remember you asked for this ages ago

anonymous asked:

tell us the story of how you and kaz met!! did it have anything to do with the fact that she was at first reluctant to read btds (because i remember an anon recing it one time and her saying she wasn't sure about it because of the whole scotland thing but that was ages and ages ago)

that’s actually a great story, nonny! @kazliin and i actually first met in torvill cove when i was researching my fic. i was stupid and got caught in a rip current by the pier and she was the seal that saved me 💖💖💖 she wasn’t reluctant to read it because of “the whole scotland thing” but rather because the fic is actually about us and she didn’t want to know what mean things about her i put into yuuri (spoiler alert: nothing. kaz and yuuri are both perfect) 😉

(actually, the real story is here if you wanna know)

  • Yesterday when I checked into my hotel in Paris I overheard the following conversation.
  • A man, middle aged, American,intently focused, incredibly sure of himself and his question he said: I have a question to ask
  • The hotel staff, helpful, always helpful replied: of course, what's your question?
  • The man took a deep breath and said: ok so 20 years ago I stayed in a different hotel by a river and right outside was a very nice restaurant. Can you tell me the name of the restaurant, I want to eat there tonight for dinner.
  • The hotel staff paused, then said: do you remember the name of the place?
  • The man: of course not, it was 20 years ago.
  • There was a pause
  • The man: so do you know the name of the restaurant?
  • Hotel staff, somehow both polite and apologetic despite the circumstances: I'm afraid not, sir.
you know...

Fake dating, flirty, Friday ficlet ahead. (TGIF) (Modern AU, 1300 words, rated T)


“Sorry Swan, I didn’t just put that cabinet there, it’s been in place since I moved in.”

The leg pressed against his side digs a bit into his ribs and he chuckles, giving his best friend a cocky smirk as she rubs at the back of her head she’s just slammed into his upper cabinet after a too hearty laugh. They’re both a little tipsy, teetering closer over the edge into drunk with each pass of the bottle of rum between them. Said bottle is in his hand now and he twirls the brown liquid around, wondering how many sips they have left and if it’s really a good idea for Emma to be sitting on the counter in her current state.

“Shit, I hear Ruby. Killian, do me a favor?”

Not looking up from the bottle he merely nods, knowing there is very little in the world he won’t agree to do for Emma Swan.

“Eyes up here, sailor, this is important.”

Her green eyes are wide and imploring and his hand wraps around her knee in support of whatever distress has suddenly come over her.

“What is it, love?”

“Ruby is desperate to pair me up and mentioned bringing someone with her tonight for me to meet. I’m really not in the mood. Or interested. Can we…you know…pretend for just a minute…to…you know…”

A cold sweat breaks out beneath his flannel, his heart both breaking and doubling in time at the suggestion of pretending to “you know” with the woman sitting beside him. He’s wanted to “you know” with Emma for longer than he can remember, so it won’t take much on his part to sell the idea. He can’t help but feel lost at her wanting to pretend.

“But Ruby knows we’re just friends, so won’t she smell bullshit a mile away?”

Keep reading

Come Home Harry, Come Home (Part 2)

Summary:  Y/N is 5 months pregnant, ad Harry gets into a car accident.  The car accident affected Harry severely, with a loss of memory.

Requested: yes

Warning: sad, mentions of divorce, car accident

A/N:  Thank you to whoever requested this! I hope you enjoy it!  Also, thank you and hello to all the new followers and readers!!


Originally posted by ohbabyyeah

Come Home Harry, Come Home (Harry Styles Imagine Part 2)

Part 1

“Who are you?”

“Who am I?”  You repeat, stunned, “Honey, I’m your wife, Y/N.  You remember me, I should say us, I mean.”  You say placing a hand on your stomach,

“I’m married?”  Harry asks confused.

“Yes, we got married two years ago.  Back in your hometown in the small chapel.”  You explain.

“No, no I’m not married.”  Harry states.  “I’m I’m…”  He trails off trying to remember how old he is.

As Harry thinks, trying to remember his age, the doctor walks in, and pulls you aside.

“Hi Mrs. Styles, I am Doctor Carter, I’m a neurologist.  Harry has experienced a concussion from the accident because of the force of inertia.”  The doctor explains.

“Will, will he be okay?”  You ask nervously, picking at your already peeling nail polish.

“He should be fine.  It may take a bit for him to remember things, but he should be fine.  In order for proper recovery, he should wear sunglasses most of the time, not think too much or too hard, and not look at a computer or phone screen.”

As the doctor explains what you should do when you bring Harry home to make sure he recovers properly, you can’t help but to focus your attention and vision on Harry.  You’re husband, who you’ve been married to for two years and dated close to seven years before that didn’t remember you, or you expecting child. But, you try to convince yourself that with proper recovery, he will be back to his old self, and back to your perfect life you both had before.  

When you put Harry into the car, you make sure that you take his phone, and put sunglasses on him.  After a quick car ride, due to little to no traffic, you set Harry down on the couch, and let him rest for a bit.

“Do you need anything, Harry? A water, a blanket?”  Harry doesn’t seem to notice you, or the fact that you brought him home since he slept most of the ride, and is startled at your unexpected presence.

“Who are you? Why do you keep following me?”  He yells, standing up, backing away from you.

“Harry, you need to relax.  It’s Y/N, your wife.  Okay, baby, now I’m going to need you to sit down.”

“I’m not married, and I don’t know who you are.  You need to leave me alone.”  Harry demands.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone.”  You say calmly.  

“Thank you.”  Harry breathes out, sitting back down on the couch, and closes his eyes.

You walk towards the door, open and close it, never leaving the house.  Harry does not flinch at the door opening or closing, signaling that he is fast asleep.

You decide for the next few weeks, that instead of you taking care of Harry, that a nurse comes, so Harry is not frightened that a random girl the his house taking care of him.  For the past few weeks you stayed with a friend, who made sure you were taking care of yourself and the baby in your current situation. After a few weeks, you came back to the house, to find Harry sitting on the cough, writing.

You walk over to the couch, hesitant and ask, “Hi Harry, how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling good.  How are you, Y/N?”  And you look at him with a smile as he remembers your name.

“I’m doing well because you are doing well.  I’m so happy.’’  You say smiling so big.

“I’m glad you’re here Y/N.”  Harry says turning to you.  “Since I have been home for a few weeks, and have had no distractions, I have been thinking.”

“But you’re not supposed to be thinking too hard Harry.  You’re still recovering.”  You say cautiously.

“I know, but I couldn’t help it.  Can you promise me something?  That you won’t be upset.”  Harry asks.

“Of course, Harry.  Why would I be upset?”  You ask, now feeling nervous, as Harry looks nervous.

“I want a divorce.”

You look at Harry with absolute disbelief.

“A divorce?”  You ask, hoping that you heard him wrong.

“Yes.”  Harry states.

You look at Harry trying to read his expression, but you can’t tell anything. But, there is no emotion on his face.

“But Harry, we have been married for two years, we are expecting our first child together.  What did I do wrong?  Is there anything-“ you ask nervously, but Harry cuts you off.

“You did nothing wrong.  It’s just, I’m 25, and married.  I’m too young to be married, or to have a kid.  I have a career that I didn’t think about, that I had put on hold for…”

“For your family.”  You say, finishing his statement.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”  Harry apologized trying to reach out for your hand.

“No Harry, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that your wife and daughter are such a burden, and that we are holding you back.” You spit out.

“I will leave.”  Harry says getting up.  Harry walks into the other room, calling a friend to stay with for the next few days, and grabbing a bag of clothes.

And then you watch him walk out the door.  You think it’s just a fight you two had, and that it will pass, and that he will be back.  Harry always comes back. He promised you and you’re little girl that he would never leave. But as a few days pass, you hear nothing from Harry.

When you thought you lost all hope, you hear a knock on the front door.

“Come home Harry, come home.”  You whisper to yourself as you walk to the door.

But, when you open the door, you see a woman in a black pants suit, hand out an envelope with a face of pity looking down at your now six month pregnant stomach.

You thank her, and close the door.  You walk into your kitchen and sit at the table, and open the large envelope, and read.

And realization finally hits you, you are really getting divorced.

He really did forget you.

Part 3

A/N:  Thank you so much for reading!! Do you guys want a part three?  There could be two things that happen, Y/N and Harry get back together because he remembers everything again, or something else.  Tell me what you guys think!

kwamimusings  asked:

Hey, it was from ages ago, but do you remember that Lahiffe Restaurant!AU? I can just imagine the older lahiffes and Dupain-Chengs getting into a Nice Off(TM). "Oh, new cooking family across the way? Make them some macaroons, we can make a day of it. Oh, they sent back a pasta? Time for cake." Escalating until both families are making each other five course meals because, "We're just being neighborly." (Bonus side Ninette)

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

I dig it

the third wheel

request: Please could you write a piece where Harry and y/n’s best guy friend keep hanging out and she’s feeling left out so they do something sweet for her

questions, comments, concerns


I knew they’d get along, knew it from the moment I met Harry. They had a similar sense of humor and loved teasing me and would die for the same pair of Gucci boots. What I didn’t expect was for my boyfriend to hijack my best friend and vice versa.
“So, tomorrow, me, you, our favorite Thai place and scoping out that new gallery a few blocks over. You in?” Aidan hesitated and I knew before he even said it. “Are you joking?” I groaned.
“I promised him I’d go with him to decide what to wear to SNL.”
I laughed, “Swear to God, he’s cheating on me with you.”
“Oh come on, you know he’s not my type he’s not pretentious enough.”
I laughed but once it died down I said, “I just miss you… Miss you both, really.”
“Babe, you live with him.”
“Yeah and lately if he’s not working he’s with you.”
“Oh come on, that’s not true.”
I pulled out my metro card and swiped myself in, running through the open doors on the subway before they closed, “Yes it is! I can’t even remember the last time I had a real conversation with either of you.”
He was quiet for a moment, “We’ll hang out this weekend, I promise.” I was rolling my eyes on the other line and I think he knew because he added, “I love you.”

Keep reading

You Can Call Me Bruce...(Part V)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Warnings: Age gap, mild swearing (? I think?)

Previous Parts: I, II, III, IV

Dedicated to: everyone who stuck by this story. I apologize for this much delayed update, things had been hectic up until a few days ago, but I’m back now. 

I haven’t tagged anyone in particular because I’ve gone too long to even remember those who requested (please don’t throw rocks), but feel free to inbox and remind me for the next installment–which, most likely, will be the last.


“You wanted to see me?” Bruce asks.

He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, using his best Batman impression to try and ward off all thoughts that he’s scared. He isn’t scared. He could never be scared. By even harboring such feelings from the start, Bruce knew that it would come to this, and he’s not scared at all because he’s prepared.

He’s prepared to hear Alfred’s disdain.

He’s prepared for judgmental stares and disguised accusations; for wrathful scolding, for raised voices. He’s even ready for things to get physical, worst comes to worst, and Bruce promises he’ll let Alfred win, for he truly deserves all of it what shall be thrown at him.

“Take a seat.” The older man finally speaks, back to the door as he stands at the sink. Water drips from the faucet, drop after drop. It echoes into the otherwise silent room. Bruce moves.

He seats himself at the counter, steepling his hands on top, and with a deep breath, the butler finally turns. Their gazes meet.

“Master Wayne.” He says; to Bruce, it always sounds like a hello or a good morning . Familiar. Routine. Hearing it uttered now with such venom is almost painful.

“You’re quite punctual for things like these.”He says

“Things like what, Alfred?”

“As if you don’t know.”

A silence.

The two friends stare at each other. Neither speaks. Wind whistles through the room, and they sit, reading the lines and wrinkles and creases carved in their faces from all the battles they’ve faced together.

So many.  And saying Bruce doesn’t feel his heart wrench even a little would be a lie.

Alfred is his best-friend. Alfred has always been his best friend. More than anything, he’s almost been like a father to him, and facing him in such a rancorous environment is sickening.

He wants to get up and run away, he now realizes. He wants to elude this conflict. Avoid it. Bury it. If you asked him a second ago if he was afraid, Bruce would have said no, would’ve scoffed at the mere preposition. If you asked him now, he’d say the same thing…

Because he wasn’t afraid.

He was mournful.

Mournful that it had come to this; mournful that he was sitting here, in this kitchen, about to be forced to pick a fight with his best-friend.

“You say you don’t know,” Alfred begins. “…and yet here you sit, wearing that very same scowl of intimidation you give the joker.”

“Is that supposed to make me mad.” Bruce retorts. His voice is harsh,stoic.

He watches the older man’s eyes. And then they soften.

And then Bruce feels a vein in his neck twitch, but he can’t do anything about that, not now. Instead he focuses on Alfred, who just as much is trying to shutter his emotions. This is hard for him too. How can it not be? The two of them are family. To Bruce, Alfred is his only family, and knowing that only makes it harder to pull through.

“Master Wayne…”Alfred says, raising himself to his feet as he saunters over to the sink. The faucet drips and drips in the hanging silence, taunting Bruce.  “I’ve known you all your life. I’ve known you since you were just a boy and I’ve seen you grow. Seen you through all your trials and tribulations, your successes, your failures. I’ve watched become batman and save Gotham and in all that time, I’ve never asked for much.” He pauses, eyes searching, searching desperately for any form of surrender in Bruce’s feature’s.

But he won’t let him have it.

Bruce clenches his jaw. It feels like his teeth just might shatter from the pressure.

“But I ask you now.” He continues.  “Please. Let this one go.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Alfred.”

“I don’t want to see you going Y/N again, you hear me? I don’t want to even see the two of you in the same room.” He’s straight to the point, not sparing Bruce of the bluntness, and it cuts him like a knife. He tries not show it, clenching his jaw further.

“She’ll be leaving soon.” Alfred continues. “A week. A week and she’ll be gone, and until then I want you to put an end to whatever is going on.”

“Nothing is going on.” Bruce’s voice is leveled and yet firm. Authoritative, like he is a captain ordering his cadet. He can see the scorn, evident and dripping from his features, in Alfred’s face as he scowls.

“Don’t be daft, boy..” he grits. “I saw you, I saw the two of you in your room—“

“We weren’t doing anything!”

“So you mean you were just talking as you said?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

“You mean she was just telling you about her work?”


“You mean you didn’t try to kiss her?” He bellows, angry, exasperated.

All the blood drains from Bruce’s face.

His skin goes white, as white as snow, as white as the age painting Alfred’s hair. He can feel it: the embarrassment, as now the unspoken is vocalized, the other shoe has dropped. Bruce gulps thickly, and then averts his gaze, breaking his poker face.

“You mean I’m making this up?” Alfred continues. “You mean I didn’t walk in on you ready to soil her innocence.”

“Stop talking like she’s a child.” A vein in Bruce’s neck pops angrily as his fists clench. He knew this was coming right from the start, but hearing it out loud makes him freeze, makes his stomach feel like molten tar. God, how embarrassing. How incriminating.

“Compared to you she is. Compared to you she might as well be in diapers. Age regardless, sir, you’re older. You’re older in soul and you’re older in mind. You’ve seen things….terrible things. That in itself would mark you as ancient, even if you were clocking thirty.”

“You think I don’t know this, Alfred? I do. Goddamn it, I do.” He does. This is why Bruce never wanted this—this is why he kept it hidden away, locked up like a vile and sinful thing that it was; but now it’s out in the open and he feels exposed, vulnerable. They’re telling him things he already knows.

They’re telling him things he doesn’t want to know because knowing them makes him feel even worse. He doesn’t want that and God, he doesn’t want this to be happening but it is and…

“Act like it. You’re not a child.”

Bruce lifts his gaze. “What do you think I plan on doing Alfred? Hmm? Do you think I want to get in her pants?”

“What other motive do—“

“What do you mean what other motive—“

“What is going on?” A voice cuts through their bickering, confused and harried.

Both of them freeze. Bruce feels his heart, formerly rampant and rapidly beating in his chest, still, and he doesn’t want to look, but at the same time it’s tempting because it’s her.


Y/N, standing in the doorway.

Y/N, estranged and weary.

Finally, he gives in and Bruce’s eyes dart to her, raking over her face.  She looks to him. “What’re you two doing?” The young girl asks. “Why are you arguing like this?”

Aflred, standing by the sink, lets his hands slowly lower and unclenches his fist. He swallows. “Y/N….” He admonishes. “Stay out of this.”

“Like I hell I will, Uncle Fred. I just walked in on the two of you nearly tearing each other’s fucking throats out and you think I’m going to let this go?”

He clenches his jaw. “It’s none of your business.”

“Except it is.”

“Y/N.” Bruce cuts through the growing argument, earning the pair’s attention. Y/N’s eyes flare with irritation and the next thing he knows she’s up in his face, but a few inches away.

“You…”The young girl sneers. “What the hell are you doing arguing with him? He’s your family—you’re both each other’s family! You’re not supposed to be spewing hate at each other like this, for Christ sake.”

“You have no right to interrupt like this.” Says Alfred.

Y/N scoffs and rolls her eyes, about to speak, but she’s cut off.

“Go to your room!” He commands, voice dressed in sternness, authoritativeness that Bruce hasn’t heard in so long. He used to use that tone with Bruce when he was just a child, when they’d get into an argument about him disrespecting Alfred or when there needed to be some disciplinary ground rules. It had once been frightening. Hearing it now, however, Bruce feels nothing but scorn well up within him.

His fists clench at his sides as a protectiveness takes over him, and the next thing he knows, he’s standing in front of Y/N, shielding her from her livid uncle. Just to keep from things getting ugly, but he hears something sift behind him. When he turns around, Y/N is glaring at him bitterly, stepping out from behind his burly form with an offended expression marring her features.

“I don’t need you protecting me.” She says, like she’s angry, like him trying to help her is almost as bad as Alfred’s rage. “I’m not a baby anymore. I don’t need you trying to treat me one, Uncle Fred—and I don’t need you trying to stick up for me when I can do it perfectly fine on my own.”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t.”

“This is outrageous! Both of you,” Alfred cuts in, and then all hell breaks loose, because Y/N starts to argue with him.

Bruce watches from the sidelines, amazed and frightened. It’s a vicious battle. Words fly from person to person, pure venom, bitter, angry. Y/N brings up their family and how everybody still sees her as a baby, and Alfred retaliates by reminding her off all the bad decisions she’s made that have caused that. He’s yelling, going red in the face. It isn’t until he hears a small sniffle that Bruce realizes Y/N is crying.

“Huh, see that—grown girls don’t cry when you tell them the truth!” Alfred yells.

“Shut up! J-just…just shut up.” Y/N drags her hand across her face, trying to dry her eyes but instead smearing her makeup. The entire image is terribly morbid. Her face is red and blotchy, and there are dark trails of mascara running down her cheeks. She’s crying, sobbing, hiccupping and grappling for air to feel her lungs.

Bruce can’t take it.

“Enough, Alfred!” He cuts in, stepping in front of the young girl. This time Y/N doesn’t shove him out of the way; instead, she cowers behind him, accepts his protection, like a weak dog.

He’s shielding her like a large building, sturdy and strong and trying his ebst not to throw a fist into the elder-man’s jaw. “Jesus, Alfred, you didn’t have to be so harsh. What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t do this master Wayne!” Alfred’s voice is leveled, dangerously low. He has calmed. The vein in his neck has gone back into hiding, but even then, his face is still the color of blood.

“I’m going to make it easy for all of us; either I go, or she does.”

“What?” Both Bruce and Y/N say in unison, before he cans art to feel it. It takes moment. A second. Then it sets in, the realization of what he’s saying.

A pang of pain shooting through him like an arrow, Bruce feels his body go cold.

Alfred’s eyes hold a pain similar to his that say that this isn’t easy for him either. This isn’t what he wants. But what other choice does he have?

“You heard, master Wayne.” The elder man tries to coat his voice with a strength that betrays him when it almost cracks. “It’s either I stay, or she does.”


“This entire situation has gone too out of hand. For Christ-sake, Bruce—“ Bruce. Alfred rarely—never—calls him Bruce. He has always been Master, to him. Master Wayne. Sir. Variants of a formality that have never hurt him as much as hearing his own name has now.

Memories of his boyhood flood Bruce, a time when Alfred called him that, the only time. It was so brief. He became Sir at the tender age of thirteen. Years later, and the title has been revoked.


“—I can’t let this happen. Do you realize how much is at stake here? Do you realize how badly the two of you would be together? Y/N, you still have your studies to tend to.”

“I know.”

“Then bloody act like it.”

“Alfred…” Bruce cuts in, and all eyes turn to him.

The room quiets momentarily.

Alfred’s eyes glaze over as he looks at him. Their gazes lock—both pained, both not wanting this to fall through. Why is he letting it, then? Why won’t Bruce just do something, he wonders, until he realizes there’s little to do.

“You have until tomorrow to choose. If you don’t have answer by dawn—” Alfred’s eyes go to Y/N. There are tears staining the apples of her cheeks. “—then I make the final decision. Y/N leaves. You own up to your mistake, and clean up this bloody mess you’ve made.” He says and then, before Bruce, or Y/n or the wind that howls through the hallway, can get anything in, he turns and leaves.

Hiss jaw clenches, and he gulps thickly. The room is silent. Footsteps are heard padding away, further and further, until the only sound left is that of Bruce’s heart wrenching in his chest. 


Her heart hammers in her chest.

Her breath feels hot and shallow and not enough, and her skin is drained of all its blood and colorless. She’s standing outside his bedroom door. Outside she can hear the hoot of an owl and the whisper of the wind. It’s two in the morning. It’s cold and she’s scared and Y/N immediately regrets having gotten out of bed to come and do this, because nothing good can come of it.

Turn back now, her mind says. Go back to bed. Go back to silence. Don’t tell him how you feel.

But she doesn’t listen.

She knocks gingerly, but it’s feint and barely audible, so she tries once more, curling her fist tighter this time. She watches Bruce, laying in bed with his back to her, stir and then slowly sit up.

“Yeah..?” He groggily asks, rubbing his eyes.

The young girl bites her lip and wrings her hands harder together, her stomach knotting further.

She’s standing in the doorway, one hand up on the wooden frame and the other rested tenderly on the crook of her neck. Her eyes, wet and red, search the darkness for Bruce’s silhouette. He’s sitting at the edge of his bed, sleepy-eyed and dazed as he looks at her.

And y/n feels a chill run down her spine when her gaze locks onto his.

He knows.

Uncle Fred told him. Uncle Fred told him everything. Now, even just standing before him feels so shameful and embarrassing,  like she’s clad in nothing but her skin suit, like she’s exposed. Because she is. Because Bruce knows. Because….

“I thought you were asleep.” He says, pulling her from her reverie.

Y/N gulps as sweat beads at the nape of her neck. He’s awake. At least, she thinks, that spares her the task of waking him up.

“Not yet. I’m…” she stumbles. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”


“I wish.” A sardonic laugh escapes the elder man. Y/N clinches her hands tighter together. The room is dark and hot and she can feel her clothes clinging to her body like flesh to her bones.

Bruce cards a hand through his hair, tired, worn out. Even if she wanted to, Y/N wouldn’t be able to dismiss his claims of insomnia—he looks exhausted. Rings of grey brim his eyes and the light once glinting fiercely and vivacious in them has dulled down.

Bruce looks tired. Bruce is tired.

Bruce knows.

“Let’s just say I have a lot to think about.” He explains after a silence.  “That kind of things keeps you up at night, you know?”

“ I know.” She nods curtly, biting her lip. She wants to say something in response—anything—but all coherence escapes her. She’s at loss for words, because what can she say?

The bomb dropped a few hours ago still lingers in the air of the house. It’s been two hours since Uncle Fred left the house; he was emotional and angry when she went to talk to him and he ended up storming out and driving off for a drink (or twenty). Y/N doesn’t mention this to Bruce.

Instead, she tries to gather her thoughts and courage and say something, because who will if not her.

“I….” She starts. His head lifts, attention befalling the young girl.

His brow then furrows softly. “Are…you feeling okay?”

“Uh—yeah…I…I am.”

“You don’t seem like it.”

“Well, not getting any sleep will do that to you.” She quips.

He nods slowly. “Right….”

A silence hangs between them. Neither party says anything for a while, and it’s painful because she came here to speak, to tell him how she felt, to vocalize all this rampant emotion that won’t cease within her, and so Y/N forces the words out of her mouth.

“I have something to tell you.” She says.  She swallows, trying to mollify her nerves. You can do this, Y/N tells herself. You will do this.

“I…Uncle Fred told you already, didn’t he?”

Bruce is quiet.

She waits for a response, one that doesn’t come, until she has top force herself to speak up once more.

“I said Uncl—“

“I heard what you said.” He says curtly, cutting her off.

Y/N closes her mouth, and then mutters a quiet oh. Her heart is racing—God, is it racing—and her lungs constrict and the blood drains from her fingertips and from her face and from her, and Bruce is looking at her with inquisitive eyes that egg her on.

“I know that he told you—obviously. It’s uhm….it’s okay, if you know” Y/N explains, trying (and failing) to not let the desperation seep into her voice. “I wanted to tell you myself, of course, but, having somebody else do it is okay, because the outcome is still the same. You still know.”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“And if I want to?”

“Then you have to stop. Just,…” Bruce sighs, eyes sliding over her face from a few inches away. The room is dim and quiet and her heart is in her throat, but it doesn’t matter, because Bruce is so close, and he knows.

“Just…”.” His voice is different, baring an edge and uncertainty that she has never witnessed before that makes things seem even more eerie. His eyes, a rich grey, bore into hers.

“Stop this, Y/N. Please. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“I’m not trying to.” Her eyes water and she shakes her head softly. “Bruce, I…”


They’re less than inches apart. Neither of them dare to break eye contact, only leaning closer in, and closer in, and Y/N’s eyes begin to flutter shut, and Bruce doesn’t pull away, and it feels as though the world is fragmented on a cosmic level when their lips meet.

Their mouths are pressed together, and they kiss.

They kiss.

His tongue is warm and wet as runs along her lips. Y/N gladly lets it, lifting her hand to his head to real him closer in. She presses herself flush to his form. Bruce reciprocates, cupping her face in both his hands and maneuvering his lips against hers, and—

“Bruce—“ Y/N tries to speak.

“Just stop.” His breath fans against her skin, against her nose. She lets out a breathy moan as he captures her lips once more, feeling her heart flutter like a cage of untamed birds.

Her hands slide through Bruce’s hair like water when she feels his hands leave her face and go to her waist. He hoists her up, and she jumps, wrapping her legs around him, not caring what they’re doing or what they’re about to do because, god, this feels too good.

They make their way to his bed. Fall onto it. Kiss, touch. Y/N swears that she can feel her soul floating higher and higher until it’s of her body and into the astral plane, watching their two bodies mould together upon the covers. Bruce’s hand slides beneath the fabric of her shirt and she feels a jolt of pleasure at the contact.

“Bruce…” She pants, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He dips his head and slides his lips down to her jaw, to her neck until they’re peppering desperate, wet kisses along her collarbone.  The young girl moans at the contact; her mind is fogging up like a car window on a misty evening. Fear clutches her heart in its icy talons and gives it a firm squeeze. This is wrong—God, this is all so wrong, that she’s certain of as much as she is that the sky is blue…

But Y/N doesn’t want it to stop.

Hopefully the wait was worthwhile lol

If you guys enjoyed this then go ahead and like, reblog or just follow to catch any more imagines I post. With my new computer finally in my possession, expect more updates and oneshots coming in.

As always, have a nice day!

Age Gap


They hadn’t even realized the age difference at first, after all its not exactly the first thing that you ask someone you had just walked into on the street.

That was the first time they had met, Y/N and Joe, both too busy looking down at their phones instead of paying attention to where they were going. The two collided into one another, the force almost sending Y/N to the ground but Joe quickly extending an arm, catching her by the waist before gravity completely took over. The two exchanged sorrys and are you okays as he stood her back up, both of them slightly embarrassed as to what had just happened. 

Joe, feeling the most embarrassed, offered to buy her a coffee seeing that he had quite literally almost knocked her off her feet and with a smile, Y/N gladly excepted. 

The two walked the short walk to the nearest coffee shop together, exchanging names and the causal small talk which led to an in depth conversation when they sat down opposite each other in a booth, sipping their hot drinks. 

That was 10 months ago, Y/N was 17, just about to turn 18, and Joe was 25. It wasn’t until a few weeks after first running into each other that they had figured that out. It wasn’t really an issue for them, they connected in a way that none of them had connected with anyone else before and they wanted to see if there really was something between them. 

 At first their friends and family were a little hesitant about their relationship seeing that there was a seven year age difference meaning they had seven years of different experiences between them, Y/N just starting uni and Joe, a public figure who’s job it is to the world his life. But after they saw how much love Joe and Y/N had for one another, it was almost like there wasn’t an age difference at all. 

Y/N was mature for her age, having to step up and take care of herself fairly early in life, and Joe was still a kid at heart so naturally they balanced each other out and for the first 10 months it was good. 

But people online started getting suspicious, more suspicious than they perviously had. They would bombard Joe with tweets or comments on his videos or livestreams asking if he had a girlfriend and once he said yes they would continually ask who it was, tagging him in pictures of girls who he had recently taking pictures with and Joe was getting scared. 

They had tagged him in one of Y/Ns pictures on instagram but people in the comments were refuting the claim because the girl in the picture was too young for a 25 year old.

Y/N was also getting worried. She had read the comments on her picture and the ones Joe was tagged in. His fans were curious and obviously didn’t like the idea of Joe dating an 18 year old.

The couple slowly started to drift apart after one night that was fueled with fear of what people who had no business of knowing found out about their relationship. The night ended with Y/N in tears, something that Joe wasn’t prepared to handle and let he her walk out of his flat making her promise to call him in the morning. 

When she didn’t call or answer any of his texts the next morning, Joe began to panic, thinking that this could be the end of their relationship. After a few weeks of very minimal contact, Y/N showed up at Joe’s flat ready to finally talk.

“Hey” She said when the door open, the words barely coming out as Joe tugged her into a bone crushing hug. 

The two stayed in the embrace for a while, Joe taking in the scent of her hair that he had missed for the past fews weeks and Y/N, remembering that his hugs were one of the many things she loved about him. 

“I’m sorry.” Joe said pulling away and stepping back to let Y/N walk into his flat.

“Me too, I shouldn’t have left. It’s just, I don’t know. I don’t why I’m so scare about what people think, I don’t even know them” She said, a slight laugh leaving her lips after she realized how crazy she sounded.

“I know love,” Joe said opening his arms and pulling Y/N close to him when they sit down on his couch. “It’s hard, I felt this way when I first started YouTube. It’s weird to think that millions of people are judging you just because you upload a video of you cooking dinner or having a night out with your mates.”

“Thats not helping.”

“Not all the judgment it bad though. You of all people should know that, and people warm up. Remember when we first started dating? Every hated the idea of us together just because of our age but now look at them, they love you, they love us. The boys have been asking where’ve you been, why you’re not here with your textbooks spread across the floor.” Y/N smiled at the memory of a few months ago when she had exams to study for but Joe insisted on her coming over. 

“People will warm up Y/N, once they see that we’re happy together. We don’t even have to mention your age, we’ll just never celebrate a birthday on camera. Simple as that.” Joe said causing Y/N to laugh. 

She left out a deep breath as she laced her fingers through Joe’s, thinking about his words and the conversation they had weeks ago.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She said quietly, still unsure if she wanted to do it or not. 

“I’m what?” Joe teased, pulling in even closer as she laughed again. 

“You’re right. For once in my life I’m agreeing with you so lets do this before I change my mind.” She said pushing herself off the couch and turning around to pull Joe up.

The two ventured down the hallway to Joe’s filming room, where Joe set up his camera, making sure it was in focus after hitting record and sitting down on the bed next to Y/N.

“Hey guys! Today’s video is going to be a little different, its a Q&A but I won’t be answering the questions. Instead I have my beautiful girlfriend here with me today and she’s agreed to let you guys know a little bit about herself….”

I remember when I went to DC a few months ago this middle aged lady offering my friends and I a job to travel and look at her boss’s website. She had this whole story about him and his comeup , but she couldn’t tell us his name, the website, the company, nothing and it was sketchy af so you really have to be careful and mindful around everybody like these traffickers have very creative proposals and if I had been more naive or failed to ask the right questions who knows what might’ve happened

anonymous asked:

Are the requests for Zen still open ? If they are could you do a scenario about how Zen would react to finding some of MC's old sketchbooks maybe ? And he didn't even know that MC could draw but when he asks MC about it she just tells him that she's given up on art years ago because she thought her art to simply not be good enough ?

- he spends ages looking through all the sketchbooks

- he’s not very good at drawing and that kind of art, so he’s in awe at your skill

- he’s confused though because he doesn’t remember seeing you draw a lot

- these sketchbooks are clearly yours though, you wrote your name in the covers and signed a lot of the drawings

- he asks you about it at dinner

- you stutter, surprised that he found your sketchbooks but also that he asked why you don’t draw around him

- after a second, you say that you don’t draw as much at all, not just around him

- he asks why

- “Well, I’m just not that good-”

- “But you’re amazing!” he interrupts loudly

- after a second he goes on to explain that he’s never been good at drawing and your art is so much better than anything he could possibly do and amazing compared to most of the art he’s seen

- he finishes by saying that if you love something, don’t stop because you don’t think you’re good, just keep doing it and being happy

- if you do start drawing again he gets so excited

- offers to pose nude all the time

- compliments your art constantly

Sparks Chapter 22

Originally posted by captaincentenarian

Pairing: Bucky(POV) X Reader(POV) ft. other characters from the avengers team

Word Count: 7.1K 

Summary: Going to a club with Bucky and his new “girlfriend”. Feeling overwhelmed bc life is stressful and slipping into old ways. Bucky taking care of you when you’re high out of your mind and having mini anxiety attacks bc contrary to popular belief drugs fuck ya up kids…

Warnings: Drug use.

A/N: I spend months thinking about this particular scene and I had quiet the mental struggle deciding wether I should built up to this or include this. But, I feel like I should bc its something close to my heart… I hope I do it justice. Bc lately i’ve been feeling like my writings been shit. I tried guys.

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Together For Forever;

4. The Connor Murphy Protection Squad??

summary: what if it was all a dream? What if Evan fell out that tree, hit his head, and dreamt it all up. Connor’s death, the lies, Zoe, what if he woke up and things were happening all over again but he knew the outcome. Evan has a chance to change what broken pieces one letter caused, what if he changes it and nothing better comes out of it.
a/n: There is a mention (by jared) of what Connor was going to do, brief but if that is worresome just look out for that line
Warning: EMOTIONAL-ANGST Zoe; troublesome feelings
w/c: 2.6k sorry it got draining on me
Sincerely Taggin’: @hell-yes-puns-and-ships for beta’ing <3

If you had Asked him a year ago if he thought he would be sitting inside of Zoe’s aged pickup truck, Evan would have probably laughed. What a load of bologna. Right now he was living last year’s Evan’s dream. He was having alone time with the girl he was crushing on. At the very least, he should have been content or a bit clammy with excitement. Instead he felt…cold. Everything about this meeting felt cold. Zoe’s face wasn’t the way he remembered fantasizing about her. There wasn’t a dreamy, far off look to her that had once made him  wonder what was going through her mind.

 It was replaced by a cold, almost cruel frown. She stared off and seemed comfortable sporting this icy face. Perhaps the girl Evan knew was just a mask? It was turning into a trend that the Murphys weren’t exactly all they seemed to be at first, minus Connor. Strangely enough the troubled soul was honest on the outside. There was no doubt or question to what he was feeling. The fact was unsettling to Evan. The interior of the car felt air tight, as if he’d run out of oxygen if he breathed in too much.

 “Why did you do it?” Zoe muttered, her eyes staring out her windshield. “…I mean…why you?”

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anonymous asked:

I can't seem to ever stay focused in class and as a result my grades have been falling! What do I do?!?

Hi! These are a few things you could try to improve your focus! Discipline yourself each time is going to improve your overall concentration but don’t expect things to change overnight. It might take your a few weeks to really learn how you can focus.

  • make a commitment to yourself - write down a goal of try to stay focused for more than you usually would in one period of time. By externalising your goal, you’ll be more likely to want to complete it. If you manage, reward yourself! If you fail, you’ll have let down yourself and probably feel bad about it. Whilst feeling bad about it isn’t awesome, it’s a good way to motivate yourself to try again next time.
  • don’t bring your laptop unless your need it - I think everyone is tempted to go on random sites, do random stuff, just generally zone out if their laptop is in front of them. I am no different haha! Unless you absolutely need it, it might be worth trying writing your notes. If you do need a laptop, try sites like StayFocusd, FocalFilter and RescueTime. You could even add parental controls between school hours.
  • put your phone away - again, it’s tempting to look at it! Put it in your bag so you can’t just pick it up whenever you’re bored. Or use Forest or FocusNow apps to gamify your time management and help you stop checking your phone!
  • sit closer to the front - it might just force you to pay a little closer attention if the teacher is close by.
  • be strategic with your seating - if you get distracted by your friends, maybe move away. It can be a little awkward but if you tell them nicely “I’m just going to sit here because I’m constantly talking to you and really don’t understand this!” then hopefully they’ll understand. Something I’ve found works well in the past is sitting with someone who is a friend but not a close friend. If you’ve talked before or are close acquaintances you’ll still want to talk with them but you’re not going to be distracted as you would be with your bestie. Since you’re going to try talking, it will generally be about the work and therefore you actually take in a lot more because you’re analysing it and taking it in. I was sat next to a guy in maths that I knew but wasn’t close with and we got so much done. It was honestly the best seating arrangement I’d ever had for a maths class. 
  • be prepared beforehand - try to get ahead of class by checking out any materials that will be coming up. Perhaps read the textbook, scroll through any powerpoints, check out the worksheets. If you’ve got an understanding, it might be more interesting to you and therefore you become more engaged. This can also mean you end up only taking the most relevant notes!
  • drink more water - I remember a study ages ago that measured focus/concentration of students who were drinking water vs coke. It showed that the water was so much better at keeping them engaged. 
  • be active (even if it’s just in your mind) - write down any questions you have or answers to rhetorical questions your teachers mentions. If you’re confident enough to answer or ask questions, go ahead!
  • record and review the class - this could be useful for times when you’ve zoned out completely and lost whatever the teacher is talking about it. If you’ve got a copy, you can review it later. Microsoft OneNote has a great recording feature.
  • have a brain dump sticky note/page/laptop note - if you’re getting distracted by your own thoughts/to-dos, write them down. That way they’re out of your brain and on a piece of paper for future reference. You won’t have that “I need to remember this” feeling since you’ll have externalised what you’ve got to do in the future.
  • have a procrastination sticky note/page/laptop note - similar concept to the above but instead, write down everything that distracts you. (e.g. your friend, a Facebook notification, the window.) You’ll be able to review it after and work to remove them and then get your mind back to focusing.
  • finally, don’t multitask - yes it is so tempting but it’s going to ruin your ability to focus on the actual class. Josh Kaufman says that with multitasking, you’re basically asking your brain to bring whatever you’re doing into working memory. By multitasking, you’re making your brain load and reload contexts over and over. Diverting your attention over and over is just going to tire out your brain and therefore, equal a loss of focus. 

I hope this helps! Good luck with your class! x

Welcome Present | Namjoon, You

Photo Cred: adelio

Scenario based off this prompt by @otpprompts

Sometimes love matters more than comfort

Namjoon lugged his last box into his new apartment, sighing as he finally put it on the counter. Looking around his living room, he slapped his hands together, wiping off the dust.

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anonymous asked:

Ur natsume fics are so ??? Cute and pure??? And I feel like they really capture the essence of natsyuu, the message of friendship and family that's at its heart!! I hope you write more :o just nishimura and kita protecting this soft boy and getting him to come out of his shell (being amazed at sarky natsume) Aaa I just love ur stuff so much

haha you said kita and my brain saw katsumi my bad mY BAD


Katsumi is used to being popular with girls. So when he introduces himself to the bright-eyed brunette by the school gate, he’s entirely unprepared for the way her face goes cold and closed. 

It’s something like a window slamming shut bare inches away from prone fingertips, and Katsumi very barely manages not to take a step back in face of the very immediate dislike.

“I, um,” he flounders, then rallies with what he hopes is a charming smile. “I’m here to see Natsume? Uh, Natsume Takashi?”

The girl stands in front of him with narrow eyes in an otherwise friendly face, arms folded, like some kind of security guard. When she turns away, its only to ask her curly-haired companion to please go and get someone called Nishimura. 

But I asked for Natsume, Katsumi protests inwardly, without the nerve to say it out loud. This town is so backwards

A bright, eager voice fills the school grounds whole moments before its owner comes into view. “Taki? What’s up? Tsuji said you wanted to see – You!”

Katsumi is already wincing into the abrupt silence when Nishimura draws up short. He recognizes Nishimura from that first time he came to see Natsume here what feels like ages ago. He remembers the heated way Nishimura sprang to Natsume’s defense the second their conversation took a cold turn. The glaring girl seems to be a mutual friend. 


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Band of Brothers theme
This is "Band of Brothers theme" by Ash on Vimeo, the home for high quality videos and the people who love them.



you should listen, but only if you want :3 (sorry if it’s poor quality, I had to record it on my shitty phone) 

@company-easy you asked for this ages ago, you probably don’t even remember but I’m tagging you just in case <3 

I Missed You Too, Mom

Request: Dick & Batmom fluff


A/N: Figured after Happily Ever Afters, this will make your heart tingle with even more feels!


Dick Grayson was missed by you, Alfred, and even Bruce. No matter how tough and emotionless your husband acted every time the name of your son was brought up, you knew that he yearned for Dick’s presence just as much as you did.

It’s been over a year since the fight between the two, a whole year since you’ve last spoken to him.

You heard he was living in Blüdhaven now, patrolling and protecting the people of that city with a new mantle: Nightwing.

You’ve seen pictures of him, of course. You had to keep track of your son somehow, and you can honestly say that blue suits him much better in his adulthood than red, yellow, and black.

But you miss the days when he was that innocent eight-year-old boy you had the privilege of meeting at the circus prior to his biological parents’ demise. You miss the sound of his laughter as he played basketball outside with Wally. And you especially missed hugging him close to you as you read him his favorite bedtime story.

“How do you think Dick’s doing, Alfred?” You asked the butler—more like surrogate father-in-law—one day as you sat on the couch, reading the newspaper while the elder man dusted the shelves and whatnot.

Alfred paused his dusting at your question “I would not know, Mrs. Wayne.”

Sighing, you flipped through the pages of the Gotham Gazette, “I just hate how I don’t even know my own son anymore.”

“That is incorrect, my dear girl.” Alfred said, shaking his head as he continued with his daily chores. “We may not have seen Master Dick in quite a while, but it doesn’t mean we don’t know him as well as we used to. His maturity is incapable of changing like his height, as you know.”

You chuckle at his response. “All I want to know is whether or not he’s mentally and physically okay. Go get coffee with him or something and discuss random topics like we use to.”

“Then, may I ask, why don’t you?” Alfred questioned.

“Do you remember the night he stopped being Robin?” You asked, “He was absolutely furious with me for not speaking up on his behalf.”

“That was ages ago, he can never hold a grudge for longer than a week. Besides, he didn’t mean it, Mrs Wayne. He was just angry at Master Bruce.” Alfred said, dismissing your point. “Would you like for me to suggest a solution to your problem?”

You looked up from the newspaper and smiled at him, “That would be amazing, Alfred.”

The butler sets down the duster and glanced your way. He opened his mouth and simply said, “Talk to him.”


You cursed the bipolar fall weather as you stood outside Dick’s apartment door. It was a cold and windy November evening and the lone coat covering your long-sleeved shirt and leggings was not enough to keep you warm.

At that moment, knocking on the door and marching inside didn’t seem like a bad idea.


Your head snapped towards the direction of the voice and your eyes immediately met the starling blue of Dick Grayson’s. He was wearing a Gotham Guardsman hoodie with grey sweatpants and a pair of Nikes. In his arms was a paper grocery bag.

“Dick,” You spoke, smiling while shivering slightly. It was good to know he knew how to operate at a grocery store.

Seeing as he was trained by the greatest detective in the world, Dick caught the instinctive movement and quickly made his way over to the door and unlocked it.

He ushered you inside and slammed the door shut before setting the groceries on a nearby counter.

“What are you doing here so late? You know it’s not safe for you to do that, especially in Blüdhaven. And also why are you wearing a coat that literally screams ‘mug me’.” Dick exclaimed, worriedly.

As the heat of his apartment slowly warmed you up, you placed your purse beside the paper bag and just simply looked at him, not even bothering to answer any of his questions.

“Mom, are you okay?” Dick asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

You released a breathy laugh, “Funny. I was going to ask you the exact same thing.”

“What do you—”

Before he could even finish asking you what you’d meant, you already had your arms wrapped around him, successfully pulling him into a tight hug.

There was a brief moment of stillness, signaling that he didn’t expect the sudden embrace. He soon leaned down with a soft smile to return the hug to the woman who had practically raised him to be the man he was today.

“I missed you too, mom.”