i hate how the heart is covering half of dave's face

What comes before (and shall forevermore)

Tiny bitty pre-wedding snippet. School is done for the year and I’m giddy. Expect lots of fic soon! Happy Once Day! xxo


He hates this. Loathes it. Who bloody came up with this sodded tradition anyway? He tries to concentrate on the waves beneath him, tries to let them lull him to sleep as they used to so effortlessly. It doesn’t work. He looks over from his spot in the Captain’s bunk to where David is deep in slumber, arm slung over the small, rickety cot Granny had lent them. He tries to quiet his thoughts, or dull the ache in his empty arms, but he can’t. Bloody hell. 


She despises this. Detests it. She rolls this way and that in the upstairs bed at the loft, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t fall asleep. Who the fuck made up this stupid rule? Half the reason she’s marrying this guy is because she has no idea how to sleep without him holding her. And now she’s gunna look like a legitimate zombie on her wedding day (holy fuck, wedding, woah) all because of some dumb, age-old ritual. God. 


He knows she can’t sleep either. To be honest, that’s why he’s even this keyed up in the first place. Ever since he got back from his tumble in Neverland, he hasn’t been able to walk 3 feet from her without her turning slightly pale and getting up to take his hand. She sleeps with her head in the crook of his collarbone and with one of her legs cinched between his two. Otherwise, she doesn’t sleep at all. He knows this. And it’s eating at him.


She knows he’s worrying about her. She’s okay, sort of, cause she’s got her mom and Elsa downstairs and she knows her dad is with him on the ship, but still. She’s upset, and also upset because she knows he’s upset. (And knows he’s upset cause he knows she’s upset.) It’s all just so upsetting. And these blankets are too hot. And the pillow is too fluffy. And screw this. She’s getting out of bed. 


He simply can’t stay in this bed. If, eons ago, someone had told him that one day he’d be aching to be anywhere but his ship at nighttime, he’d’ve called them mad. But now, he throws back the covers and tiptoes to the ladder, careful to avoid the creaky spots so as not to wake up Dave. Maybe some fresh air will help.


She thinks about walking straight to the docks, but she doesn’t want to get a rise out of her father. And maybe she’s wrong, and he is sleeping soundly. It is his ship, after all.  So instead, she settles for the next best place, where at least there’s his things and sheets that smell like he’s there. She walks through the empty streets of their quaint little town, the only sound that of the rustling wind. She thinks of how everyone is snug in their beds, and how they all have outfits picked out for tomorrow, probably laid out and everything. Cause they’re gunna watch her get married. She shakes her head at it all, but can’t help the smile that creeps. Damn that smile. It’s been creeping up on her a lot lately. 


He thinks about going to the loft, and sneaking up the stairs like he used to before they had a house together. But he stops himself, because what if he’s wrong? Whether she admits it or not, she’s been dreaming about her wedding since she was a lass, he knows it. And maybe she’s into this whole don’t-see-the-groom travesty. She agreed to it, after all. So instead, he settles for the next best thing, where at the very least he can gaze upon the photos they’ve hung on the walls and maybe take a half-assed nap against her pillow.


When she gets there, the front door is locked. At first she kicks herself for being an idiot and forgetting her keys, but then she remembers that she’s got an ample supply of light magic. With a flick of her wrist, the door is unlocked, and as soon as she steps inside she feels herself start to calm down. She’s tired, honestly. She flicks her wrist again to lock the door, before heading straight for the stairs. On her way up, she takes her time, letting her eyes play over the picture frames that hang on the wall, reaching out to caress ones that house his beautiful, smiling face. By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, she realizes there’s no way in hell she’s going to be able to sleep. (She’s way too excited to marry this man.)


When he gets there, he skips up the front porch steps and reaches in his pocket for his keys. The night is quiet, the air is cool, and even though he hasn’t even made it into the house yet, he already feels better. He unlocks the door swiftly and steps inside, inhaling the comforting scent of home. He takes off his shoes and puts them in their proper place, before making his way up the stairs to his room. (Their room. Theirs. The room he’ll soon share with the one he’ll call wife.) 


It takes her a few beats to notice. She’s laying on her back, on his side of the bed, hair sprawled out against his pillow as she stares at the ceiling. She fidgets and wiggles, trying and failing to get comfy enough to sleep. He watches her from the doorway, his heart doing all sorts of things in his chest. Gods above, he thinks to himself. This woman. I love her more than anything that shall ever exist. He exhales with the weight of it all, and she hears the quiet huff. She snaps her head toward the noise and sits up, letting out a jittery exhale of her own as she lifts her arms in beckoning. 


He crosses the room wordlessly, climbing onto the bed and wrapping her up in his embrace in one graceful, fluid motion. She wiggles over to give him more room as he maneuvers her leg between his own, smoothing his hand through her hair as he guides her head to where it belongs, against his chest. She wraps her arms around him, reaching up with one to brush at his scratchy-soft stubble that she loves so much. They’re quiet for a minute as they settle into one another, inching closer and closer until there’s no space left between them. His stumped arm is held strong against her back, kneading at the flesh there. 

“You couldn’t sleep,” he says softly, his lips at her forehead. 

She rubs at the stubble, her fingers always in motion there. “And you couldn’t sleep, because you knew that I couldn’t,” she states. 

“Aye, love. Whomever came up with the strange notion that-” 

“I know. They can rot in hell. I missed you so much,” she says it and she means it and he knows it and it melts him. He rubs his nose against hers. 

“I just love you, darling,” he whispers, cradling her face, “I love you so much and I couldn’t-”

“I know,” she whispers back, closing the short distance between their lips to kiss him softly. “Till death do us part, right?” she jokes. 

He chuckles, shaking his head before dipping to kiss her again. “Oh my love,” he breathes at her playfully, “Not even then, and you know it.” 

Time For Bed

Daveed Diggs x Okieriete Onaodowan x Reader

Note: Have you ever found yourself feeling down and wished you could be cuddled by two buff but incredibly cuddly guys? If yes then congratulations this is for you! If no, please stick around and read it, it’s fluffy as heck. (I would like to add that if you cannot tell, this is very self indulgent so this is basically for me)

Request: None buuuuut it was an idea I came up with talking with @imaginebeinghamiltrash so here it is. Also I’m going to tag @fragmentofmymind CAN YOU SMELL THE SELF INDULGENCE?

Warnings: Pure fluff, with like 3 swear words.

Word Count: 867 (short and sweet)

Originally posted by susiephone

Your hands fly across your keyboard as you type out an email to your boss. You don’t realize the time as you work but you can feel the exhaustion creeping up on you, your hands slowing down as you reach the last paragraph. 

Before you can hit enter however, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you off your stool and into a solid chest. You scream and attempt to wriggle your way out of the strangers grip until a hand covers your mouth and you hear a voice in your ear. 

“Didn’t we tell you to come to bed three hours ago?” Oak whispers in your ear. You calm down as soon as you recognize his voice, your heart calming down as you stop kicking and struggling in his grasp as he moves his hand from your mouth. 

“It was not three hours ago” you grumble as Oak holds you tight in both arms as he carries you towards the bedroom. 

With a sigh Oak turns around so you can look up at the clock that hangs on the wall above the fireplace, and there it is clear as day 3am. 

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you’ve always hoped to experience domination

pairing: daveed diggs x reader

request: “sequel to lips of the reddest” and “jealous daveed smut?? w daddy kink? nd light bondage???”

summary: after a month without contact, daveed and reader run into each other and things pick up where they left off.

warnings: NSFW! alcohol consumption, smut, daddy kink, phone sex, sexting, masturbation, jealous daveed, bondage, public sex, hickey-giving, dominance/submission

word count: 4,302

a/n: title from clippng’s ‘wriggle.’ part one is here! not necessary but recommended before reading this one! sorry daveed. xoxo

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Helpless [Lin-Manuel Miranda X Reader]

Request/Inspiration: @kaijasimagines “Okay so I’ve got an idea for a request 🌈💫 So the reader is playing Elizabeth, and while with everyday he just falls in love with her more and more and more 💕. Because I think we all need more Lin Manuel fluff ✨”

Summary: Your Broadway and love life journey.


Shoutout: @sunshinemiranda for helping me get on the right track. LOVE YOU!

Word Count: 1,918


Request Here!

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Chunky -- One

Prompt: In which Daveed tells and shows you how much ya body is banging. Inspired by Bruno Mars’ Chunky.

A/N: Here’s another fic that I found on my phone. One of my favorites that I have written. Issa two part.

*this used to be on a different acc (now deleted) and is now on this account where i write to my heart’s desire*

You hated to wear dresses.

Actually, correction, you hated the way dresses fit on you, but loved how they looked by itself. There was nothing more irritating to you than to have dress that made you feel more self conscious than usual. And at the moment, you were insanely irritated on how self conscious you were being about the dress you were struggling to put on in the middle of your room.

Mentally cursing, you struggle to pull up the zipper of a black gown you bought recently. On your vanity dresser nearby, your phone buzzed to life, attracting your attention. You groan and walk over to pick up your phone hastily and watch how the name Daveed flashes on the screen. Quickly, you swiped to answer.


You could hear a sigh of relief exit the man mouth before he spoke. “Good,” he says. “You answered.”

Rolling your eyes, you hold your phone with your ear and shoulder before you went back to struggling to zip your dress up.

“Of course I did,” you reply, slowly pulling the zipper up and managing to get it to the top. “You’d think I would just ignore my date to the ball?”

You and Daveed were heading to a charity ball, where it was to raise money for disadvantaged kids interested in the arts. The event was to be hosted by Lin Manuel Miranda, a mutual friend of you and Daveed. You were going as Daveed’s date, which was reasonable since you were one of his best friends and Lin had invited the both of you to the event.

The sound of Daveed nervously chuckling instantly makes your heart jump.

“Okay, I’m nearing your apartment,” he says afterwards. “You ready?”

You pull out the pins from your hair, letting it fall gracefully down to your shoulders. Looking into your vanity mirror, you admire the soft waves that frame your makeup covered face. You made sure to go out for tonight, learning from YouTube makeup tutorials. The motive was to impress Daveed so much, he might consider changing the status of your current relationship with him.

In your your dreams, kiddo.

“Sure,” you reply, grabbing your purse. You head out of your room, ignoring the struggle of wearing the heels that were on your feet.

“Okay,” Daveed breathes. “Open the door. I’m here.”

You pick up your pace, walking to your front door. Unlocking it, you pull it back to reveal Daveed, who was looking dapper and handsome in a fitting suit. You suddenly felt breathless as you felt his eyes achingly move down your body before he met your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. You look pretty amazing yourself.”

“You ready to go?” Daveed asks, after releasing you from the hug. You nod in response and watcb how he outstretches a hand for you, in which you graciously take. Daveed gives you one last smile before he aided in getting you out of your apartment.

“Then let’s go.”

The ball was a rager.

Many people surrounded the main entrance, and oozed of money and prestige. They conversed near tables, with drinks in their hands. You couldn’t help but admire the well decorated venue as you stroll down the hallway leading to the main event with Daveed at the arm. White, translucent drapes hang low from the ceiling, and a variety of flowers were at every corner as walked. There were also fairy lights that dimly lit the hallway, creating an intimate and soft effect.

“It’s so beautiful,” you smile, squeezing Daveed’s arm. “Lin has done well.”

“He sure has,” Daveed answers. The both of you walk to the big cherry oak doors that were open wide for guests to easily enter. “He’s been working on this for months. The outcome is outstanding.”

You hum in agreement and take in the settings around you. Tables covered with white tablecloth took over one half of the room, with some of the guests sitting at their respective tables. Majority of the guests were on the floor, dancing with their dates as the band played slow jazz from a corner of the big hall.

Like in the hallway, there were drapes that hung low from the ceiling and vases of flowers, entwined with fairy lights, graced the tables. You admire the women who dazzled the ball with their long elegant dresses, making you feel slightly self conscious. Your dress was nothing like theirs. While they were draped in Versace, you were dressed in something you bought at your local Dillards. In addition to your dress’ deficiency to portray money, you hated the way your dress looked on you. You were always on the thick side compared to women you encountered on a day to day basis. They were mostly thin and tall, and had bodies that you admired from time to time.

“It seems like everyone is dancing,” you observe, shaking your thoughts. “Where’s Lin?”

Daveed looks around and eventually shrugs. “I can’t find him. There’s too many people.”

With that said, the both of you went ahead and found your table, which was near the front of the stage. There were already people there – an elderly couple – as you and Daverd sit down. The band continued to play, including some of your favorite jazz tunes. There was one song in particular that caused you to straighten up with excitement. Daveed raises an eyebrow at your sudden behavior.

“I love this song!” you exclaim, gripping onto Daveed’s arm.

Daveed chuckles lightly. “Would you like to go dance to it?”

You beam, shaking your head excitedly. “Yes. What the hell? Of course.”

Taking your hand, Daveed helps you up and takes you to the dance floor, where many people held each other tightly and swayed with  the beat of the music. Daveed pulls you close, to where your chests were touching, and gently swayed you left and right. While you were flushed at the feeling of Daveed so close, you could feel the looming weight of your insecurities as you watched thin people dance around you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Daveed asks. “You’re looking a little glum there.”

You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

You watch how his eyebrows dip down at your response, and you feel him squeeze you hand.

“Nothing you say is stupid,” he says. “I’m your friend, tell me.”

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t like the way I look in this dress.”

Daveed stops moving and looks at you with shock. Your cheeks burn hotly at you look at him back, anticipating his answer.

“Are you serious?” He asks, laughing in between. “Y/n, do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

When you don’t say anything, Daveed leans closer and finds your ear. You could feel his breath lightly dusting it, making the the room feel way hotter than it is. The next words that came out of his mouth was a whisper, that bumped up the room to a couple more degrees:

“I don’t mean to put it like this, Y/N, but you look insanely fuckable.”

As soon as he said that, you couldn’t breathe. You look up at the man in front of you, who’s eyes showed how sincere and true his statement was. At the moment, you weren’t sure on what to do. Suddenly, an idea conjures in your head. You turn away from Daveed to tap a nearby woman on the shoulder. The woman looks at you expectantly, and you quickly cut to the chase.

“Where are the restrooms?” You ask, smiling at her.

The woman looks at you and then at Daveed behind you and slyly smiles. Pointing to a shut door in the back of the hall, she says, “There’s a room in the back. The last time I checked, it was empty.”

Though your cheeks burned, you quickly thanked the woman and turned back to Daveed, who was staring at you confusedly. You grab his hand, and lead him off the dance floor. You quickly maneuver him to the door of the room the woman was talking about and opened it, pulling Daveed inside. Shutting the door behind you, you watch as Daveed’s mouth twists into a smirk. He leans on against one of the walls of the room, looking at you in a way you would have melted into the ground.

“Come here,” he says, his voice dipping lower.

You walk over to him with no hesitation, leaving a sliver of space between both of you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, unsatisfied with the previous proximity between you and him. As he looks down at you, you could see his brown eyes darkening as he hungrily looks at you.

“Do you know how hard it is to try and keep civilised every time I see you?” He asks, trailing a finger down your back. It moved slowly from the nape of neck and down the arch of your back, sending tingles you savored deeply. “You look so amazing everyday, causing me to think thoughts you’re not supposed to have towards your friend. But then you come out with this sinful black dress, and I just…damn.”

“You’ve been thinking about me?” You ask breathlessly. “For how long?”

Daveed smiles. “Since the first time I met you,” he replies. “I didn’t want to make any moves just yet, so I settled on becoming friends instead. But tonight, I’m not sure being friends is with you is what I need.”

Daveed closes his eyes for a second, his hand now at your butt, holding it firmly. “Tell me to stop. Tell me I’m making a mistake for what I am going to do next.”

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You knew whatever happens next was irreversible.

“Don’t stop.”

Daveed’s eyes fly open and he immediately takes action. In a matter of seconds, he leans down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. Midway into the kiss, he pulls away, breathing harshly. With a low growl, he flips you over, to where you were lying against the wall and he was on top of you, kissing the ends of your soul.

“I almost wanted to tear this dress off of you as soon as I saw you in it,” he mumbles, trailing kisses down your jaw. “All the guys at this party wanted to do the same. It’s a shame they can’t do what I’m doing now.”

“Really?” You croak, shivering at the feel of his hot lips on your neck. “I didn’t know that.”

Removing his lips from your neck  to look at you, Daveed smiles a wolfish grin.

“Baby, you have no clue.”

Giving you one last kiss on the lips, Daveed asks you another question that made you head whirl:

“Now, do you want to know how fuckable you are to me?”

You didn’t have to think twice.


Why’d you only call me (pretty) when you’re high

Read on ao3

Summary: Spot and Jack get their wisdom teeth removed. Unfortunatly Jack has bad timing with confessions.

Relationships: Jack Kelly/Crutchie and Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3249

Jack let out a giddy laugh as Race wheeled him down the hall. Davey followed behind, chatting patiently with the nurse. Crutchie was already in the car waiting with Spot.

“They see me rolling,” Jack sang, titling his head back to look at Race.

“They hating,” Race sang back to humor him. Jack burst into another round of laughter.

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Okay but a Barduil fic where Bard and Thranduil live in the same small town and are members of rival dad bands that do dad covers of dad rock, and the town fair is coming up and obviously both bands are guaranteed a slot because the whole point of town fairs is to give dad bands their time to shine, but who is getting the better spot

Bard does backup vocals and plays bass and wears plaid and drinks beer and owns a pickup truck that he sort of willingly uses to help people in the neighborhood move (“I fucking hate owning a truck,” he mutters to Sigrid as he helps lead guitarist Dave move yet again, and he realizes only in retrospect that this was the first time he cursed in front of his eldest daughter). He loves the Rolling Stones and the Stone Roses. He owns a lot of concert tee shirts bought from all the concerts and wears them under all that aforementioned plaid. He was full on grunge in the early 90s, except for that period when he discovered night clubs and the city and anyway there’s some pictures of him in a mesh shirt and leather pants that he’s got to make sure his children never find. He’s doing better these days. He bakes, if not well than at least earnestly. He’s active in the elementary school PTA, and he couches Sigrid’s softball team. Everyone’s forgotten that horrible year after his wife died, or at least they don’t mention it to his face, and the old women at the Humane Society keep clucking at him that he should start dating. He takes his kids fishing every other weekend, and lets Bain drink his first beer after they reel in this monster of a trout. Then Tilda reels in an even bigger one and insists on having a beer too. Bard lets her take a sip and then happily finishes off the rest of the can himself. The radio they brought plays “Sweet Home  Alabama.” When Bard mentions how much Thranduil would hate this song, his children all roll their eyes. 

Thranduil is lead vocalist. That’s it. He is a fair hand at the piano (someone’s got to tutor his son) but in the band, he just sings and that should be enough. He’s got classical training, after all: he was in several musicals in high school and college. He gets half the solos at church, and he knows he makes the Lord proud. (”I could get solos at church if I wanted,” Bard mutters, and Sigrid’s like, “Da, we’re Quakers.”) Thranduil’s band covers a lot of Bowie and Joy Division, because they are the edgy dad band. They also do Queen, because Thranduil knows in his heart of heart that he can sing as well if not better than Freddie Mercury. His son Legolas jokes that Thranduil should just start singing “Somebody to Love” every time he and Bard share a room, and Thranduil goes, “Good idea, that way he’ll know to fear my falsetto.” Thranduil has been the president of every PTA he’s been in since Legolas started preschool (”He is a tyrant,” hisses Linda once a year, which is not untrue but she’s just saying that because she’d prefer the tyrant be her), and he hosts a shocking amount of events at his home. A decent amount of Legolas’ class has had a birthday party at Thranduil’s home; after the incident with Tauriel’s family, she practically lives there. It’s fine, Thranduil always demurs when people worry that they are imposing, he loves playing host. If anyone thinks it’s because that house is too big for just the two of them, they don’t mention it to his face. Thranduil’s basement is full of records. As is the main floor, the second floor, and the attic. The only room that doesn’t have records is the wine room, which just has wine. Bard doesn’t like wine. Thranduil knows that because he offered him wine once, perhaps you could claim if you were cynical as a bribe so Bard would give up the prime town fair time slot he has. Bard turned him down in no uncertain terms. So Thranduil’s just saying, if it is to be war between the dad bands, it is entirely Bard’s fault. 

“Sorry that Da’s being so weird about this,” Bain tells Legolas as they walk home together after school. 

Legolas shrugs. “My father’s always weird about everything.” 

Behind them, Tilda scuttles to keep up with the teenagers’ lanky legs. She needs to get home for rehearsal. Da said she could be in the band because she’s getting so good at the tambourine. When Thranduil finds out about this, he will accuse Bard of exploiting his youngest’s cuteness to secure the main act time slot. 

“How dare you,” Bard exclaims, which is not the same as a denial. Thranduil glares fiercely over his agenda for the next PTA meeting. Both men are having more fun than they have had in years. They’ve never had a nemesis before.

Pizza Night! - Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader {Pt. 2}

Word Count for Part 2: 1413

Word Count for the fic overall: 2528

A/N: Y/P/N = A pet name that you loathe

The next day….

You lounged on your sofa, binge-watching {favorite TV show} while you mindlessly munched on marshmallows. The show was on for background noise. You were lost in your thoughts, the scattered matter seemingly trying to focus around one being.

Of course, your thoughts never listened and decided to run rampant.

A sigh escaped your lips. Why did you have to be enamored with the guy that wrote Hamilton? You knew everyone else crushed on him. Everyone flirted with him and tried to take a swing at dating the rare Lin. So what gave you the idea that you actually had a chance in hell with the guy?

Another sigh escaped you as you popped another fluffy morsel into your mouth. As it hit your tongue, your phone buzzed as if on cue. You picked it up to read the message.

5:25 P.M Pippa: Hey hon!

A smile spread across your face. Everyone loved the cinnamon roll dubbed Phillipa Soo. Or Pippa, as the cast called her.

5:27 P.M. {Y/N/N}: Hey Pip! What’s up?

5:28 P.M. Pippa: Nothing much! Want to head down to the pizza parlor tonight? It’s free pizza to cast members night! I’ll get you a few slices!

5:29 P.M. {Y/N/N}: You had me at “free pizza”, Pip! I’ll be there!

You stood up and stretched, grinning as you walked towards your dining room. Although you hated social events outside of the performances, there was pizza. Plus, Pippa invited you. That was rare. Tossing the bag of fluffy goodness back into the cabinet of your kitchen, you went to get ready for the eventful night ahead.


You walked into the parlor and hour and a half later, the scent of pizza and fries whacking you in the face hard. Pippa and Renee approached you with grins spread on their bright faces. Renee held a soda in her hand while Pippa held a soda and {fave soda} in hers, handing you your drink.

“{Y/N}! So glad you could make it!” She gushed. You giggled as she kissed your cheeks.

“Well, of course! How could I miss this?” Your replied with a grin. Renee hugged you with one arm. “I couldn’t miss out on hanging out with my girls!”

“Well, the girls AND guys.” Renee gestured to the back corner, where Lin, Daveed, Leslie, Oak, Anthony, Thayne, Jon, Javier and Jasmine sat around a couple of cheese and pepperoni pizzas.

Your face paled slightly. “Lin’s here?”

“Of course! You know Lin wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Renee shot back. A smirk spread across her face.

Did she……

The two girls lead you to the back of the parlor to where the others were. A cheer rose from the group once they laid eyes on you, Lin blushing slightly. “Hey, {Y/N}! Didn’t think you were coming tonight!”

You smiled. “Same to you, Linmilton.” Everyone sat down and left one seat open: the one beside Lin. You internally screamed as you sat down, trying not to let it show.

“Oh, so it’s Linmilton now? {Y/P/N}?” Lin smirked as you death-glared him.

“Lin, I swear to anything even considered holy-”

“Guys!” Anthony interrupted, chuckling as he held up a flyer. “It’s karaoke night!” Your glare shot to Pippa as your heart started to race. You knew what was coming.

“You didn’t tell me it was karaoke night…..” You whined. Pippa giggled as you pouted and stared down at the pizza.

“Aw, come on {Y/N}, it won’t be that bad.” Lin tried to comfort you. “I’ll do it with you! How’s that?” Little did he know that that one little question made your world flip.



“So….what do you want to sing?”

You looked at the crowd before making eye contact with him. “Empire State Of Mind?” A grin broke out on his face as he dashed to the DJ booth, plugging up his phone and cueing up the music. Next thing you knew, the music started and you were launched into a new world.

Lin’s voice filled the speakers as you listened, stuck in a trance. “Yeah, I’m up at Brooklyn, now I’m down in Tribeca, Right next to DeNiro, but I’ll be hood forever….” The crowd started to rock their heads up and down to the tune. Lin kept glancing over at you as you did the same, your part coming up. “…I be spiked out, I can trip a referee, tell by my attitude that I most definitely from-”

He pointed at you as you took over, your voice soaring over the sea of people enjoying their pizza. “In New York, Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do…” Your eyes were closed as you sang along, getting into the music as your voice connected the notes into a tune. You felt the music move through you. “Big lights will inspire you, Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York-”

Lin took over with the second verse from here. “Catch me at the X with OG at a Yankee game, Shit, I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can…” Your eyes were open now as you looked at the guests. No one was eating anymore. They were all listening intently, recording the performance, or awestruck. You could see your friends giving you thumbs up and whooping in the very back. “Statue of Liberty, long live the World Trade, Long live the king, yo, I’m from the Empire State that’s-”

He handed the vocals back over to you for the chorus, letting you belt out your heart as you sang. Nothing could wipe the grin off of your face. It felt as if you were floating. “In New York, Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do…” The lights brightened your face and caught the light beads of sweat forming on your forehead, but you didn’t care. You were up on stage. You were singing with Lin. Lin….. “Big lights will inspire you, Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York-”

You looked over at Lin knowingly. You watched him begin to rap the third verse. “Lights is blinding, girls need blinders, Or they can step out of bounds quick, the sidelines is…” You listened to his melodic verse spit out the words. Watched his chocolate eyes catch the bright lights. See his grin stretch from side to side of his face…. “MDMA got you feeling like a champion, The city never sleeps, better slip you an Ambien-”

You barely realized it was your turn to sing, catching yourself and launching into the chorus. You beamed as you sang, covering the chorus easily before hitting the bridge and turning to Lin, cueing to sing together. He understood and complied with shining eyes.  “One hand in the air for the big city, Street lights, big dreams, all looking pretty, No place in the world that can compare, Put your lighters in the air, everybody say yeah! Come on, come- Yeah!” Your voices fit perfectly, harmonizing in unity.

Before you knew it, the song ended with you and Lin facing each other, grins plastered on both of your faces and sweat covering your foreheads. Your chests heaved, begging for air. You faintly heard Daveed’s “Why don’t they just kiss already?” before you felt Lin’s lips lock onto yours, the sensation undescribable.

It was like sparks. Fireworks. Anything along those lines and you got it.

You heard the crowd roar with cheers as Daveed and Anthony cheered with “THAT’S MY BOY!!!!!” and Pippa’s “Woohoo, get it!” as you broke the kiss with Lin. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you…” Lin confessed, a sheepish grin on his face.

You giggled. “Honestly? We could’ve done this ages ago?”

Anthony walked up. “Lin confessed first?”

A nod from Lin.

“Damnit, I owe Daveed 40$.”

Killer Instinct

Band Member: Luke

Type: Assassin AU

Description: You were trained to kill and you’d forgotten what it was like to be loved but Luke shows you what it’s like again. But things can’t be perfect, they’re never perfect when it’s your life, Nine.

Warnings: Blood/Death mention.

You knew you were in this too deep when you actually showed up to his dinner party.

The thing with Luke was supposed to be a casual thing for when you were in the city but somewhere in between the heated kisses and the sleepless nights, you’d fallen for him. The infrequent visits slowly turned into buying an apartment close to his, it even became your new home. You’d never had a home before, you’d had a base perhaps. But never somewhere that was yours. A place where you had your own space to be you, whoever that was.

Luke filled your glass again with the red wine he’d picked up especially, since you had mentioned once that you liked it. He smiled at you as he did as if he was checking that you were still enjoying the company of his friends, the three boys he’d talked about a lot since things shifted into being more personal. You joined in with the conversations, never giving too much away but just enough to keep them from prying.

“You found yourself a funny girl,” Michael said as he raised his beer in response to your story about the time you’d almost been arrested for trespassing at some famous band member’s house. You left out the part where you had just killed a man ten minutes before you’d stumbled into their garden. You didn’t reckon that was something you could share at a dinner party.

“What did you say you did for a living again?” Calum asked politely as he brought his beer to his lips.

You took this as your cue to leave as you glanced at your watch. “It’s nothing exciting, I work for an office based in London. Speaking of which, I need to get back home since I have an early morning conference call. It’s been nice to meet you all.”

They all said goodbye while Luke found your jacket in the pile of discarded coats. You’d expected him to say goodnight on his doorstep but instead, he walked you home claiming the streets weren’t safe at this hour. You wanted to laugh and say you could show him a thing or two that would ensure you’d never be mugged or attacked but Luke couldn’t know about that. So instead, you linked your hand with his and talked about how sweet he was for caring, which was true.

He followed you upstairs into your apartment, trailing behind you as you took off your jacket and threw your shoes by the door. You watched him while he walked around your apartment, looking at the pictures of supposed childhood friends and your fictional parents. You’d only added them when Luke had mentioned your place lacked any trace of memories of friends or family. It had taken you an afternoon to carefully select the images, made sure the people in them were plausible and the pictures looked aged enough. The picture of your fake parents was just a couple on holiday in the south of France, both were dead now but that didn’t matter. You’d told Luke your parents were dead and that you were an only child with no traceable relatives – it wasn’t a lie if you didn’t know the truth. All you knew was that you’d been handpicked and trained to be a ruthless killer. But with Luke, you felt human again. He reminded you that good things still happened in a world of bullet wounds and blood pools. He made you feel less monstrous when he whispered your name at night and pulled you back into his arms. He made your head spin and your heart ache, and that was a dangerous but wonderful thing.

“You’ve got some more pictures since the last time I was here,” he commented before he picked up one frame, a slight trace of surprise crossed his face. “Who’s this?”

You walked over to look at the picture properly under the lamp light. He handed you a wooden photo frame with three smiling teens. You felt like somebody had punched you in the stomach when you realised that it was the only real picture in the entire apartment. You traced the outline of the two girls that stood either side of your smiling thirteen year-old-self. It had been taken a few weeks after you’d transferred to the assassin’s league. You bit your lip as you tried to block out the memory of that day, you’d been assigned to share a room with twin girls and you had been so excited about it. You’d never had real friends until Four and Five. You would stay up all night together, giving each other real names and birthdays since you didn’t know your actual ones anymore or talking about what dreams you had if you ever got out of the league. You all knew you only left the league one way, but you all focused on the great what if. You still used the fake name they gave you paired with their made-up birthday.

“My best friends,” you answered simply as you set the picture back on the end table.

“When will I meet them? You haven’t told about them,” Luke said.

You looked up at him with a faint smile. “You never will, they died when they were eighteen. Five years after that was taken.”

“I’m sorry,” he said regretfully.

He pulled you into a hug, letting his hand weave into your hair while the other held your back against him firmly. He hummed softly as your head was against his chest. You closed your eyes, here you could forget you were a government assassin. It was where you were no longer the agent who had killed too many people to remember. Here you felt safe enough to let go and just be you for a short while.

“Hey,” he mumbled softly into your hair. “These last few months have been amazing since you moved here. I just wish you didn’t have to do to London so much.”

You sighed slowly. When your targets were all over the world, you usually took off without a word except from a quick sorry I have work :( text sent in the early hours of the morning. When Luke had assumed it was London, you’d left him to imagine you sat in endless meetings staring out at Big Ben.

“I know but my boss lets me stay here with you, Luke,” you replied.

He pressed his lips against your forehead and smiled when he pulled back.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’ll let you get some sleep before your call tomorrow. Does this mean they need you back in London?”

You tried to ignore the hurt puppy look on his face and shrugged. “I’ll know tomorrow. Now goodnight, Luke.”

He let his lips linger on yours for a moment too long before he whispered goodnight, princess and left you wondering how you were ever going to explain this too him if it got any more serious.

The next morning, you did your usual trick of working on the top half of your body: making sure your hair was done, your shirt was ironed, and that your eyes weren’t bloodshot. But you left on your pyjama bottoms, it had been a trick that you, Four and Five had used during official calls back in the old house. The last time you’d seen them alive had been in their matching pink pyjama bottoms which were covered in poodles. When you’d returned home, you had found them in the hallway as they’d tried to evade their killer. You’d had to dance around the pools of their blood to call for help. It made you sick just imagining it.

You shook your head to get rid of the images from that day. That day you’d realised how fragile you were, the three of you had considered yourselves virtually immortal now you had all become official government assassins. You had the strength, the knowledge, the ability to stay alive but that didn’t mean you’d survive.

The call came through and you took a deep breath, answering it after three rings. The screen expanded and you saw your boss, Smith, sat with her usual happy smile on her face. The woman always looked like she had a lemon to suck as a baby instead of a dummy.

“Nine,” she addressed you curtly. “You are looking well.”

“So are you, Smith. The monthly aerobic sessions are doing you a world of good,” you said sarcastically, you’d always had a love/hate relationship with her.

She rolled her eyes and looked at you with more distaste than before.

“Your next target is in,” she began as she dug through the pile of paper next to her. “Maybe this time, we could aim to make it a little more natural than a bullet to the chest. This target works for a rival agency, we have intel he was partially responsible for the deaths of some of our agents.”

You tried not to sigh, you hated these kinds of targets. You couldn’t be mindless for a while like you could with targets who didn’t think like hunters. You had to be on the very top of your game to take on a rival assassin and lately, since Luke had reminded you what it was like to feel love again, you’d been at your weakest. You knew you’d have to tell Luke you were going away for a few weeks, give yourself two weeks to readjust before tracking the target down.

Smith sent the file and you braced yourself for some old guy called something like Dave or John who had killed an agent back before you were even born.

“I swear I’m due to have some attractive man who is at least pretty to look at while I stalk him,” you muttered as the picture started to load up.

“You’ll be happy to know that I handpicked this one for you,” Smith said smugly.

You sighed again, Smith enjoyed talking in riddles.

The picture finished buffering and you sat back in your chair in shock.

“Luke Hemmings is the enemy agent?” you asked in disbelief. “Fuck me.”

“You know him?” Smith said with a raised eyebrow. “He’s linked to the deaths of Four and Five, it was his mentor actually. The girls didn’t stand a chance.”

You felt sick. The room felt like it was closing in on you. You couldn’t breathe.

“Smith, I can’t – I can’t do this. I can’t take that target.”

She tilted her head. “You either take the target out or we’ll have to take you out, Nine. Now, I don’t know why you’re resisting and I don’t think I want to know, but I want you to think seriously about this. Is one boy’s life worth more than your own? Because if it is, you’re better off dead than in love anyway. You refuse to do this and I’ll make sure he’s dead before morning. Do you understand?”

You nodded slowly, you understood but you didn’t want to.

“If you care about the boy so much, you won’t want one of your fellow agents to do it. They’re sadistic, their kills aren’t as clean and painless as yours. You developed a conscious after the deaths of your friends, they never did. If you don’t do this, he’ll end up dead anyway and so will his family and his friends.”

You avoided Luke’s calls while you tried to get your head straight. Luke was an assassin too? Luke Hemmings? Your sweet boyfriend who was afraid to let you walk home alone? That Luke? It almost felt like the universe was laughing at you. You’d finally found a guy that made you happy and he was just like you. You wanted to laugh along with it because you felt the only alternative was to cry. You took a deep breath and tried to make sense of what Smith had said. No matter what you did, he would die and that thought alone was enough to send you spiralling.

You had to disappear. Go under the grid, pretend this never happened. But that didn’t help Luke. They knew who he was, they had his location, they knew what he did. You had to protect him. Luke had a life. He had friends and family who loved him. You had nobody who would miss you, Luke would get over you in time. You had to help Luke vanish, at least until the agency forgot about him. Who were you kidding? You were going to have to find a boy who looked like Luke and kill him in such a way that there was no way to identify the fact it wasn’t Luke. It wasn’t going to be easy but you were ready to protect Luke until your final breath, and that was looking like it would be soon. They might not find Luke, but the agency would definitely find you.

The banging on your door startled you. Normally you’d have anticipated it but you didn’t, not today. You wandered over, peering through the spyglass. You jumped back when you realised it was Luke.

“I know you’re in there,” he said to the door. “We need to talk.”

You shook your head like he could see you.

“I know what you are,” he continued. “You know what I am too.”

Shit. That meant his agency were aware you’d been given a hit on him and that made him a target too. You unlocked the door and walked away from it again. You turned your back to it, in case Luke put duty above you and decided now was an ideal time to finish this when you heard him lock the door.

“You should never turn your back to somebody who might kill you, babe,” he said but his voice was light. “So whoever trained you fucked up if they didn’t mention that.”

“I can’t do this, Luke.”

You heard him sigh and come closer. “I know. I can’t either. I’m guessing you’ve worked out that my agency want you dead to prevent you killing me.”

“We’re fucked.”

You felt his hands on your shoulders as he turned you around. You looked at him, his eyes were bloodshot like he’d been crying. You knew he’d see the mascara smudges so you didn’t even attempt to hide the fact you had been crying too.

“Hey, we’ll work something out,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “We have to.”

He pulled you into his chest, his hand cupping your head to him while his other hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“I know what we have to do, Luke,” you mumbled into his shirt. “You’ve got to kill me and disappear, take your friends with you. My boss said I either kill you or somebody else does and they go after the people you love. You’ve got to kill me. We’ve got no other options.”

He froze for a moment as your words sank in. He stepped back though his hands found their way to the top of your arms as he looked at you for any sign that you were joking.

“What? You’re not being serious, are you?”

“You have to kill me, Luke. It’s the only way you might have a shot at getting out of this alive.”

A Scandalous Encounter

Kurtbastian one-shot set after the scene with Kurt, Blaine and Karofsky in ep 6x01.

Kurt’s body shook with every sob that ripped its way through his throat. His eyes stung and his head pounded as he sat slumped against the bathroom wall. Seeing Karofsky kiss the man he loved had broken him. He was too late. Blaine had moved on and now he had to pretend he was fine through the stabbing in his heart.

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[ boo. ]

Summary: AU. I have gotten separated from my group at the haunted house and you work here and no of course I am not scared I just happen to like huddling in this corner, thankyouverymuch.

This is particularly dedicated to my lil pumpkin @jenmmorrisons, who treats me to her friendship everyday, sans tricks. 

Happy Halloween, spooky darlings! xxx

+ + + +

She’s not scared.

Nope, not in the slightest. She is a grown-ass woman.

She just happens to like this spot is all. This nice, cozy seat atop a pile of…fake bones. So she lost the others. She’s fine! Totally fine. She’ll catch up to them in just a minute, she just needs a minute.

A loud bang elicits shrieks from a group of people in the next room, and Emma presses herself further into the shadowed corner that is currently her sanctuary. She squeezes her eyes shut and wills her breathing to a normal level, counting breaths in and out. In and out. In and—

She screams and nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand touches her shoulder.

“Easy, love. Easy. Are you alright?”

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Fic: After All

reaction fic to 6.05, 2.3K

This is the Blaine POV that I didn’t think I had the mettle to write. But as it turned out it’s sweeter and more hopeful than expected. Still, Blaine POV means Karofsky right now and that is a struggle for me and many. this helped me sort it out. 

Thanks to my darling chiasmuslovesme who​​ walked me through the tough stuff. Also lizinprogress and wowbright are partly to blame, unbeknownst to them.



It’s one of those blissful days when Blaine is certain of his welcome wherever he goes. New York moves by in a fast-paced blur. He nails his performance piece in his modern American theater class. The guy at the bodega remembers his name. The loft feels sweeter and more like home than ever.

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anonymous asked:

Kurt tells Rachel about the elevator & kiss. Please & thank you. ♡

           "I can’t believe you left me with them! With that Marley and M-Michael and, um, Roger—"

           "Roderick,“ Kurt corrected. "And Marley was from the year after we left. Blaine’s senior year. You really need to learn all of their names.”

           Rachel flipped her hair as they shut the piano cover and stacked up the last of their sheet music. Kurt adjusted his neck scarf and suit jacket. Everything felt wrinkled and uncomfortable after a day and a half in that elevator. Somehow Blaine’s handkerchief had ended up in his breast pocket. Blaine’s cologne kept wafting up to him.

           "You still haven’t said where you were,“ Rachel said. She blocked the door when Kurt made a move for it. "Spill. You disappeared for almost thirty hours. Even your Dad couldn’t tell me where you were. Were you—oh my god, did you go over to Walter’s house and—”

           "No! I was—Sue trapped us in this fake elevator and—god, it was a nightmare. I haven’t seen Walter in over a week,“ Kurt added. "Ugh, I need a long shower and then a bath. I smell like that awful elevator—”

           "What do you mean ‘us’? Who did she—Blaine. He was missing too. The Warblers were frantic. More so than normal.“

           "Drop it.”

           He tried to move past Rachel. Instead she back herself right up against the door, draping herself against it. Realization was blooming in Rachel’s eyes and right now Kurt couldn’t handle it.

           "No, I need to shower and—"

           "She trapped you with Blaine. But why—I mean, Sue hates us. All of us. She can’t even remember Blaine’s name. She always calls him Young Bert Reynolds a-and Gelled Freddie Mercury.“

           "Well, she’s apparently got a thing for us as a couple. She had this scary ass Saw puppet version of herself and it was riding this creepy tricycle and ugh.” Kurt shivered and took a seat on one of the chairs they’d left out. “I’m never getting in an elevator again. Ever. I’m so glad New York is almost entirely stairs.”

           "So you and Blaine… were trapped—together—in an elevator?“

           Kurt nodded slowly. "Yes.”

           "And, you two—meaning you and Blaine—were in there, all alone, for an entire day?“

           "More than a day.”

           A wide grin spread over Rachel’s face. Even after his discovery of Blaine and Karofsky's—Dave’s, he had to keep reminding himself not to let his own jealous change his feelings toward Dave—Rachel had still been rooting for them. For him. This had been the crux of his plan when he’d returned to Lima. He wanted Blaine back in his life. They had the chance to be so much more and yet—

           "Stop looking at me like that. I had to sleep on a hard floor in some tiny fake elevator,“ Kurt said. "I’m not in the mood.”

           She still refused to move, so Kurt hurried for the other door and beat her out. Rachel followed along behind him, still beaming.

           "What happened?“

           "Nothing happened.”

           "We’re best friends, I know you’re lying.“ Rachel hooked her arm through his as they turned down the main hall. "So?”

           "We—she trapped us in there. And—"

           "Did you at least talk? Don’t tell me you and Blaine sat in there for a day and a half and didn’t say a word to each other. You two never shut up when you’re together.“

           "Yes, we do. And—it was… nice. Mostly. Once we stopped trying to escape. At least she fed us. It was just Breadstix and wine, but…”

           Kurt took his head. Rattled out the old dates from his junior and senior year, of reaching across a table with those same breadsticks and appetizers and asking the love of his life to prom. They couldn’t have that back. Nothing could replace those moments, but nothing could rebuild them either.

           "It’s not the same,“ Kurt said as they pushed through the doors to the parking lot.
"We played this stupid game we used to play at night when we couldn’t sleep. Even before we were in New York together, we always played over Skype. You know, where you write something down and stick it on their forehead and they have to guess what it is?”

           "Aw, that's—I always thought you two just laughed a lot during sex, but that’s adorable. I wish me and—Brody wasn’t much and Finn was never—"

           "Yeah, well. We always talk ourselves to sleep. Sometimes we just aren’t tired or into…but we played that. It was almost perfect.“

           Rachel smiled at him once more, but Kurt didn’t smile back. They’d played for who knows how long in the elevator, migrating from fashion to musicals to sports Kurt still couldn’t keep up with but that Blaine enjoyed laughing his way through Kurt’s fumbling words, all the way to the heart of themselves—to the couple they’d thrived and failed as.

           And Blaine had seemed better; much happier than how they’d left everything in New York. For a little while, it was as if nothing had changed. They could have easily pretended they’d trashed their old bed and were camping on the floor awaiting a new one. Except for—

           "He brought up Dave and… it’s not the same. It’s never going to be what it was, even if…”

           "If? Since when does Kurt Hummel live by ifs?“

           "He’s with Dave now, Rachel. And yeah, I don’t think they’ll last, but me and him—”

           "You’re the real deal. Trust me. And it shouldn’t be the same. Every day is something different. You’re someone different. I-if,“ Rachel faltered. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the time I did have with Finn, it’s that. Every day is new, and every day gone is in the past. You can’t spend all your time trying to be the person you’ve been before this moment. You’ve got to fight for tomorrow’s Kurt, and tomorrow’s Blaine too. If you want him with you.”

           They stopped beside Rachel’s car. It was a blustery sort of evening. The sun was low in the sky, peaking through the trees here and there. Kurt twisted his suit jacket tighter around his chest as a cold breeze ruffled his hair. Sometimes Lima felt colder than New York ever had. Without Blaine, the world seemed less and more frigid every day.

           "W-we kissed.“


           "In the elevator. That stupid puppet made us before we could leave and it—I thought I could do it. That I could just move on and let him go, even if I don’t want to because he wanted to.“

           Rachel’s smile was tentative this time. "And?”

           Kurt wiped his nose and shrugged. “And what?”

           "Was that part still the same? I mean, kissing him should still make you—"

           "It was better. He was so… it doesn’t matter. We’re over.“

           "You aren’t.”

           "We are.“

           "Well, you aren’t over him and Blaine isn’t over you, even if he pretends he is,” Rachel said. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.”

           "It doesn’t make it easier either, but… I have to move on. I am moving on. And maybe we will… but for now, we aren’t and I’ve got to accept that.“

           Rachel unlocked her car and watched him for a moment. He could tell she didn’t believe him. And perhaps he didn’t belief himself just then either. That kiss had been so much more than anything else he’d found, in New York or here with Walter. The way Blaine’s hands captured his jaw, the strong shift of his lips working Kurt’s apart. Blaine had wanted that almost as much as him. He’d tried to say so much with that kiss, but Kurt had lost the translation.

           "You won’t. You never accept anything the way it is if it’s wrong,” Rachel said. “But, for argument’s sake, we’re going back to your house and you’re going to be sad and lick your wounds one more time.”

           "I’m not—"

           "You haven’t given up. And I think Blaine’s just forgotten that he did.“

Fic: When the Days Feel Long

Rating: PG/all audiences
Summary: Rachel’s curious about what Blaine wanted to ask her. So she reaches out to him. A Rachel-Blaine friendship fic for redheadgleek​. Reaction to 6.07 “Transitioning.”
Words: ~2,000
Heads-up: mentions of Finn and allusions to his death, but not angsty ones; mentions of past Blaine/Dave, lots of mentions of Kurt/Blaine 
Thanks: to likearumchocolatesouffle​, nachochang​, and judearaya​ for betaing.

My other 6.07 reaction fics.

Also on AO3.

When the Days Feel Long

Rachel’s mind doesn’t have any room for wandering the evening of her double date with Kurt. She’s overwhelmed by the weirdness of meeting Kurt’s new beau and the excitement of watching Unique and her choir put Vocal Adrenaline to shame. And then there’s the afterward, when she goes back to Sam’s place, and that – well, a woman is entitled to keep some things to herself.

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