Playing Shadowrun for the first time, my first mission involves smuggling an item across a border. Back during character creation, I couldn’t think of a name to put on my fake SIN. I used a placeholder so I could come back and change it later, but I had since forgotten about it.

Border Officer: Evenin’, how’s everything?

Me: We’re doing fine, how’s your day been?

Officer: Goin’ good. Goin’ good. May I see your SINs?

Me: Yes sir.

I give the officer my ID.

Officer: Mr… Fuckhands McMike… Uhh…

Me: Yes sir?

Officer: Everything seems to checks out…


Originally posted by sugutie

Words: 4,778.

Genre: Hogwarts!AU, fluff.

Summary: Ask any girl that thought Jeon Jungkook was handsome or any boy that thought Jungkook was a god and they would say he smelled like the purest form of any man with a harmonious smell of musk, cedar wood, and oak; like fresh rain that soaked in the middle of a mossy forest, spices, and black coffee – but they couldn’t have been more wrong.

A/N: I have no idea what made me want to write this but it was fun and I’m most definitely thinking of making an au for all the boys.

Keep reading

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Four)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?


“Jen, love?”

I started and jumped from the pillow in the dark, my whole body seizing and splintering wi’ panic—

But it was only Ian, of course, half-asleep at my back. He pulled me closer against him and kissed my shoulder.  “Yr—tossin’ and turnin’ about like—S’matter?”

“Nothin’…Nothin’, only somethin’ I ate,” I whispered, tryin’ to catch my breath.

“Get—ye somethin’?” 

“Nay, lad, I’ll—I’ll do,” I panted, my blood racing and pounding. “Go b—back to sleep, mo ghriadh.” I pulled back the quilts and made to sit up. “I’ll—go take a turn— settle meself.” Nearly midnight, it must be. 

Ian groped clumsily for me and caught my hand. “Lov’ye…”

Tears prickled in my eyes, sharp and hot against the air of the night. God, the tenderness of him—the sweetness and care and love this good man lavished upon me, always

“D’ye think me a good person, Ian?” I whispered into the dark between us. 


My throat felt sore, the words as raw and frail and desperate as my pathetic heart. “Am I truly good? Or have I only been good at pretendin’ to be…while I’m no more than the verra worst kind of filth?”

The question rang out into the silence; unanswered. He’d have reassured me, had he actually heard, had the soft, familiar whiffle of his snorin’ not already resumed. It was as well not to be coddled wi’ comforting lies. I kent the truth well enough. 

Oh, but how I ached to wake him, to tell him at least of Claire and the evil that I’d done; to let him hold me tight and safe while I wept into his chest; let the comfort of him surround me, soothe me, as he convinced me wi’ gentle kisses and soft words that all would be well, that he’d carry the burden wi’ me—that I wouldna be alone, ever.  

Alone like Jamie. 

Alone like Claire.

This was my penance: this coldness—this regret—this utter, writhing, blistering shame. I’d taken away any chance for their happiness, so for the rest of my life, I had to bear it; to atone, myself, however I might. Emptiness, carried alone: a fitting punishment for my crime. 

I kissed Ian’s brow, slipped out of bed, found my shawl, and made my way down the stairs toward the study. I reeled a bit on the treads, my head achin’ and spinnin’, and small bloody wonder, for I’d drunk heavily all the evenin’. 

At first, it were only that I was preparin’ myself for the task at hand, hopin’ the drink would brace me, give me courage for when I found the right moment to face Jamie. Every time I looked at him, though, the gentle hunger in his eyes that lit over bein’ wi’ family; the smile on his face as he played with the wee bairns, as he joyed in the balm of home—of love—God, my coward’s heart had bucked and fled, at every opportunity. 

And by the time I might have finally confronted things, the drink had taken hold, bringing my fears to bear, and I’d staggered up to my bed long before anyone else, and dreamt of screams of pain—and sorrow—and—

Now, I was surprised and relieved to find as I reached the bottom of the stairs that I was hardened, a wall of conviction slowly rising up around me, protectin’ me. Jamie need not know; Jamie must not be told. It was too late, after all; Claire was too far gone. I’d done wrong, to my everlasting shame. I’d committed a terrible, cruel evil against them both. But what good would it do to torture him wi’ that knowledge, now? When he had no chance of findin’ her? None. T’would be only agony to him, that wisp of hope, now vanished by my hand. 

No. He couldna ever be told. It was the kindest thing I could do, now, to keep the secret from hurting him further. 

All that remained was for me to find a way to live wi’ myself—drink and distraction; and there was always a good decanter of whisky in the study along wi’ the books. I pushed through the study door and was no more than two steps in before I collided wi’ something solid and—



My candle was somersaulting through the air and onto the good rug, and just as suddenly, quick fingers snatched it up again before it could catch.

“I’m so sorry, Jen,” Jamie was sayin’, settin’ the candlestick on the table next to one of his own before turnin’ back to grin at me, all sheepish in only his shirt. “I couldna sleep and came down for a dram and was looking at the books just there by the door, and—” He stopped and blinked, surveying me in alarm. “Lass, you’re white as a sheet and shaking like— Are ye hurt, dove?”

“No, its—I’m fine—” I shrank back from his touch, from the heartbreaking sweetness of the endearment.

Tell him.

Only—agony to him, now. 

It’s far pa—past—(breathe)—too late—damn me to hell for it. 

I turned hastily for the door. “I didna mean to intrude upon your quiet, Jamie, I’ll just—”

“No-no-no, dinna be daft,” Jamie laughed, eagerly, stepping swiftly around me to block the door. “Stay! Sit wi’ me a time—have a drink.”

“No, really, I should—”

“Jen, we barely got to speak all this evening,” he said, and there was more than a touch of hurt in that soft voice, those soft eyes. “Please? Stay wi’ me?”

Brother, if ye only kent what I was, you’d cast me out into the cold this moment, and have me walk until the very sea swallowed me up. 

And I’d deserve it. 


“Come on, wee fool,” Jamie said, gently, but in truth, he was begging. He wanted her to stay. He needed her to stay, to help drive this terrible sadness away, tonight. 

At last, she relented, and let him close the door. He held out his arms to her, and after a very long moment, she came to him. “It’s very glad I am to see ye, lass,” he whispered into her hair, trying not to let his voice crack with just how glad he was of it. 


Lord, why did she sound so tentative around him, tonight? She had been cool toward him all the evening, busying herself with the meal and with clearing it, and with taking another whisky, offering him one, but then bustling onward to the next task and retiring early before they could exchange more than a dozen words. 

“Tell me true.” He gently took her by the shoulders and held her far enough away to look her in the eye, beseeching. “Have I done something to wrong ye, lass?” 

She gaped at him, going even paler than before. “Wrong me?” 

“I dinna think I’m mistaken in noticing you’re no’ pleased to see me, this visit. So I’ll ask again….Have I done something that’s wronged ye?” Even moments ago, she had seemed barely to touch him as he embraced her. “I’ll do anythin’ I can to make it right, I swear it.” 

“Never.” To his astonishment, her face fell, and she made a little sound almost like a sob as she at last hugged him tight, a real embrace. “You would never do anything to wrong me, Jamie.” 

He held her close, the sense of home finally settling around him. His blood—his sister. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said, muffled into his chest, “I am glad to see ye. I’m just—no’ quite myself, tonight.” 

“Is something amiss wi’ ye then, dove? Are ye feeling ill?” 

“No, I’ll do.” He could have sworn she shuddered, but she pulled back and put her hands on her hips to study at him with brows drawn, as she always did, the dear, wee busybody. “Lord above, you’re too thin, ye great toad.”

“Are great toads typically thin?” he laughed, placing a kiss on the top of her head and moving to settle onto the plump cushions of the settee.

“Aye, and your voice all scratchit like one, to boot,” she laughed with something like her usual fire, curling her legs under her on the armchair facing him. “But truly, do ye get yourself fed at all, in Edinburgh?”

“Aye,” he said, passing her a whisky glass, “not grand fare, mind,” he winked, or tried to, “but dinna fash: I make it a special point of policy to eat every day.”

“Well, that’s good. Do it more, aye? You’re—” She shook her head, looking actually pained as she took him in again. “You’re….wasting away, Jamie.” 

He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s why I must visit my sister, whose excellent cooks will always get me fattened up again.” 

“I must thank ye again for seeing my wee Ian safely home to me.”

“’Course, Jen,” he murmured, “happy to do it. The lad continues to be quite the handful, I see.” 

“God,” she groaned, “I’ve not the faintest idea what’s to be done about the wee eejit. S’like tryin’ to trap a breeze upon a mountaintop. I’m sure he’ll ask to be allowed to go back wi’ ye wi’ our blessing this time, but—” 

“I’d no’ mind it, owermuch” He tried to sound casual, not as desperately eager as he felt. “In fact, I verra nearly let him talk me into letting him stay, this time.”

“Wheedles something fierce, does wee Ian,” Jenny agreed ruefully. “I suppose ‘tis good for his hope of catchin’ a wife one day. A boy that’s so plain best ken how to wield charm to his good uses, at least,” she said with a grimace and a deep draught from her glass.

“Aye, that’s so,” Jamie laughed. “He can argue the black off a boot. Though, it was less to do wi’ him than me,” he added quietly, a moment later. 

“How’s that?”

“I’d have been happy for the company.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but it was a shrug of unease. “It’s quite lonely, there in the shop.” His emptiness rang into the very corners of the room in the saying of it. 

Jenny heard it too, and put on a cheery, winning manner as she scoffed, “Nonsense, you’ve got Fergus, aye?”

“Fergus is a great help, true, and an even greater comfort to me,” he agreed. The boy—Christ, he was fifteen years or more past being a *boy,* but Fergus would always be so, to Jamie—was his pride and his right hand. 

“But, of course, ye may not ken how often Fergus is gone from Edinburgh seeing to—other business. Scarce half the days of the month, do I see him, in fact.” He shrugged. “And of course, I’m alone in my rooms, after the shop closes. Wi’ only myself for company, the conversation tends to be a trifle repetitive.” 

He meant it as a wee jest to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, for either of them. There was a fair-sized lump in his throat. Jenny’s hands were tight around her glass, her eyes down. He knew he shouldn’t speak so, so wretchedly self-pitying, but damn him, he needed to have someone hear him and understand.

“Sometimes, I go an entire week or more wi’out anyone—not a soul— speaking to me as if they knew me. And it can be longer, even, wi’out anyone saying my real name to me….In Edinburgh, ken, I’m Alexander Malcolm.” 

She gave a weak smile, whispering, “Sawney.” 

“Aye. And folk smile and bow and say, ‘Good Day, Mr. Malcolm.’….‘Shall we see ye on Saturday, Sawney?’….’When are ye thinking of taking a wife, Mr. Malcolm?’” 

The empty glass shot from Jenny’s hands and spun ‘round on the carpet. Neither of them moved to pick it up, and Jamie found he couldn’t stop talking. 

He swallowed. “Before the cave—prison—England——”

Lord, that he might be safe. 

“—I didna truly ken how much it meant to me to be….known. MyselfAnd after everything that’s happened these twenty years, I now find most days as though—” He shook his head. “—as though I’ll just fall away and vanish into naught, from lack of it. I havena….” He dropped his eyes, too ashamed to look her in the eye as he spoke the darkest desolation of his heart, “I can hardly even name the broken pieces of me, any longer…..let alone hope to put them back together.” 

Jenny blinked hard as though holding back tears. Lord, no, there were tears in her eyes, to his shame. He wasn’t saying these things for pity. It was simply the truth of his heart, and it was a true gift to be given the grace to say it aloud, rather than having it tear him apart in the quiet of his mind, day after day. And yet it pained him to grieve Jenny so, to give her any more reason to fear and fret for him. 

He started to say so, but she suddenly blurted, “Maybe—” She was pale, and Jamie could swear she was trembling. “Maybe ‘tis time to—to come back to Balriggan.”

“No,” he said at once with half a laugh, standing and walking over to one of the bookcases.


“No, I said.”

“I ken things wi’ Laoghaire—”

“There’s no’ moving me on this,” he said, more sharply. He had no desire for her to dream up another scheme for rehabilitating his personal happiness. “I’ll continue to do right by them, of course, see them taken care of but…No. I’ll no’ try to find comfort, there, again.”

“Jamie, mo chridhe, please just listen—” She was right on the verge of weeping, from the sound at his back. “I ken she’s not—that she’s… what she is…but I dinna want—” There came the sound of Jenny throwing up her hands in desperation, “—Ye shouldna spend the rest of your days alone, Jamie, wi’—wi’ no JOY! The thought of—”

“There is no joy to be had at Balriggan, sister. Not that kind.” 


He turned to her and gently grasped her shoulders. “You’ve known me all my life, Jen,” he said softly down into her face, contorted as it was with shockingly-vehement feeling. “I’ve been wrong about many things; been hasty and reckless and a fool, when my emotions got ahead of my better judgment, or before I kent proper facts—” He cupped her cheek, his voice hoarse. “—but trust me to ken my own heart, at least: to be alone, to be empty, is better than—than that; to lose what pieces of me still remain to—anger…bitterness….”

She stared up into his face, lips pursed, eyes red and glistening, voice trembling uncontrollably. “But can ye no’—?”

He released her and kissed her cheek, putting all his self into being strong and brave-faced once more, as was his duty. “Dinna fash yourself about me. I’m sorry I let myself carry on down such a maudlin road, this night.” 

Jamie smiled, as warm and broad a smile as he could, as he walked past her back to the settee, meaning to sit. “But it means a great deal to me how much ye do trouble yourself for my sake, truly. I ken ye always mean the best for me, Jenny, and I’m—”

The sob burst out of Jenny like a cannon blast in the night and Jamie whirled, reaching for an absent dirk. “Jen, WH—”

Her face was a broken thing behind her hands. “I’m so—sss—so SORRY, brother.”

“Sorry?” Jamie felt as though he’d been hit by a charging horse. That wasn’t pity in her ‘sorry’: it was true apology. “Whatever for??”

“For the fool that I am,” she sobbed, the tears flowing over her fingers. “After all ye’ve been through—your own sister ought—OUGHT to—Christ, Jamie, I’m so—ashamed.”

“Jenny, dove, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he reached for her, “what on earth  are are ye going on ab—?”

“Wait here—” she managed to choke, already staggering for the door. Her eyes were wild and she put out a staying hand as she went. “Dinna move, just—Just—wait!!”

Too stunned to do otherwise, Jamie stood unmoving on the study rug, mind racing, absolutely at a loss to guess what had come over her. 

When at last she came back through the door, she was white as death, a paper, or envelope, perhaps, clasped against her breast. 

“Jenny, you’re frightening me. Tell me at once what’s happened.” 

“I’ve done—” Her chest seemed to cave in around the envelope, wracked with her sobs. “I’ve done a terrible wrong against ye, brother.” 

“Nonsense,” he vowed, moving toward her to sort things out. “Whatever’s the—”

Don’t,” she hissed, halting him with a frantic shake of the the head, her teeth gritted. “Just—stop.”

He raised both his hands to her in desperate plea.“I dinna understand, Jenny.” 

She closed the distance between them with halting steps and forced the envelope into his hands, holding her own tight around them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, for it was an expression he’d never seen there—absolute anguish and absolute shame. 

His eyes dropped to his hands. Aye, a thick envelope, the face bare and unmarked. 

He turned it over and saw the single word there written:

J a m i e

He might have been screaming—he might have been crying—he might have fallen into a dark pit, with the earth closed in over him.

He was on the ground, his leg aching from where he’d fallen against something. The envelope stared up at him from the floor and he stared back. 

those five letters 

written in Claire’s hand

a thin interlace pattern pressed into the blood-red seal.

Jenny was sobbing. “She was here— Claire was here, Jamie—”

“Claire’s gone—” he was screaming or whimpering, “Claire—is—GONE—”

“She came back.”


“No, she came for ye—CAME here

Nothing made sense

“—And I did such grievous wrong by ye in the things I said to her.”

There was no damned SENSE in the words that she—

C l a i r e

Jenny kneeling before him. 


Jenny, grabbing his hand, hard. “She said it would give ye peace, what’s inside.” 

CAME for’—?

Jenny, pressing the packet against his chest wi’ his own hand, holding it there, tight. 


Jenny’s face, mere inches from his, breaking apart with weeping—all but mute from the violence of her pain. “I'm—so—sorry, Jamie.” 

A kiss on his cheek, and then she was gone.

Watching like one paralyzed as the envelope fluttered once more to the ground onto its face. 

J a m i e

…his real name. 

He lunged, but he couldn’t even lift the envelope. His fingers felt like claws—lacking thumbs—lacking everything except brute force. He managed to rip off the seal and force open the pages, but he could only press it flat onto the floor with both his hands, hunched over it like a starving beast over its kill. 

And though he’d feared it some nightmare, his soul burst like the lungs of a drowning man as he read—as he believed— the words beneath him:  

“My own Jamie,” 

King’s Crown Bar

Smutty smut smut about older Bughead living in New York. AU. Possible multi-part. Smut. SMUT. You’ve been warned.

Betty Cooper smoothed her skirt over her thighs as she opened the heavy door to the dark bar.

It was her second week in New York City -  she had spent every waking moment in her office. She wanted to come straight to New York after she graduated high school, but her mother insisted she went to North Western, as they had one of the best Journalism programs in the country. She spent all her time studying and missed out on building relationships with people.

It was her first night of freedom, and there was only one thing on her mind.

It was cool outside, so Betty had thrown her worn leather jacket over her outfit. Once she was inside, a wave of humidity overwhelmed her. She shrugged her jacket off, revealing a deep v-neck top, red as blood, as she strode to the stools lining the bar.

She chose one, second from the end, and eyed the man behind the counter. He had black jeans on and a t-shirt sporting the name of a band she’d never heard of. He put a well worn book down behind him as he strode over to her.

“What can I get you?” He asked her, brushing his hair back from his face.

“A cosmopolitan, please.” Betty answered, hooking her jacket over the back of the stool. She crossed her long legs as the bartender chuckled to himself.

She raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head as he poured her drink and set it before her in a whisky glass. “The dish washer quit yesterday. No clean martini glasses.” He quipped as he wandered away.

“This is fine.“ Betty said, pulling the coaster closer to her. She took a sip of her drink and eyed the bartender again. He was at the opposite end of the bar, pouring a tequila shot for an older woman in a jean jacket.

Betty unlocked the screen on her cellphone when it buzzed against her thigh. After a moment, an audible sigh escaped her mouth as she put her phone face-down against the counter. She downed half her drink as the bar tender came back to her side of the bar.

“Get stood up?” He asked gruffly.

“Sort of. Not that it’s any of your business, but my roommate was supposed to meet me, She’s decided to stay in with her girlfriend.”

“You want another drink?”

Betty bit the inside of her cheek. Really, she should just go home. But fuck it. She was here now. “Sure.”

“You new in town?” He asked as he made her concoction.

“Yeah,” Betty answered as he set the drink down in front of her. “I went to school in Illinois, continued living there for a few years after school ended. I wanted to come to New York for college, but - well, not important. I’m here now. Out of Riverdale. That’s all that matters.”

Jughead stared at her for a moment before opening his mouth. “Riverdale, New York?”

Betty nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of it.”

“Heard of it? I lived there until I was seven. Then I moved to Toldeo.”

“Small world.” Betty took the cherry out of her drink and popped it into her mouth, her plump lips parting around the stem. She looked Jughead in the eye.

He held her gaze, a smirk forming on his lips until a large man a few stools down cleared his throat. “Yo, Jug, another beer.”

Jughead wandered toward the  man, pulling a beer from the fridge under the bar.

Betty took a sip of her cosmopolitan as a balding man with a tattoo on his head sat down beside her.

“Evenin’“ He commented, looking her up and down. “How much?”

Betty turned her head slowly. “Excuse me?”

“How much? Just for like, twenty minutes.”

Betty closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself. Calmly, she got off the stool and grabbed her jacket. She picked up her half-full glass and splashed it in the strangers face.

She started to walk to the other end of the bar when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You fuckin’ bitch, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Betty spun around, shoving the balding man’s chest. “Get the fuck off me,” She spat.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Jughead yelled from behind the bar.

Betty held her jacket in her hands tightly. “Nothing.” She stated.

“This whore just threw her drink in my face!” He grabbed Betty by the shoulder again.

“I said get off me,” Betty muttered. There was venom in her voice.

“Larry, get the fuck out of here!” Jughead said, hopping over the bar. The balding man muttered something and headed out the door.

“Alright, we’re closing early, everyone get out.” Jughead said loudly.

Betty shrugged her leather jacket over her shoulders.

“Not you,” Jughead murmured as people cleared out of the bar.

“Won’t the owner be mad at you for closing early?” Betty asked.

“I am the owner.” Jughead answered as he followed the last person to the door and flipped the lock. He shut off all the lights but the one over the bar.

Betty took a seat at the bar and sighed.

“You want another drink?” He walked behind the bar.

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll just pay and go.”

“No, you need to calm your nerves before you go anywhere.”

Betty didn’t argue. Jughead sat a glass of water down in front of her.

“You know, I only came out tonight because my roommate convinced me bars are a great place to meet guys. And the only one I met thought I was a prostitute.”

Jughead chuckled. “Bars are only a great place to meet guys if you’re looking for a one night stand.”

Betty grabbed a cherry from behind the bar. She popped it into her mouth. “Who says I’m not?”

Jughead cocked his eyebrow.

Betty took the cherry’s stem and put it in her mouth, needing only a moment before she placed the knotted stem back on the bar. She hopped off the stool and wandered behind the bar.

She was close enough to feel his body heat. She shrugged off her jacket once more and let it drop to her feet.

“I’m not looking for anything other than tonight,” Betty murmured.

Jughead didn’t respond with words - he cupped her cheek and roughly pulled her against him. His mouth covered hers, his hands wandered down to her hips, gripping. She parted her lips, allowing his tongue inside.

She leaned back, pulling her shirt over her head. He trailed kisses down her neck, sucking and nipping at her collarbone. He reached behind her and unclasped her bra. It fell between them as he ducked down, pulling her peaked nipple into his mouth.

She reached under her skirt and pulled her panties off, kicking them away from her feet.

Jughead let a throaty growl escape his lips as he picked Betty up and placed her on top of the bar. “Fuck,” He murmured.

He kissed her roughly, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth. His hands wandered beneath her skirt, finding her entrance.

“You’re so wet,” He murmured quietly as he placed a finger inside her.

Betty looked at him through hooded eyes. She bit her lip as he placed another finger inside her.

“Jughead,” She murmured.

He rubbed her swollen clit as she reached for his jeans. “Take those off.” She ordered.

He did, kicking them off behind him. He placed two fingers against Betty’s lips. She opened her mouth, sucking his fingers, twirling her tongue against them.

He moaned, rubbing his slick fingers against Betty’s entrance. She leaned back against the bar, running a hand down her center.

Jughead looked her up and down, his eyes landing on a tattoo partially covered by her skirt.

“Is that cake?” Jughead asked, still eyeing her tattoo.

“Ch-chocolate cake slice.” Her breath caught in her throat. “But you can use it for target practice when we’re done.”

Jughead licked from her tattoo to her nipple, sucking and biting before moving to her neck.

“Fuck me,” She murmured, leaning forward to wrap her arms around Jughead’s neck. She reached inside his boxers, pumping.

Jughead spread Betty’s legs, taking himself out of his boxers. He held his erection, brushing it against Betty’s slick folds. He pushed himself inside her slowly as she wrapped her legs around him, allowing him deeper still.

“Fuck,” They murmured in unison.

He thrust against her, using his fingers to rub at her clit.

“Harder,” She moaned.

He fucked her roughly, biting at her neck.

She moaned, throwing her head back, tightening the lock on her legs.

He moved his hand to her neck, his fingers gripping, his thumb between her lips.

Betty licked and bit at his thumb until he moved it back down between her thighs.

“Fuck me like you hate me.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow at her.

“You heard me,” She murmured.

Jughead pulled her off the bar, bending her over in front of him. He reached his arm around her waist, holding her against him. He pounded into her over and over until she was screaming his name.

He continued to thrust into her, rubbing at her clit, until her knees were weak.

“Jughead,” She murmured as she reached her second high.

He had a fist full of her hair as she came again, her eyes closed. He waited until she opened them again.

“Turn around,” He instructed. He used her tattoo, as she suggested.

He pulled his jeans on as she wiped her tattoo clean. She found the pieces of her clothing, dressing herself quickly.

“Same time next week?” She cocked her eyebrow.

He smirked. “You know where to find me.”

170712 G-Dragon Instagram (edited caption):

“Act III, MOTTE” in #Seattle🔥
The show was amazing! Gr8 Start for this US tour! Thank you so much for everything and I just want you to know that i love you! I really really do🖤
All the VIPS in the WORLD🌏🌹In case I don’t See Ya’ good-afternoon, good-evenin’ & 굿밤✨💕 Sleepless in Seattle, From your LOVE

Where is Next? #Sanjose

anonymous asked:

could I get something of McCree or Hanzo comforting their depressed s/o (who has self image issues?) ive been having trouble with my self image issues lately

Of course, you can have both, I’m sorry for the delay in this and I hope this helps in any way. I hope you can resolve the issues you’re having soon, all the best to you, lovely :)


You were sitting on your bed in you and McCree’s bedroom, staring into the mirror with pursed lips. You just couldn’t see past your insecurities, no matter how hard you tried. It didn’t help that everywhere you looked there seemed to be a mirror, it made it harder and harder to occupy your mind elsewhere.

You got up and purposefully strode toward the mirror and turned it round so it faced the other way, doing the same to all the others before returning to your position on the bed, arms and legs crossed. You breathed a sigh of relief and fell back, closing your eyes in the hopes of finally finding some peace.

“Evenin’ darlin’,” the familiar southern drawl made you smile and grimace all at the same time. While you loved your cowboy he was an observant fellow and was bound to say something about the mirrors.

“What’ve you done to the mirr’rs doll?” he asked instantly, and you could hear his brows knitted together in worry.

“Nothing.” You murmured, hoping he would move on and knowing deep down he wouldn’t. His footsteps became closer until the bed sank beside you. You turned your head slightly and opened an eye to see McCree lying on his side, gazing into your eyes.

“What’s up?” his voice was lower this time, caring and sweet and you felt the urge to spill your thoughts into his head to share them, have someone to understand. But you couldn’t find the words. Instead, you turned onto your side and stared right back at him. His head tilted to the side and he bit his lip.

“You’re so amazing, Y/N,” he whispered breathily, “So drop dead gorgeous with a personality that shines even brighter than my belt buckle.” You allowed him a small chuckle at that and his face lit up. 

“Thank you, but…” you began but he held his hand up to stop you.

“You’re amazing.” he finished for you and for now, you decided to concede and just nodded, wriggling over into his open arms, nestling against his chest. He held you close for hours, whispering all the compliments under the sun into your ear. You knew you’d have to talk about it at some point but surprisingly, you still felt a little better afterwards.


You sat on the roof and watched the people walking past, imagining their stories; where they were going, where they’d been. Hanzo did this often, though you knew his mind was always elsewhere when he did so, as was yours at present. You were having a bad day, Jack having been on your back for some missing paperwork, a tough mission and to top it all off, your confidence was slipping.

You’d never felt confident in yourself, in your own skin. It wasn’t something that felt natural to you and sometimes you just couldn’t stand to look in a mirror. Today was one of those days. Which meant you had to avoid Hanzo, however much it pained you.

He just did not understand.

He would often compliment your looks or just you in general, usually eliciting a wince from you. Somehow he couldn’t get into his head how you could have insecurities despite his own multitude of them. In his eyes, you were and forever would be perfect which, whilst being the main thing to get you up in the morning, was also hard to deal with on days like these.

“Y/N?” You heard the familiar voice and cursed under your breath, whenever you thought about him he seemed to miraculously appear. You were beginning to wonder if he had some sort of mind-reading abilities.

He came and stood beside you, without another word and you simply nodded toward him. Your relationship wasn’t based on a constant need for idle chitchat. All words were carefully thought out, utterly heartfelt and always necessary otherwise nothing was said at all.

“Bad day?” He asked quietly and again you just nodded. He snaked his arm around your waist and squeezed lightly, causing you to rest your head on his shoulder with a light sigh.

“Tell me when you are ready,” he concluded, “For now, we can just stay here.”

You could almost feel tears coming to your eyes at his complete understanding of the situation and with relief that he wasn’t currently going to push the matter. You leaned into him more and whispered.

“I love you, Hanzo.”

“I love you too, my beautiful flower.”

The blush on your cheeks got you a rare smile from Hanzo as he pressed a kiss to your temple and you were finally content in his arms, safe from all your demons.

To Have and to Hold

Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

Pairing: Negan x Plus Size!Reader
Word count: 1,095
Warnings: Smut, swearing, jealousy
Prompt: Happy Wife/Happy Life
A/N: I’m sorry that these are all way late, guys!

Negan Smut Week masterlist

Sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, your feet were resting on the coffee table. Your right ankle resting on top of the left. You let out a soft sigh as you continued to read. It was some tattered old book that Negan had brought you back from his last run, and the wine was less than satisfactory, but you couldn’t be picky now.

You had been waiting for him to return for the entire afternoon. There was no way that he had gotten hurt, because you’d seen the other men come in around lunch. That meant that he was likely off with one of the other women that he dared to call his wives. It frustrated you, but there was no use arguing about it. You’d have a fight, he’d fuck you against a wall, only sleep with you for a week or two, and then he was right back to it.

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Request: You and Chibs have been seeing each other casually for a few weeks. You both decide to meet at the clubhouse after work for one of your usual hookups, but this time, he’s running late. You are tired, but decided to stick around to wait for him.. Even if you can’t keep your eyes open.

Contains: Fluff


It had been a long day at work for you, it was one of those days where your feet were sore and the only thing you wanted was to crawl into the bed, or that was what you wanted until you got a text from Chibs asking you to meet him after work for a drink, and some of your usual fun. You two had been seeing each other for the past few weeks after you brought your car into TM for an oil change. It was the only place you trusted to bring your car, you had been going to them for a while now and had always seen the scotsman around the place. He had been in the office the day you brought your vehicle in, finally giving you two the chance to officially meet. You both ended up hitting it off, and he called you a few days later as he had gotten your phone number off one of the files in the office. It had been 3 weeks and things were going pretty well between the two of you, the only real problem was that the both of you stayed fairly busy. He was always out on club business, and your job in retail always had you on weird hours. Sometimes Chibs would come by the store to see you when you weren’t busy, but it was rare that you had a minute to yourself at that place.

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The Clean Up

“Please do 41 and 84 with chibsXreader friendship, thank you 🙏🏼”

#41 - “I need your help.”

#84 - “I didn’t murder them. I accidentally knocked them unconscious forever, that’s all.”

Staring at the lifeless bodies on your living room floor, your eyes are wide in horror. Fuck.

Why did these two men just decide to try and rob your house? Why couldn’t they rob someone from over the road? Or someone a few doors down? No, they had to come and try to rob you, not realising that you were perfectly capable at shooting a gun. Perfectly capable and perfectly okay with shooting a gun at two bastards trying to steal from you.

You think about phoning the police, self defense and all that, but due to the fact you’ve already got past criminal activity due to associating and assisting the sons, you decide against it.

You tilt your head to the side, still watching the dead men on your floor, bullet wounds in both their heads. You half expect them to get up, shake themselves off and leave. Though, they probably weren’t going to.

Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you go on to your recent calls, clicking on the contact you figured would be able to help you best in the situation you found yourself in.

“Evenin’ lass, how’s it going?” Chibs greets once he picks up, his voice pouring through the speaker in your phone. Deliberating how to explain how just how your evening is going, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Hey Chibs, yeah my evening is going pretty well, what about yours?” You reply calmly, shaking your head at the fact you don’t even feel remotely panicked by the crime that you’ve committed. Guess that’s what happens when you’re sadistic and you hang out with outlaws twenty four seven.

“I’m just at the clubhouse, love, the boys say hi.” You hear a chorus of hello’s in the background of his call, you sending your greetings back before you decide to actually get to the reason you’re calling.

“I need your help, actually. That’s sort of why I’m calling.” You laugh nervously, hopping up onto your kitchen counter. “I sort of got broken in to.”

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” Concern fills his voice, his voice getting clearer as the background noise disappears, you guessing he’s gone into another room to be able to hear you properly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Though I kind of need to book two seats for dinner.” You respond, not wanting to divulge incriminating details over the phone, using the code you’d heard the boys use a couple of times before. You hear Chibs splutter in response, a smirk appearing on your lips as you listen to him choking on whatever alcohol he’s nursing.

“I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.” He scolds, your eyes rolling at his protective parent sounding nature. “Don’t even answer that. Be round in twenty.”

“Yes sir.” You reply teasingly, Chibs’ chuckling before you kill the call.

Opening your back door, you let Chibs, Tig, Happy and Juice through, a smile on your face. “Come join the party fellas! Three’s a crowd.”

You shut the door, locking it before spinning around, your sights turning to the bikers, their shocked expressions making you laugh. Happy looks at you, sucked in by your completely unphased and slightly psychotic nature. “Marry me.”

“Maybe.” You tease, winking playfully at him. The men assess the bodies, their hands dressed in black gloves to prevent leaving trails. “You guys want a beer?”

“You know, most people would be shitting their pants if they’d just offed two people in their kitchen.” Juice comments, his eyes staring at you in amusement. Shrugging your shoulders, you admire your work.

“You’re just jealous I’ve got a better shot than you.” You challenge, making a gun shape with your fingers and blowing on the end. Juice grins at you, shaking his head, the whole group used to your easy going personality. “Besides, I didn’t murder them. I accidentally knocked them unconscious forever, that’s all.”

Tig walks up to you, leaning against the counter and throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Tell me again why we don’t let females prospect?”

“Because you’d probably have them pregnant within a week.” Chibs says, you and the other boys agreeing as Tig pouts. You wrap your arm around his waist, squeezing him tightly.

“Don’t worry, Tiggy. I’m on the pill.” He grins at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. Before he can respond, you move away, grabbing some bleach and other cleaning supplies from under your sink. “So, we gonna start cleaning?“

“Aye. Juicey boy, go grab the tarp from the van.” Chibs orders, Juice nodding before leaving the room. Tig grabs the gun from the floor, smiling proudly at the fact you remembered to use a silencer, and slides it into the back of his jeans.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day, lass.” Chibs lights up a cigarette, Juice returning with the tarp as the other three men start to roll up the bodies, Chibs passing you the cigarette. Taking a drag, you watch as the smoke leaves your lips, vanishing into the air.

“Just doing what you taught me.” You jest, passing the smoke stick back to the Scotsman. “Gotta keep you on your toes. You’re getting old now, Chibby.”

Juice supresses a laugh, your gaze catching his, a grin on both of your faces. Chibs scoffs, pinching your waist, the ticklish feeling making you jump. You watch as the bikers carry the deceased men out the back door, you already soaking the floor in bleach and scrubbing harshly when they return.

“We’ve taught you well.” Happy states, his black gloves now shiny with the intruders blood. You stick your tongue out childishly, a smirk forming on his lips. “See you back at the clubhouse.”

Chibs nods, you thanking Happy, Tig and Juice before they leave to go and dispose of the evidence, you scrubbing at whatever is left on your kitchen floor. You’re pretty sure nobody will come knocking at your door thinking you murdered two random men, but you never know. Once you’re satisfied, you stand up, ripping off your rubber gloves and throwing them in a bin bag, along with the crimson coloured cloths.

“Thanks for this, you really saved my ass.” Chibs smiles at your gratitude, walking over to place a comforting kiss on your forehead, his arms wrapping around you in a hug. “Can I stay with you tonight, please? Feel a bit weird being here on my own.”

“Sure, love. Go pack a bag, I’ll wait outside.” You smile thankfully at him, so glad you’ve got a group of friends - who are pretty much family - that you can always rely on.

Originally posted by comeandhate

A/N - Thought I’d add a light hearted, humorous mood to this!! Hope you liked it :) I’ve got about 20 requests that I’ve got to write so thank you all for requesting! :) xx