i smell fanfic

anonymous asked:

hello, can you do a reaction of bts to their crush has the same smell as a fruit ? (peach, strawberry, apple ...) thank you.

fruit has such a nice fragrance. i tried to present that same smell more like a perfume.  ♡

NAMJOON : becomed shy, but tries to hide it as much as possible. he lowkey wants to hug you and be physical, but respects your space and tries to fight his urge by smiling nervously to you. would compliment your smell, perhaps get you perfume that smells similar to what you wore that same day.
“Ah, you’re wearing a really nice perfume.. Your birthday is coming right? No, that was last month… But I got you this…”

SEOKJIN : takes the smell as a chance to compliment you, but won’t end up very well thought out. expect an awkward pick up line or joke… but, SEOKJIN would remember this smell and offer you the same fruit that he smelt on you the next day.
“I believe you like melon, so I got you this one from the market…”

YOONGI : wouldn’t make much of a big deal about how you smell, but he would definitely notice and passively enjoy it. probably will stay quiet about it, but will certainly tense up if you come too close to him.
“Fruit. That’s definitely fruit.”

HOSEOK : he would really like sweet smells like this, so he would probably be more physical or closer to you. expect lots of hugs, too. will talk passively about the fragrance rather than asking you directly about it.
“The fragrance in here is lovely…”

JIMIN : since he really loves fruits, he would become very touchy if he notices the scent. will be determined to give you as many hugs as possible just to smell you deeply (preferably backhugs). won’t really ask what smell it is, even though he might be curious on which fruit oil is on you…
“You smell nice, jagiya…”

TAEHYUNG : if he notices the smell, he’ll start sniffing around in the air or on you without question. very sensitive to scents, so he would probably notice it rather quickly or almost immediately.
“Is that orange smell coming from you?”

JUNGKOOK : would become super shy (although not surprising because he’s afraid of girls) and try to not pay much attention to it. would become now more awkward around you, since you smell like his favorite fruit. would try his best to stay away for his sake. our poor maknae…
“I must leave; take care, Y/N…”

Dead of Winter

Dead of winter.

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the empty doorframe before me. The room is cold, a breeze swirling through the gap and across the bare floorboards. The bedsheets stir. The lightweight blinds twist and turn on their plastic hangings. It’s like they’re saying something.


I feel an emptiness next to me, and as I turn I notice the slight depression in the mattress, the torn-back blankets, the absence of a head on the pillow. Only a stray dark strand remains, clinging to the starched linen. As I reach out, I feel the rapidly dissipating warmth in the person-shaped void. I can almost see her face, still there, sleeping gently.

Pulling the covers back, I swing my legs down onto the floor. I stretch, my joints cracking, and then move away from the tangled sheets, over discarded shirts and forgotten underwear. My feet pad softly over the smooth boards, the air chilling my skin. As I pass into the living space I note the takeaway boxes lying haphazard upon the low table. There are dishes lying in the sink, food glued to their porcelain faces. The TV sits silent, its black box betraying no movement.

She’s not here either. Instead, there are the faint traces of her presence: a stained cup of coffee leaves rings on the sideboard next to a book with rumpled pages. A cracked vase of deep purple flowers is slowly losing its lustre, so I find a nearly-clean cup and scoop handfuls of water into the icy soil. I almost want them to talk, to say something, because I live on words. But they’re just flowers. They won’t say anything back, ever.

I pick up her long-suffering black notebook and snap the elastic bookmark to the side so I can leaf through the pages unhindered. There are drawings in there, my drawings, rough scribbles of birds and dogs and squirrels that feel for all their wilderness like they’re going to leap off the page and run around joyfully in the cool on the floor. Then there are her drawings, more artful, precise sketches with defined linework and ink flourishes. I can’t match her skill. But she can’t draw life.

There’s writing in the book too. She writes – she might have been a writer, I think, if it weren’t for the difficult path we chose together. Her poetry is like twisted obsidian glass, fragile and dark and beautiful. She’s been trying to teach me to write. So I do. Eloquence isn’t difficult when you want to impress. Even for the comedian that I am, or at least try to be. Self-flattery has never been one of my strong points.

There’s a knocking on the glass. In the little window above the sink there is a bird rapping on the pane with its hooked black beak. I know just by the noise that it wants to get out of the cold, but I know all too well that I can’t let it in. The wild fuels the animal spirit. If I allow the raven inside, it won’t grow. It won’t survive. It will become accustomed to the indoors and grow weaker and weaker until it’s eaten by the cat next door. Somewhat better would be if it rejected the civilisation we present it with. Animals can’t be caged, not really. Their minds are always on the outdoors. Creatures bred in captivity dream of something better that they can’t envisage and will never understand. That’s often why humans turn to religion. It’s the call of the wild, the unknown, the sublime. I admit, it’s enticing. But I know nature better than anyone else. So I don’t need inner comforts.

That said, I’m reminded of the wind-chill. It’s coming from behind the standing shelf, where around the corner lies the balcony. I tread carefully, poised to react.

There’s another dark shape outside, feet planted in the snow. The skies are an alien dull white, bare branches devoid of foliage. Below, ice drifts sluggishly in the frozen river. The land is drowned in soft whiteness, and it has piled up on the wooden floor outside the door; the railings rust, the paint flaking off the iron. Broken metal vents on the side of the building occasionally issue steam and pale smoke. Down below, there are shopping trolleys submerged in drifts of pure crystalline nothing. Cracks race through concrete and foundations crumble. This building has been coming apart for a long time, and so have I.

Her hands grasp the rusty iron with a certain force, knuckles white so that a lone drip of crimson emerges from under her grip. Her legs melt the snow around with her inner flame, feet planted sturdily at equal distance. Her smooth skin pops with cold, her back and arms Braille, her form tight against her bones. I see the ridges in her spine, the tendons standing out in her legs, her shoulder blades raised as through fluid tectonic movement. Her hair is black as the raven. It cascades in an unruly mess to her shoulders, then cools on the nape of her neck. Individual short strands float in the breeze.

I can see her cheekbone, proud and tall. I can almost see her face. And although she doesn’t turn, doesn’t move a rigid muscle on her ashen, frozen body, I know instinctively that she is smiling mischievously through her red-black-purple-blue eyes. And if nothing else, she smiles through her voice:


- Garfield Logan (BB)


I was aching for it, aching for him, to feel his hands on my hips as he pulled me back to fuck me harder and his fingers move on my clit until my walls throbbed for him.

It was torture to know he was just an apartment away, probably sprawled on his bed, naked and sweaty with his hand palming himself slowly. I imagined the outline of his cock as it strained against his boxers and his fingers running down the length so he could feel the friction of the fabric against the sensitive swollen skin.

Thinking about him was enough to spark an eager fire in my tummy.

In which pancakes are promised, or something like that.

Part 1

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kulfikulfikulfi  asked:

So continuing the love potion question, how about Bolin and Opal? Suyin and Baatar Sr, Wing, Wei, Tenzin, Pema, Jinora, Kai? I'm so curious. :)

Okay, more amortentia, following my earlier post:

Bolin: greasy warm noodles, fire ferret musk, scorched earth, pretty flowers

Opal: the wind as you plunge to the earth, lanolin, kale smoothies, sleeping Bolin

Suyin: greasepaint, meteorite, broken-in dance shoes, ink

Baatar Sr: sawed off boards, waterfalls, barley bread right out of the oven, molten metal

Wing: mulch, poppyseed cake, fresh cut grass, dark pink roses

Wei: smashed clay discs, sweat, clean sheets, massage oil

Tenzin: wind off the sea, worn meditation beads, rice paper, the crook of Pema’s neck

Pema: clothes fresh off the clothesline, ripe mangoes, wood oil, shaving soap

Jinora: sandalwood, libraries, new fallen snow, Kai’s pillow

Kai: ripening hay, steam of savory dumplings, leather saddles, old books

These are so much fun! And great little bits of character work, too. I really love that you asked me this!


ps. One thing for sure I smell band manager!raphael fanfic writers pls don’t let me down

My unnamed Luke Hemmings |imagine?

Your friends always warned you about him; said that he was a player and was only in it for sex, but you couldn’t help being intrigued, fascinated and honestly a bit turned on. He was hot, even your friends admitted that, his blonde hair in a messy quiff, his muscular arms covered in tattoos, you couldn’t help but stare. Caught up in your daydream you didn’t notice your friends wander off somewhere leaving you alone in the middle of a crowed house party, which was hosted by none other than one of the blonde hotties mates. You had never really taken much notice to them, all you knew was that they were very much like him; sexy beyond belief, covered in tattoos, and dangerous, they were true bad boys. Another reason why you hated yourself for being attracted to him.

Not wanting to just stand there you decided to lighten up and get a drink, soon enough one drink lead to another and you were quite tipsy, horny and full of energy, racing towards the ‘dancing teens’ you accidentally slipped in your drunken state to be helped up by someone you hoped not to run into “It appears you just fell for me” he smirks you wanted to tell him off but you were too caught up in having him this close, you could smell cigaret smoke, and his Cologne, which honestly drove you crazy. “Cat caught your tongue babe” you scoffed, as much as you wanted to fall for his charm, you knew it wouldn’t do you any good in the long run. “Honestly do you even talk” that’s the boy you knew of. “I do just not to people like you” He looked slightly taken aback but quickly recovered “boys like me? Being a little stereotypical there babe”

“I’m not being stereotypical if it’s true and do not call me babe”

“You didn’t stop me last time- he smirks at you- babe”

You feel your blood start to boil, this boy was getting beyond your nerves.

You inch yourself forward and glare up at him “I said don’t call me that”

He inches forward and whispers in the same tone “make me”

That’s enough, you thought he can’t just come over here and make me feel this way, hell I’m not even meant to feel anything towards him..

Angered you step back, giving him the middle finger you spin on your heels and start to walk away “bastard”

Suddenly you feel a hand grab your shoulder, and turn you around.

You become even more annoyed when you find out who the hand belongs to “don’t walk away from me”

“Piss off” you hiss

“I love it when they play hard to get” The next thing you know you’re being pulled into him, his lips meeting yours roughly, your mind was screaming at you to pull away, but your body disobeyed, kissing him back with just as much force, he bites your lip before pulling away slowly, looking at you the whole time with a huge smirk plastered on his lips..

{it’s kinda crap, I was bored and didn’t really think I just wrote..Should I continue it?}