  

A pit in your stomach begins to hollow, mouth open and bleeding with professions of lust and euphoria, telling him how good he’s doing, how great he feels, how much you still want him and love him. His breathing is fast and erratic, matching his pace as his skin rubs against yours, blessed friction giving you more stimulation along your thighs.

“I can’t believe how tight you are, how incredible you feel,” he rasps, putting his sweaty forehead against yours as he pounds harder, completely fucking you out in the best of ways as your nails claw at the smooth flesh of his back, “that’s it, let go baby,” he praises.

Tightening yourself around him, you struggle to feel every single sensation he’s feeding you as your high begins to power down, a thousand and one feelings flooding you at once in the name of Kim Taehyung. He’s providing you with something beautiful you’ve never been able to touch, he’s helping you reach what had been unreachable.

Moaning for him one last time you release, watching the popcorn of his ceiling blur into kisses and hearts and sighs. You don’t know how something can make you feel so broken and so whole at the same time…

But it seems like Taehyung has been blowing apart all the things you thought to be true.

He continues to ride your sensitivity, getting lost in the tightening of your warm walls around him as he plunges in and out, in and out, drawing from you like breath before going back in, murmuring just a little longer, as you writhe and whine beneath him.

A few more thrusts and Taehyung keeps his promise, burying his face into your neck and inhaling the addictive concoction of your scent as he pulls from you to cum, lines of seed arching from him to color your skin in white rivers, bleeding down your sides and onto his sheets.

Before you can blink Taehyung leaves and comes back with a damp rag, wiping the drying cum from your stomach and breasts with a soft hand, playfully kissing your damp skin. He can still taste you on his lips, the dreamlike state of perfectness still intact.

After a lot of convincing he gets you to roll over until he can pull the stained sheets from under you and get a blanket from beneath the bed to cover you with, rectangular smile breaking across his face as he watches you curl under it, so cute and so his.

“Taehyung,” you reach out, happy to be met with the warmth of his arms.

“Yes, princess?” He lays next to you, propping up on his elbow.  

“…what happens from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this real? Are we real? What are you going to tell your mother?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve grown up now and I’m not afraid of losing anything but you,” he runs a finger down your hair with a sly smile, “now, sleep. I’ll work on the project and put your name on it.”

“Nope,” you yawn, but settle deeper under his blanket, “that’s supposed to be my job.”

You snake your arms around his midsection and force him to stay down with you, “if I let you go, you’ll leave,” you steal his words, smiling with sleepy joy as your eyes begin to droop shut.

“Would you let me up if I promised to return?” He chuckles, kissing your forehead and watching your body relax into the bed, succumbing to sleep as you reply:

“Not a chance.”  

Guess who’s back bitchesss. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood smut dealer;)

~a.k.a Admin Eggplant

anonymous asked:

Can you do an imagine where tobirama has a s/o (they are dating) who isn't a shinobi?

Important note: Admin Night lives for civilian S/Os. She is also a hoe for drama… 

There is a good ending, I swear.

Originally posted by stainedcherryblossom

Tobirama Senju with a Civilian S/O Scenario


Tobirama looked at you with the same stern look he had the last past hour; but instead of confronting the dark pupils and the freezing iris, you concentrated again on the floor, painfully admiring the shadows of the trees that surrounded you. The sun, which in the early morning had promised so many triumphs and caresses, was blazing, and you wished for the hundredth time that your father wasn’t a simple man, but the leader of a great clan.

“I can’t,” you said, decreasing the volume of your voice after every letter.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand, Tobirama was worried. That were you, a simple civilian at the side of the brother of the Hokage, the founder of the village, a member of the Senju Clan – were nothing but weak. Even like that, Tobirama loved you. Now you couldn’t see it, in the middle of his harsh grasp and his violent demeanor. Your head hurt, and every one of your heart’s beats shook all your body.

He wanted to teach you self-defense, that way, you would be a little bit less frail in the violent world of ninjas. You had been in the middle of the training grounds since dawn, but the good mood that had brought you there had already disappeared. You just wanted to go home, and hide under the bed, and ignore all the pain of his gaze.

Shivers and his cold, calloused hand poisoning your arm. Strangely enough, no tear left your eyes, even when you were ready to cry.

“I can’t always be there to protect you, you can’t be weak like this.”

And that was the final blow. You knew your boyfriend, these were the type of comments he made, and these kind of comments should not bother – had built up an immunity to them over time. But there you were, sobbing on the ground and absorbing his still harsh gestures. Being with him was a mistake since the beginning, wasn’t it? You had heard the same every day in the village while holding his hand and realizing how easy it could be for him to crush your bones.

“Please, just go.”

The sadness and desperation were mixed with some kind of nausea, you wanted to be alone – to forget the whole shinobi world and live in a small house, maybe with a farmer as a husband and away from every type of self-defense lesson Tobirama was trying to instill in you. You left your crouched position and sat on the ground, trying to regain some kind of self-control.

However, he didn’t leave. You heard a sigh  as Tobirama bent to your side.

“We are finishing for today.”

His comment angered you. You were tired, the sun was scorching your scalp, tears refused to calm you by leaving your eyes, and he insisted on being a jerk.

“Tobirama, really, just fuck off.”

“You have heat exhaustion. Just calm down and let me take you home.”

He made you stand up, and your knees trembled as you never thought they would. You could feel his hand securing you by the waist, the sensation against your back made you notice the cold sweat that was drenching your clothes and the dryness that made your mouth sticky.

“Maybe you should get a new girlfriend,” you tried to mutter: the tongue clinging to your paladar made the phrase slow, awkward, strange almost.

He didn’t answer, just made his grasp firmer.

Before you could continue, the air changed and you were home.

It was ironic. There he was, using the Flying Thunder God Technique with a little sweat when just trying to stop a hit had taken you to your current state.

Even in your bitterness, you thanked the change of atmosphere. The colder space helped you to regain a little bit of consciousness and you left his grasp to stumble to your bed. You closed your eyes, your eyelashes entwining and small needles crossing the eyelids . You could feel the hot evaporating, and taking with it the energy you had left.

Any time that passed before Tobirama entered the room was wrapped in black. He made you drink a water so cold that it burnt your throat and accommodated you at the bed.

“Do I always have to take care of you?”

The words felt inaccessible, covered by the slight touches of Tobirama trying to take off your training clothes. If you could have paid attention,  you would have noticed the guilty tone of his words; but you were to occupied comparing the scratches of your clothes with the relieve of air caressing your skin.

Another glass of water was put on your lips, and you did your best effort to not gag. However, this time the water didn’t seem so cold, and the liquid ran across your larynx deliciously. The fourth, fifth, and sixth glass were each better received than the last, and soon enough, your saliva had returned and the tears that had been missing a while ago started to wet your eyes.

Anyway, you didn’t have enough energy to help Tobirama to put you on a nightgown. Your limbs, as limp as the ones of a doll, didn’t have the strength to help.

“I’m sorry, that I’m so weak. I never meant to be a burden.”

Every syllable was slow, barely glued to the others. But when you finished, and just silence remained, your heart immediately started to ache.

Tobirama’s movements seemed excessively fast in your eyes. He was walking repeatedly across the room, taking care of your sweated clothes, putting a jar full of water on the nightstand, and installing fans all around your bed. His last action before sitting beside the bed was wrapping you in a light blanket.

“An intelligent person wouldn’t worry about that useless things right now.”

After the scold, he kissed your hand. His lips grazed each one of your fingers with the harsh carefulness that had made you fall in love with him.

“Now go to sleep.”

You didn’t wait much to obey. The light of the room that danced through the filter of your blurred vision was already lulling you. You took one last glass of water and fell asleep.

It was a blank slumber, somewhere in your dreams, you felt the wind of the fans constantly moving the blanket. Some hand woke you up three or four times to offer you more water, that made your throat less and less dry. That same hand changed your pillow for a cold one and softly stroked your face. The blackness of your sleep calmed you, it made you fresher and helped you to forget the scorching sun you had endured all morning.

When you woke up, a white light was breaking through the curtains, and the humid cold of mornings was fluttering in all your room. You sat on the bed and drank the remaining amount of water of the jar, too thirsty to pour it into a glass. With a quick search with you eyes, you realized Tobirama wasn’t in the room, typical. Despite that being his usual behavior, the absence saddened you.

Your feet touched the ground and you stood up; strange and shaky, your knees attempted to fail before taking you to the kitchen. You needed more water, not only to relieve your dry throat but also to finish with a strong headache that was menacing to stay all day. Your steps were weak, and you felt the necessity of clutching to random objects as a secure. The jar was refilled and drunk and refilled again. Only then, you felt a harsh gaze hitting your neck.

“Drinking so much water at once is not going to help you”

“I’m thirsty,” you responded. And although your heart started pounding at the mere sight of Tobirama— He stayed, he loves me—, you didn’t want to affront the conversation that was on queue.

Walking to the couch, where he was at, it surprised you the bare contrast between yesterday’s diligence and today’s indifference in your boyfriend’s attitude. You sat at his side and waited for him to talk, looking at your toes and wishing for his scold to be gentle. But what came was something you didn’t expect: he embraced you.

His touch was cold; you liked it. There weren’t any words, but in his gesture, you knew he was sorry. You hugged him back, chin resting in his shoulder.

“I wish I was a Shinobi,” you muttered disheartened.

Tobirama let out an almost cordial sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied.

Tobirama parted the embrace and took your hand; again, he grazed your fingers with his lips. They were cold, and you couldn’t help but smile. In the back of your head, you still felt inadequate; but his reassurance made your stomach flutter.

“Take another sip of water.”

“I love you, Tobirama,” Now it was his turn to smile and even now you could tell he was fighting down a meek smirk. He put the glass on your lips. “But I’m so sorry that I’ve failed.”

“I’ll protect you,” he said reassuringly.

“But you were so concerned, and you got to catch me every time and I couldn’t do it.”

He stayed silent. His eyes  took a small record of the living room and then, fixated on you. Suddenly, he neared his mouth to your ear.

“They are proclaiming me Hokage.” The whole etiquette seemed useless, but you felt a smile creep to your lips, you were so happy for him, so proud. “They’ll try to hurt you, but I’ll always protect you.”


“I love you.”

And as he kissed you, you remembered the first time you saw him. Frowning at you from the glass of the store’s door, Tobirama stayed quiet, snow falling behind. Senju-san, do you need something? You opened the door, thinking in the new client. For you, the existence of those godly people, capable of destroying complete buildings with the movements of their hand, was incredible. And he stayed silent, contemplating something with the obligated sternness of a soldier. You felt small, tiny, insignificant. And yet, the door couldn’t be closed now. And yet, he blushed because of your insignificant self. And yet, he asked you to go out with him. Senju-san, do you need something? Because I need you.

fic: bring back the baby shoes

title: bring back the baby shoes
characters: Uchiha family, vaguely implied genin!SasuSaku
word count: 6,170
summary: Mikoto is going to be a mother. For the third time. A nonmassacre AU
author’s notes: *collapses into the dust* I don’t quite know what got into me with this one, but it took forever. And it kept growing.

It is only when everything she tastes suddenly turns unbearably sour that Mikoto recognizes that the nausea and dizziness she has suffered over the last few days, previously attributed to a burgeoning cold, might very well be something else entirely.

Mikoto experiences no panic at this realization—instead, she is annoyed. She has experienced the signs twice before; she should have considered the possibility that she is pregnant earlier.

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anonymous asked:

Can I request Regis finding out about noctis/nyx? Feel free to do whenever, if you do decide to write this. It's been on my mind after re-reading the first work you wrote for this pairing. TBH I don't see Regis getting upset, but I can certainly picture Nyx and Noctis being terrified at first

this is exactly what you think it is i promise =3

He’d been so careful. Even Noctis, for all his recklessness, had been so freaking careful. Both of them knew the scandal which would ensue should they ever be found out. While it wasn’t enough to scare either of them into ceasing their illicit affair, it was enough to encourage the both of them to proceed with extreme caution. No one knew. Literally no one, not even the prince’s most trusted confidantes, not even Nyx’s sworn brothers.

So, how the hell was he here, feeling like a standing corpse in the middle of the King’s throne room? How had he come to the point where his healthy respect for King Regis had twisted and shriveled down to nothing put pure, abject terror upon hearing the cold, callous sentence he’d been dreading for months?

“How long have you been sleeping with my son?”

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Not As Good, But Greater

“She’s just not as good as Natalia or Wanda…”

Not As Good, But Greater 

Originally posted by love-buckybarnes

It was an amazing morning, the bitty cinnamon haired avenger stretched her sore muscles, her soft coco colored hair looped itself in curls as it bounced over her round ass cheeks and her smile so wide her perky whites are on full display.

She loved Friday mornings, she always spends the whole day planning dates with the free avengers that roamed the building.

Last week, Sam and Natasha were free, which just so happened that (Y/N) had won three tickets to six flags, she thought it was a match made in heaven.

The week before that, Steve and Tony were un occupied, leaving the three adults to go visit the zoo.

And so on so forth. The young lady continued to gather her breakfast bowl, cereal box, Milk jug, and her spoon. She was smiling to her self as she tried to get the last ingredient, the sugar. She was fairly short. So as she tried to hold everything in one hand the other hand was trying its best to grab the sugar that was placed in the way back. Just as she was about to give up, a dark and cold figure came behind her and snatched the sugar, handing it down to her with a simple grunt. She turned around to thank whoever it was, but stopped when she saw Bucky was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“What’s the matter Bucky?” She asked sweetly, placing all her breakfast next to him. She then placed a hand on her teammate, before he shrugged it off quite aggressively.

“I have a last minute mission.” He grumbled angrily. He was so tired and out of it, the small girl knew he didn’t get any sleep last night judging from his eyes, but it’s not like she could do anything about it…

“Here, have breakfast.” She stated happily, poring him a bowl of cereal but kept the sugar can open so he would apply how much he liked. “Good morning Bucky,” Then she dipped her head and slightly grazed his stubbly cheek with her puckered lips. His posture stiffened, but went unnoticed by the giver  

If she could have a great Friday morning, then so should Bucky. The super solider always held a soft spot in her heart. (Y/N) would do anything to see him smile.


“Go low,” Bucky hollered, having about enough from his new teammates stubborn attitude, “I said low!” He barked in the com, after her figure disappeared from view. He shoved his gun behind his back before clasping his pocket knife. He walked slowly into the halls, stopping before every door until he was sure there wasn’t anything lurking behind them.

“(Y/N) where are you?” Bucky asked, slamming a door shut once he finished inspecting inside of it.

The com was static from his side, he knew then and there his teammate was in trouble.

Serious trouble.

If Buchanan wasn’t old then, he sure was now, all thanks to his partner who is a stubborn mule. That didn’t even listen to anything he said, he was the captain in this team, he was the one in charge. And yet the only girl who was suppose to follow him through the jaws of death had decided to follow the yellow path that her mental mind conjured.

Non the less, he continued to walk softly, the ghost in him never once leaving his traces behind.

James opened the last door, labeled ‘The Lab’ once he pushed in, he found the girl lying on the ground, her locks sprawled behind her, her face bashed in like some inflated balloon, her arms tied down with her feet. She looked unconscious, maybe even dead. Just how long had they caught her…?

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Bucky hummed, then untied her hands and legs before pulling her bangs from her face, he gathered it all, then tied it down with the spare hair tie she had around her wrist. Barnes then Bent down and picked her frail broken body over his shoulder like a sack of potato. Once her weak form was thrown over his shoulder a small drive fell from her clutched paws.

“At least you got what you were suppose to get.”  With that said, he grabbed the chip and then made his way to the waiting chopper.


It was a few hours since the mission was over, the young avenger was excited to know that they had made it home alive, still basking in the feeling of Friday. Nothing could or would ruin a Friday in her book.

She had exited the medic bay with much ease, she had a black eye, a sprained wrist but else then that she was in great shape to binge watch new series in the living room with who ever had the day off.

Like that, she showered, and gathered all the candy and chips the kitchen owned, her hands were hurting from how much she was holding, but stopped walking once she heard voices.

It was like an instinct. Something telling her it wasn’t right, and she should just listen. She was behind the couches in the living area. Steve and Bucky arguing together on the couch while Steve flipped the TV.

“-All I’m saying is,” Bucky grumbled, “She’s just not as good as Natalia or Wanda…” Bucky finished, running his metal fingers through his locked while he slumped back on the couch.

(Y/N) felt numb, everything she was holding had fell to the ground. As well as her pride. A fresh sheet of tears coated her once warm chocolate pupils, everything then stood still once Bucky had turned around and locked gazes with the young avenger He stood up abruptly, fear written over his face, but she wasn’t going to have any of it. She flickered her eyes to Steve, before taking off and running to her room.

The man who she always wanted to feel good, the man who she tried hard to get a smile from, the man who she wanted nothing but happiness for, had just compared her to her female partners, Natalia and Wanda.

Her heart constricted, while sadness burned her chest. She was disappointed, running away from Bucky who was hot on her trail.

"Doll, Wait!”

Her bare feet patted the ground quickly as she tried her hardest to move past an on coming Sam.

“Sam, Hold her-”

But she made it, pushing past the Falcon as she entered her room and locked herself in.

The last thing her eyes landed on was a worried Bucky just in arms reach.

She locked herself in. Didn’t let anyone enter. Because how could she, how could she come out that door with a smile plastered on her face when she was just now stabbed by the man she had harbored feelings for. The same man who compared her to the two most powerful women known to mankind, and said she wasn’t as good as them.

But around dinner, she exited the safety of her room, freshly dressed and washed, hair pinned in a messy bun as she classed one of Tony’s Iron Man shirts with her fuzzy red socks.

She walked down the hall, already knowing that the whole team would most likely already be in the kitchen serving food on the table. So she walked on, occasionally stopping near one of the mirrors to check herself. She applied light foundation, to conceal her puffy eyes. She knew she was beautiful.

“-Pass me the salt.”

She neared the kitchen. But stopped once she was a foot away. The place was awfully quite. As if a very damp towel draped over the teams mood. She figured everyone had figured it out by now, and we’re very sad or disappointed in Bucky.

“Hey guys!” She cheerfully sang, attracting the attention of the team. They all looked at her in amazement.

“That’s my shirt!” Tony broke, he knew if she was acting happy he at least needed to act normal. For her sake he though. “Give me my shirt back!” Everyone burst out laughing as the said girl took the only empty seat beside James and Steve. She giggled with everyone else, while she secretly eyed Barnes.

“It looks better on her.” Sam joined, with an agreeing Bruce. “She’s smoking!”

With that, the whole team went back to normal, except Steve and Bucky. The latter wouldn’t even pick up his gaze from his plate never mind move a muscle.  And Steve was just eyeing his friend the whole time. As if analyzing every step.

“Where did you even find that I’ve been looking for it for weeks.” Tony asked after a while, they had started to gather the dishes and place them in the washer. The whole group picked up interest on the question.

“I found it in my drawer.” She answered truthfully, twirling around to show off the shirt that dropped to her mid thighs. “Don’t worry I’ll give it back.” She mumbled.

After a while, the whole team started to head to their respected rooms. Leaving the only broken girl alone on the couch. She signed sadly, closing the TV she went ahead and dragged her self to her room passing Bucky’s in the process. From under his door the light was shining brightly, so she thought he was up again.

The urge to ask if he was fine was very strong. But the sudden hurt that bubbled deep in her stomach and mid chest had won over. He called her out, said she wasn’t as good as Nat and Wanda… who knows what else he could have blabbed if she didn’t drop all the candy in her arms.

Locking her door she broke down sliding near the mahogany wood and curled up in a ball, her slight chocked sobs rocking her body.

Imagined of Natalia’s swift movement and steady skills flashed in her mind, while Wanda’s amazing skills and speed came. She knew she wasn’t as great as them, she had just tried to help her friend Bucky that morning.

He looked miserable, and tired so she thought if she had helped James in his mission he could spend the rest of the day with her, watching the new movies that are now being aired. Albeit her plans had taken a sudden turn. She no longer wished to even see him, or hear him speak.

A soft knock vibrated through her door. She didn’t move, just silently let the tears stream down her cheeks. She didn’t care who it was out there, but hoped the message was sent.

“Open the door Dollface,” his voice was like a snake, innocent and swift, but deep down its fangs clung into death.

She didn’t move, even tried to hold in her breathing.

“Open the door sweetheart,” He cooed, tapping the wood lightly, “I can see you from under the door.” He tapped again, “I’m going to break this door down,” He then grabbed the knob tightly, shifting it from side to side before he pulled with one huff. The door splinted in half, the girl already standing up anger seeping out from her.

“What’s your problem!” She cried, punching his chest, “Go away,” She changed, her fists now pulling on his hair, “Can’t you see I don’t want to look at you?” Pushing him away was hard, so he stood in place watching as the women he hurt ran around her room grabbing a spare bed sheet and hung it over the door with a streaming face.

He stayed in place, he stood there begging for forgiveness. And when the sun rolled around, and she peaked out to start her Saturday morning she came to a sudden stop, the man still in his spot. Frozen, wanting to explain.

“I’m sorry-”

“Not now,” She concluded, pointing to his room. She didn’t care, she didn’t want him near her, she wanted space and time…

Although he wasn’t having any of it, instead he dropped to his knees and brought her down with a hug, his face buried deep in her chest, while he held onto her tightly muttering apologies, “Your not as good as Natasha or Wanda, but greater Doll,” He chanted, wiping the tears that streaked her cheek. His voice was out of tune, but sincere non the less…

“I’m sorry please forgive me, darling…”

{{ tbh I’m a sucker for dragons, when I was a lot younger I was really into the HTTYD franchise, and one of my first OC’s was a Night Fury named Tailia, I still have her around :”^) }}

{{ I placed it under a read-more, because it became longer than I expected when I was writing it oops- }}

{{ written for @dragonluver123! }}

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A Throne of Glass and Fury: Part V

First off, HOLY CRAP I REACHED 900 FOLLOWERS!!! That’s crazy!! Thanks so much I love you guys:)

Here are links to parts I-IV of ATOGAF

{ Part I }{ Part II }{ Part III } { Part IV }

This part is a bit shorter due to things that are Top Secret. Also, I’ve been quite busy and haven’t been able to get around to as much writing as I may have liked:(

Hope you enjoy!


“Well,” Lysandra turned at the sudden sound of a voice behind her. Aedion stood, leaning against the door frame to her rooms with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She noticed that he had changed into a much nicer pair of brown pants and a tunic the color of the sea before a storm that made the gold in his eyes stand out that much more. “You look rather nice, Lysandra.”

She sat down on her bed and asked, “Don’t you have your own rooms? What in rutting hell are you doing here?”

Aedion smiled handsomely, replying, “Oh, I do. But I find that I like yours much better.” Lysandra fought a smile as her eyes turned towards the heavens. “May I come in?”

She sighed before shrugging. “I suppose.” Aedion closed the door behind him as he quietly stepped inside, and Lysandra took notice of how much room he seemed to take up as he walked towards her, winking before lying beside her on the bed.

They were both quiet for a moment, Aedion just staring up at her ceiling as Lysandra watched his chest steadily rise and fall. 

“Aedion,” she murmured quietly. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, but did not move from his position.

“May I ask you a question?” Once he nodded, she continued. “What’s your opinion on all of this? On Feyre and Rhysand and the Night Court? And be honest with me; I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a shit liar, by the way.”

He chuckled lowly, breathing in deeply through his nose and then slowly letting it out before he spoke. “I trust Aelin’s judgement; and if she trusts these Faeries of Prythian, then I have no choice but to trust them as well.”

“But what if she’s wrong?” Lysandra quietly interrupted.

Aedion shook his head. “She’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Lysandra growled, lying down and resting her head in her hand so that she could face Aedion and look him straight in the eye. “That’s not an answer, Aedion Ashryver.”

He searched her eyes for something before murmuring, “Give me your hand.”

Shocked, she sputtered, “Are you mad?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just give me your damn hand, Lys.”

She glared at him for a moment before complying. Aedion’s hand was warm and calloused, and frightfully large when compared to her own. She wondered if he had heard the little jump start her heart gave at his touch, and then prayed to the gods that he hadn’t. 

He turned her hand over so that the palm was facing up and, with his forefinger, began to trace the lines that weaved and connected on them. “Have you ever wondered why we have these? These lines on our hands that seem to serve no purpose?” He didn’t wait for her answer as he continued, “I remember hearing a story once…about a young boy. He was dirt poor;  His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father was cripple and could do nothing but beg on the street corners. Sometimes, the boy’s father would take him along with him. They’d wake up before the sun even rose and travel miles and miles on foot to reach the city. And once they arrived, they’d sit and politely ask for any change a person could spare, ask if there was any work to be done that the young boy could do.

Many of the townspeople would completely ignore them, pass by them as if they didn’t exist. This continued for years, and the man grew old and ever more frail, and the boy grew big and tall and strong from the hard labor he endured. It wasn’t much, it was never enough, but they were able to get by for a few years. 

Until one year, when the sun was relentless in its heat. There was a terrible drought, and many people could barely afford to keep themselves fed. No one had even a copper to spare for the boy and his father. But this one day…it was the hottest day of the summer. The temperatures soared past one-hundred, and there was not a cloud in the sky to shade them from the harsh, angry heat of the sun. The boy and his father had not eaten for days, but they were no strangers to empty stomachs. But the thirst…it was sure to kill them this day. 

So they did not beg for spare change, but for water, wine, anything. As usual, many people ignored them. But there was one man who stopped. ‘Please, do you have any water for my son?’, the boy’s elderly father asked.” Aedion paused, taking Lysandra’s other hand in his and had she not known any better, she could have sworn that his breath hitched.

He continued, “The man asked for the boy’s hand and, reluctantly, he gave it to him. The man held the dry, calloused hand of the boy in his and then stared, assessing him and the boy and replied that he did, in fact, have water. He also had a bed, and food, and a nice, dry place for them to stay should they agree to live with him. ‘Why would you offer us such things?’, the father asked. ‘We have done nothing to deserve it.’ Again, the man replied that he had water, and food, and a nice, dry place for them to stay should they agree to live with him. Again, the father asked why he was being so kind. ‘Father, ‘ the boy interrupted. ‘Do not continue to ask any questions. Let us agree to stay with this man so that we do not die from the heat.’” 

Aedion had suddenly stopped talking; Lysandra prodded him with her foot, eyebrows raised in question. “Well?”

“Well, what?” 

He was truly going to drive her insane, the insufferable bastard.

“Well, what happened next?”

Aedion only smirked, setting her hands back in her lap and said, “I’ll continue the story later.”

Was he being serious?

He held his hand out to her, encouraging her to take it. “For now, I believe we have a dinner to attend.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back up at the small smile that adorned his face and damn her if she couldn’t hold back one of her own as she accepted his hand. 

“You look rather nice, too,” she dared say as they exited her rooms. 

“I know.”

Lysandra scoffed, shoving him in the shoulder, the sound of their laughter bouncing off the walls and echoing in the empty halls behind them. 


Simple Accidents (Pt 17)

All Parts Here

Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language

Word Count: 1,059

Tagging: @spnfanficpond@boredoutofmymindstuff​ @elleryan2@raeganr99@pulgapelayo18​ @ryansgirl5509@fearmyleopardstyle@t-bear99

When Jensen sat back down with Jared, he received a lifted brow stare.

“What’s going on? You look… different.” Jared squinted at Jensen’s messed up hair, red lips, and rumpled clothing, suspicious because he had watched Jensen follow you.

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