she drive's a hard bargain

Consider Shinsou making a petition to change the way U.A entrance exams are set up, so no potential hero is ever denied the opportunity because of an unconventional quirk.

Initially, nobody really wants to sign it and he considers using his quirk to get people to sign it, but Deku convinces him otherwise.

On the other hand, Hatsume becomes the face of the petition, collecting over 100 signatures in a single day, and at least half of them are from faculty and upper year students. People gravitate towards her because of the sheer charisma she radiates. She drives a hard bargain convincing people that they’d benefit from an improved exam

Class 1-A and 1-B both have a competition to see who can gather the most signatures and Class 1-A wins, in large part to Momo and Kirishima. Kirishima is someone who is easy to get along with, and he has this way of making complete strangers feel like they’ve been life-long friends. Momo gathers more signatures because other students don’t have time to sign in between classes because all their pencils are packed up, and Momo never runs out of pencils.

When it comes time to present the petition at a staff meeting, Shinsou is a little nervous, but once he finishes presenting it and explaining how unfair the entrance exams are to people like him, Aizawa seconds it. The other heroes were considering it before, but Aizawa’s approval leads them to decide that the entrance exams need some changing. After all, approval from Aizawa doesn’t come lightly.

In the upcoming years, Shinsou works closely with the staff to make the exams more fair and Hatsume’s in charge of coming up with new ways of testing quirks.
In his final year, the first improved entrance exam is set to happen and Shinsou is with Present Mic, watching over the exams. There stands out a handful of students with enormous potential that would have never been recognized with the traditional exams. Afterwards, All Might stops Shinsou to speak with him and congratulates him, saying that a part of being a hero is challenging what others don’t.

Camera Shy (Part One)

AU. Jughead is an aspiring photographer. His final project requires him to shoot nude photos of someone who inspires him. With no one else to ask Jughead asks Betty. Insecure of her body Betty is quick to shoot the idea down, until Jughead reminds her that she owes him. - Bughead leading to eventual smut.

Read on AO3 here

A/N - I’m terrible with summaries but I hope you guys like this. This idea came to me a few days ago when the Cole photographer photoset was going around. Enjoy! 

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Aeonian AU Series Part 2

Part One >>> Here <<<

Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night,

and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt — Sun Tzu

Aeonian 2


A deal with a God.

Between mortal and immortal. A need to survive, and a need for sensation. Instinct and desire.

There was a line threatened to be crossed.

Nesta wanted no part of it, and moved to shoulder her belongings, cold determination written across frozen features. The Archerons had long  familiarized themselves with prison layouts, and another night in a cell would not be another shackle to their future.

It seemed Elain no longer wanted a part of that cycle, as it was she who surprisingly stood up—shocking both belligerents—and placed frail hands on small hips—bone that had weakened over the years, blemishing and bruising over the slightest touch.

“Nesta,” the middle Archeron sister said simply and firmly. “It’s either we keep running forever…or settle.”

A pause.

“I’m not settling with him.” Or any self-entitled male. Nesta jerked her head towards the God of War, who merely raised a dark brow.

“Him has a name, you know,” the God crossed his arms, golden plates of gleaming armor glinting, and Elain blinked. “Must I point out I could revoke the deal so you would not have a choice in the first place?”

Nesta seethed in her spot. “You must really want us if you’re resorting to threats.”

The God smiled, sheer strength radiating from him. “You, Nesta,” he said without a pause. “I only want you.”

Elain turned red.

Nesta hissed. “You males think you can get whatever you want, control whatever you want, receive what you please.”

The eldest Archeron sister would have expected the immortal creature to claim her then and there—to simply show he could—would have expected a snarl to rip her to shreds in front of her sister—would have expected the soldiers to come bursting in, pointing swords to their necks—

—but the God didn’t.

Hazel eyes stared at her, levelling her an easy gaze—unblinking at her unflinching, equally matched stare.

“If other men got what they wanted, controlled whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted,” he said slowly, “Then your tongue would be pleasuring, your body covering another’s, and your mind forced into willingness. That is the way of both the mortal man and male god.”

But not mine, the words lingered in the air.

“And yours?” she bit out.

The God’s eyes crinkled. “I would allow your tongue to snap otherwise, bones ready to attack me, and mind ready to extinguish my existence.” A pause.  “I like your sniping.”

Nesta certainly did not like his sniping. “Perhaps you like the fight. And the gruelling victory afterwards.”

“Not everyone is a sadist.”

“Then you do not know of mortality.”

“And you have lived for an eternity? And seen that not every intent is to mar?”

“I believe the word for that is called naive.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be immortal, would you, Nesta?” The God tutted. “To have the luxury of time to simply ponder your decisions?”

Nesta snarled. “Get out of my house.”

“That’s not very nice, sweetheart.”

“Neither are threats, prick.”

“You have options.”

“Limited options for an unwanted solution.”

Elain slipped into the room, slightly panting. Nesta surveyed her sister’s slightly red cheeks and beginnings of perspiration dotting her forehead. She’d been so invested at launching barbed words she hadn’t noticed Elain had left. Distractions.

A faint curse left her lips. The God tracked every movement.

“The town’s soldiers approach the gardens.” Elain heaved, a hand pressed against her chest. “They’re carrying torches.”

Nesta stilled. Bit her tongue.

The pyre had been rebuilt as she’d raced back, Ianthe claiming human sacrifices for an enigmatic festival.

It seemed she had set her sights on who’d participate, unwilling or willing.

Time wasn’t a luxury she had, and each heartbeat pounded into her ears.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our lovely banter, I’ve got a schedule to keep. What will it be, Nes? You and soldiers who haven’t been laid in years—with a sister in her prime—or a God infatuated with you?”

Nesta swallowed, and stared at Elain, who wrung her hands nervously. The answer was clear on her face, of what she needed and wanted.

“Take my sister,” Nesta said lowly. “To safety. And then we have a deal.”

A tsk. “I want you, Nesta Archeron.” Calculating eyes turned towards Elain with an easy shrug. “No offense.”

Elain shuffled in her spot nervously, an animal trapped with no escape route. But Nesta could give her a way out.

“Take my sister first,” Nesta reiterated. “Then you can have me.”

She swore the God rolled his eyes.  “You drive a hard bargain. But if that is your term, then I will accept.”

Elain’s eyes widened, and Nesta lunged forward, her mouth twisted—but the God had already wrapped his arms, armor and all, around her sister’s waist—and vanished. Nesta cursed lowly, and spun around as the window glass shattered, fire and flames licking the walls of the house, the shouts of soldiers breaking the suffocated silence. The front door tossed open, and Ianthe stood in the doorway, hood covering her face, save for the sick smile etched across her face.

“Nesta Archeron,” she crooned, the glowing, blue gem on her forehead flaring, “It’s time to make amends.”

Nesta Archeron could only burn in her own ashes, simmering as the orange and red hues licked the house, smoke filling her nostrils and consuming her vision in a gray, gaunt inferno of gas. The wood crumbled around her, splintering on the ground below, snapping at the flames in great waves.

The guards leeched onto her skin, crawling around and over her pores, sucking her away from the collapsing refugee she’d once call home, and stole her out into the night, the tang of cold metal wrapped around her air, vacuuming her into a cold abyss.

It was a futile to struggle with chains clinking around her. It was beyond her to scream with a wet rag shoved down her throat. It was pointless to think as Ianthe, robe and all, swished from the burning house, hood lowered, eye perfectly healed.

There was only one thing Nesta was certain of:

Ianthe had to be claimed by a God.

And there was another thing she knew:

She was screwed.

A dead, mortal woman couldn’t keep Elain alive, but a God of War with an infatuation would suffice. But—she would be damned if she allowed her younger sister to toil in the hands of any male. First Tomas’s attack, second Feyre’s absence—Nesta would not allow Elain to be a third.

Ianthe seemed to read her mind, and she swirled to face the remaining guards. “Search the outskirts for her sister. She can’t be far from here.”

Then she stalked towards Nesta, a frozen smile tainting her lush, pale lips. Her hair on her skin prickled along with her nerves, heating her body in the cold of the night. The faint fragment of a whisper in the wind blew past her, dragging her along with the hard touch of metal’s hand.

Armor and arrogance dragged her along the dirt, thin twigs and grimy grins pricking at her exposed legs. Red shame and surrender no longer flushed her cheeks as they did three years ago. Instead, white-hot anger seared at her skin, enveloping her lungs in a casket of chills, head clouded with a haze of hatred.

“Dump her in the pit,” Ianthe ordered, and the guards flung Nesta’s body into a hollowed hole.

She flinched as she hit the bottom, hands scrambling for purchase, only to find grains of hand slipping easily past her fingers. The stench of the rotten and forgotten forced itself into her nostrils. Her feet crunched on feeble figments and connected with something hardened, dried, and yellowed. A closer inspection revealed scarlet spots of red strung with lines of moss and mold.

Nesta toed the figure, and bile rose in her mouth as a skull stared back her.

“Sleep tight, Nesta Archeron,” a sickly, sweet voice swept from the top. “I expect great things from you tomorrow.”

And with that, the slight tanging and shuffle of metal and the pulsing aura of something horribly twisted yet irrevocably powerful receded.

And so did her will.


She tried to claw her way up, but the sand continued to pour around her. When she thought she could breathe, the sand washed down her, claiming her in a current of curses. She tried to dive to the sides, but her fingers met with hardness that cracked her nails. When she thought she had found an opening, her shoulder rammed into solid steel. She tried to rest, catch her breath, but the ground held the horror of the deceased, bone and marrow beyond definition.

The sand stuck everywhere, and she drowned in it. The grains rolled over her and crammed into every crevice. Her feet bled from chipped points, eyes half-closed in a state of overdue terror. If she looked closely enough, she could see Elain growing a garden of smoke and bone, Feyre emerging from stream of sand with the skin from her face shrunken  to reveal the structure of the skull, and the phantom of Tomas rising from the mound and her body sinking below with him.

Hallucinations and the helldoomed, the hideousity and heartless. Was that her destiny? Reigning upon a throne of her own sorrows, drowning in a sea of her own spite, and flying only in her soundless melancholy, she supposed she only rose when spurred upon another’s hand.

But one day, she promised herself, Nesta would seize integrity and initiative.

Fate disagreed, and the charred lines forming the pentagon glowed faintly, faint whispers creeping over the hair of her skins. The ground rumbled, and she clawed desperately at the air, holding her breath. Slowly and with a shudder, the dirt lifted, the sand pouring down toward the abyss below. With a start, Nesta realized that she’d been tossed in a cage, filled with the bones of the fallen, weighed down by the sand.  

The creaking sound from the cage’s ascent clocked in her ears. Each jolt sent shocks that emptied into her ribs, a secondary cage that rattled whenever the bars on bones crashed against the brown of earth. The slow momentum had her dirt-caked nails digging into her palms, wobbly knees knelt on the patches of cracked and culled.

When the first sliver of light flickered to a spot on the floor, she winced. Perhaps three years ago Nesta would have scrambled on her shins towards the ray. But time saw her fold, broken beautifully and wretchedly warped, molded into the pillar of ice and steel the fates saw her as today.

Her sight vanished into darkness when the layer of sand and dirt broke through the depths of the morning horizon. Her forehead throbbed to the swaying of the cage, vertigo and vices swirling through her head in a cacophony.

And when she did regain her vision, the cage thundering against the floor, jarring her adrenaline, Nesta wished she’d never opened her eyes.

Ianthe stood above her, resting upon a smooth stone, hood drawn and draped dramatically down, eyes glinting with malicious fever, filled with the fervor to forebear fear and fury in the flesh. The Head Priestess cocked her head, blond curls cascading down to the curve of her breasts.

“Cheating death only works for so long,” Ianthe hummed. “You’ve played with fate and fire, Nesta Archeron. And for that—you shall burn for that.”

Nesta surveyed her surroundings. Guards shouldered the perimeter, the cage encircled by a hexagon of red, marred lines, the hole behind her barren. In front of her laid a huge pyre of wooden crosses, Ianthe at the apex. Nesta’s eyes traced slowly back to the dark blue gemstone adorning the other woman’s headband, glimmering ghoulish gloom in daybreak’s dew.

The pyre—a purgatory for the punished, in which providence perpetuated pernicious practices, plotted by the premeditated powers to plague the pitted.  The abyss—an excavated, empty hole encircled by earth and filled by enmity. Both offered no sanctitude or sanctuary, no savior to save her except herself.


I can help you, sweetheart.

The pure, predatory look, oozing hypermasculinity typical of all males—especially those belonging to those warrior-bred bodies—that had given her a choice. An option. A facet to her future she hadn’t had in years.

I claim you. As mine.

Ianthe stalked down the wooden stairs, each step equal predator, full of feminine fatale. A current of cold wind tousled her hair, revenge and retaliation cocooning her robed figure. Her fingers locked around each other, silence reigning around her in utmost fashion.

Three guards broke from the outer circle, torches in their hands. The red and orange hues caught in the sunlight, a gesture with all the gleaming, golden glory to grant grudge’s gratification. Two strode to the sides of the pyre, lighting the cages stacked with wood, littering with scratches and claw marks sinking deep within the hardened strips.

Flame flickered, licking and leaping in the air, greedily inhaling the innocence of the surroundings, vacuuming all the vices, veering clear of all virtues and valerians. Each flare of fire exuded emanations of heat, dousing her in sweat and stench.

Nesta had long strayed from the fire, a type of luxury in the wilderness that drew together unwanted attention. She had tamed herself in the shades of stillness, cherishing the coldness that culled all confrontations. For when the fire burst into a conflagration, the flames created a conquest that no child could conquer, and when flames wrought upon a wildfire, no warnings or wards could save the wills from the wreckage.

The wood charred, and her skin prickled. She seethed in anticipation as the third guard approached Ianthe, bowing lowly and offering the last torch. The High Priestess delicately snatched the metal hilt, and dismissed her bodies of armor with a glance.

The two guards lurched forward, and approached the fringes of the cage. Gray covered their faces, only beady eyes boring into her. Hands yanked apart the chains, inserting keys, and pulling the bars apart. With a grunt, the third guard reached it—and before Nesta can protest—a collar chokes her neck.

Shell shock slid off quickly like the sand., Rage, unbridled ire, and raw anger flowed through her veins, a palpable poison. The state she’d been reduced to—the power Ianthe held—the enigmatic state Elain laid in—the option that lingered in the air—

Her lungs clouded, and heaving a cough twisted her insides, pain flashing through her like lightening. The guards hooked hard hands under her shoulders, and dragged her forward, her toes dragging in the dirt. Ianthe’s eyes watched her curved back, the sign of submission, dark malice glittering in her eyes.

“You do not escape me,” the woman hissed. “You do not decide my decisions. You do not comprehend my plans. You do not understand—which is why this path has been laid for you.”

The guards hefted her up the bottom steps, her shins knocking against each edge. Pain throbbed away into a numbing sensation, her skin slick with sweat. The heat danced over her, and she couldn’t see how the guards hadn’t already melted.

The guards tossed her at Ianthe’s feet, and the third one bent down, attaching a chain to the collar. He offered the end of the link to the other woman, who took it with a slow smile—for the viper had sunk in her bite, vicious in all things vile.

“Look up,” Ianthe crooned.

Nesta jerked back, ignoring the flash of pain ripping the flesh across her neck, and watched with grim satisfaction as the High Priestess toppled forward, skirts flaring around her frame.

The ephemeral euphoria ended quickly, as the two guards caught the blond haired woman at her elbows, the third one yanking her forward with a blow to her haid. Blackness swept across Nesta’s vision, and her wounds stung in the heat, ashes seeming to accumulate at the bottom of her throat.

The chain jerked up, and her head followed.

Nesta paused.

Beyond Ianthe was another pile of wood—fashioned together to form a coffin.

“I offer mortal and unclaimed Nesta Archeron,” Ianthe murmured, twirling the the chain around her wrist.

The guards pulled her forward.

“As a tribute to my Goddess,” she continued.

The collar tightened, and saliva stuck at her throat.

“Mortal to be maimed,” she hummed.

The guards tossed her into the pit, the wood chipping at her skin, tearing open old scars, and blemishing old bruises.

“Soul to be claimed,” she murmured.

Nesta’s body screeched in agony, blistering with bitterness.

“For revenge’s respite,” her voice steadily grew louder.

Nesta’s head enveloped her in a consuming inferno that drove her heartbeat into a matching crescendo.

“For the callous crimes committed,” the voice hissed.

Her sides cocooned in darkness.

“To halt and heighten humanity’s horrors,”

Nesta refused this to be her hate, dealt by Ianthe’s hand.

Ianthe dropped the chain into the coffin, fingers now wrapped around the flaring torch.

The flames grew closer around Nesta and the wood bit at her back. Her vision blurred, but her mind did now waver: she would not let this be her end.

Nesta made the decision that would forever change her fate.

Staring into the flames, she embraced the heat, and croaked out, “I, Nesta Archeron, accept Ares, and his claim.”


The fire vanished.

A different type of heat filled her body, a small noise of content unwillingly escaping her throat.

Only slivers of smoke curled in the air, winding into whirlwinds of loops that leaped into the skies above, casting the horizon into a gray canvas. The knobs of her wooden barriers collapsed around her, the floor of the casket rising forward, her body following until her two feet landed solidly against the dry, scorched Earth.

She tilted forward—

—and into the arms of solid warmth.

“Nesta, sweetheart, my booty calls take me to the battlefields, not sacrificial statements. But if you wanted to offer yourself, all you had to do was ask.”

That voice.

Another one cut in, jarring her.

“Seize the girl!” Ianthe screeched, and when a heartbeat of silence met her command, she hollered another order.

An arrow bounced of the God’s armor just as Ares pressed her flat against his chest, wrapping his body around her—as a shield, Nesta realized.

Her chin tilted up, and she watched the God of War’s eyes connect with the High Priestess’s.

The brute cursed—or as much as Nesta could believe with his furrowed eyebrows—in a language long forgotten and buried from the human tongue.

Ianthe stopped screaming, and breathed out the God’s title in near shock.

Nesta supposed her God’s sheer size could leave any human in shambles, but both her and Ianthe were not those weeded out, wallowing in weeping weariness. Two sides cut from the rusted coin, both females remained unwavering forces, true to their own twisted truths.

The God sighed deeply, and hefted Nesta into his arms, running the pads of his fingers over her exposed skin. “Change of plans,” he grumbled, then pointedly look at her. “You really know how to choose your enemies.”

Great black wings exploded from the God’s back, tearing at the hinges of the bronze armor glinting in the hazed surroundings. In one beat, they shot from the ground, and a second later, a volley of arrows followed them.

The God angled her body so that she laid cradled to the open skies above, the tips of arrows barely grazing her sides. Nesta watched in inaudible awe as the arrows that did connect with Ares’s armor bent, and fell limply down the ground below.

Moments later, the assault halted, the wings carrying them lands away. The smoke cleared, clouds whipping by in blinks. The wind whistled in her ear, and the skin of her face felt sucked off to reveal the bones of her skull.

They rose higher, and her sight blurred. Sand ripped off her body, her clothes tearing. Years of stealing and hoarding her money’s worth dropped to the ground below, and she felt bile rising from her throat—not from the lack of money—though that would conjure later problems—but from the lack of strength.

She felt tired. Nearly defeated. Past emptiness.

She could sense this near abyss of a thing her kind called a breaking point.

“Get your paws off me,” Nesta seethed, her spine rigid ice, locked into frozen misery and formidable madness. The gushing currents slashed at her face, hair whipping around her, the god’s wings beating with mighty strokes as black canvas stretched across the palette of a horizon.

“These paws,” the God simpered, delicately raising a brow. “Are currently making sure you don’t plummet to your desirable death.”

He squeezed her waist to emphasize his point.

She instinctively gripped his shoulders tighter, ignoring the groan escaping from the god’s throat, and locked her fingers around the nape of his neck. A feeling akin to curiosity struck her, and her pinky stroked the outline of the large membrane curving around the edge of his wing.

His reaction was instinct: Ares, the God of War, tilted, and plummeted to the green grounds below, the air rushing around them in an inferno-like vacuum. If she could pinpoint an exact sound, she would have believed that this immortal being had whimpered.

And if that God had made that pathetic noise, then Nesta could only silently scream, her mind too-tormented, too overwhelmed and oppressed. She cursed the emerging sun above—that should have shed glory and good—should have protected all maidens in its’ blazing brashness—should have stopped her fears from three years ago that now crept alongside her in every inch—as she blacked out.

Forgive me, Elain, she thought silently to herself, and sent a brief breath of a prayer for Feyre’s wellbeing, for the first time, she willingly gave herself to the darkness.

And as her heartbeat slowed, she could sense another’s steadily alongside hers.


Did you see how I used Roman numerals as transitions because that’s the closest I could get to something related in Greek mythology? I crack myself up sometimes. Does that even make sense? Oh well ^.^. Anyways, HUGE thanks to everyone who patiently waited. I’m a horrible updater. That’s a fact I can’t find the lie. 

Time for me to tackle all the submitted prompts (my inbox is never closed, so feel free to shoot me anything, though it may take me awhile to answer) and reply to all the tags! S/o to the @the-little-dragon-faery for always keeping me own my toes. I love you so much Cresta I don’t know what I would do without you. 

Tags:  @katgirl05, @latinafangurl, @nicoletapink, @katgirl05@llyrian-rhys, @maachan-is-hungry, @illyrianwings-nightcourt, @literarynonsense, @aqueenpromised, @16ozamericano, @hierophantangel, @miss-phengophobia,  @samaykay912, @bluephoenix222, @yellow-spiraledbook, @hashtolanashoba, @aleex5253, @jjellybean, @daeniran

336 Hours | JJ

Pairing: Dealer!Jungkook X Agent!Reader ft. Agent!Jin, Agent!Yoongi, Agent!Hoseok and Dealer!Taehyung

Summary: Y/n aka Agent 23, undercover as a rich slut to try and get Jungkook, a drug dealer to break. Of course, at first, she tortures him to try and test his loyalty to her. But Jungkook believes that two can play at that game. She has 336 hours though to get out of that place, get back home and help take down Jungkook but how can she when she’s tied to a chair? 

Genre: Smut >> Angst >> Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sexual acts and thoughts (NOT SO INNOCENT KOOKIE)

Word Count: 3.3k

Note: You guys are just here for the smut…omigatch! you very derty…derty waters.

 “You ready?” Min Yoongi asked the girl who sat next to him, for some reason he never looked at her the way he does today. Like she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, in a way it almost looked as if he was starting to like y/n? Yoongi shook the though from his head with a quick awkward cough. “Let’s go.” He said slipping his frames onto his face and stepping out of the car, y/n by his eyes trying to look confident but inside she was scared and worried.

She was about to go live with a man she had only read and seen from afar for the next two weeks and spend two weeks after that trying to find a way to cover up and get away from him, it would be tricky but she knew she had to try. This was her chance to become an official field agent, by doing one of the toughest cases they have come up against. They walked inside the big warehouse, y/n by his side and her hands shaking.

The nude pink colour that clung to her body and showed off curves that were usually covered up with work pants, a blouse and a jacket. Th golden metal choker that went well with the off-the-shoulder look of the dress she was wearing. She was very nervous and almost tripping over in her heels but she remained excellent composure. As soon as they stepped inside, she saw him. Surrounded by six or seven body guards all dressed in black.

He wore a simple navy blue suit, a matching tie hung around his neck that sat in centre and the bottom three buttons done up to keep it in place. His polished Italian shoes tapped patiently on the floor as he waited for them to approach. A small smirk in the corner of his lips as he eyes the woman with Min Yoongi up and down, making her feel uneasy but she went along with it. They slowed down and came to a stop, about a meter and a half separating the two now.

“Min Yoongi. It’s been a while.” Jungkook said causing him to smirk slightly at the young boy, seeing how much he has grown since they last saw each other. “Indeed, it has, I see you’re getting by quite good lately.” Yoongi commented as y/n stood there, a little confused of the conversation. With tongue in cheek and a curious look on his face Jungkook’s eyes scanned the woman standing next to Yoongi. “Who’s this beautiful girl?” He asked, why did those words irritate Yoongi so much?

He can’t be jealous, this is all just a big plan and y/n would never fall for the target. “This is my assistant. Y/n, who also is my closest friend and slut.” Yoongi said, making his words sound cold and bare like he didn’t care if they hurt her. Y/n knew this was all acting and just played along with it all. “Ah, you always picked the ripest ones.” Jungkook commented and Yoongi nodded. “So, are we going to make this deal?” He asked and Jungkook nodded. “So, we have sixty thousand US dollars’ worth of cocaine here, and how much do you have?” Jungkook asked with a sly smirk on his face.

Yoongi dropped the black bag and unzipped it, showing the fifty grand that he had managed to come up with. Y/n was shocked and wondered where he got all that money from. She had never seen so much before up close. “I have fifty.” Yoongi said and Jungkook’s dark eyes darted up to look at his hyung. One of his oldest enemies yet friends. “I’m sorry Yoongi but I have certain rules. If it’s under it’s no deal.” Jungkook stated, Yoongi sighed and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the young man dart his eyes towards y/n who still had her head hung low.

Jungkook watched as Yoongi looked at y/n with furrowed eyebrows, unsure if she was okay. A smirk crept onto his lips, he wanted to hurt Yoongi. “Unless…” Yoongi turned his attention back onto Jungkook and knew the plan was working. “I can have her. Then we got a deal.” Jungkook said causing y/n to look up and finally meet his eyes. His dark and lust filled eyes that would constantly scan over her figure like she was some piece of meat. “You drive a hard bargain Kook…but, I guess I can agree to that.” Yoongi said kicking the bag over, grabbing y/n’s arm and giving her one last look of assurance and sympathy.

‘Sorry’ He mouthed knowing he must be hurting her but he needed it to look realistic, y/n just smiled and nodded for him to do it and he threw her towards Jungkook who caught her in his arms carefully. His hands placed on her hips lightly but still a firm grip on her. “Give him the drugs so we can get out of here.” Jungkook said as one of his body guards grabbed the bag and threw it towards Min Yoongi. “It was nice to see you again Yoongi.” Jungkook stated and Yoongi nodded and walked out. “Let’s go.” His voice was stern as he pushed y/n forwards towards his car.

Suddenly y/n was having second thoughts on this whole thing, she didn’t realise everything would be so rough. She knew she bruised easily and therefore hated whenever she would be grabbed, pulled or pushed by someone with force. They both slid into the black SUV and sat quietly as the driver began driving. A black screen put up to make the back seat more private and soundproof too. It felt so cramped in there, but maybe that was because Jungkook was sitting so close to her that she could feel his minty cool breath upon the exposed skin on her neck.

 “So, you and Min Yoongi had a thing?” Jungkook asked as y/n nodded, all Jungkook wanted to hear was her voice but y/n felt like if she spoke she might break composure. Jungkook sighed and knew that this way he wouldn’t hear her voice or really get any answers. The hand that was placed on her thigh was now slipped under her dress and rubbing over her clothed clit. She couldn’t help but lean her head back and enjoy the feeling. She let out a small moan and to Jungkook it was music to his ears, finally hearing her voice.

 “You sound so beautiful.” Y/n hated having him touch her this way but this was part of the deal. She knew that if she took on this mission she would have to put up with Jungkook’s sexual desires and needs, doesn’t mean she can’t fight back at first though. Jungkook removed his hand and gave her a cold stare, as if he were trying to figure her out. “So, tell me more about yourself.” Jungkook said, that bunny grin he’s always had appearing making him look so innocent when he clearly was the devil himself.

It reminded her of one of Shakespeare’s plays, Macbeth and a line from it. ‘Look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under ’t.’ it was. Jungkook’s innocent face and boyish looks that could make him seem like the sweetest angel if she wanted but deep down he was conceited, greedy and disgusting. “What do you want to know?” She asked, her voice finally being heard and it was a little shaky but who could blame her. She was currently sitting next to a very attractive, deadly man who could find out about her at any given moment.

He smirked and leaned forward, his hand still resting on her thigh but his grip tightening around the skin. His body now pressed against hers as he leaned forward and pushed the hair sitting over her shoulders over of the way and onto the other side. Laying a soft and delicate kiss on the skin before placing his lips against the shell of her ear, his smirk evident against the goose bumps that were forming. “Everything.” His dark and husky voice echoed in her eyes, the word alone making her face turn red and her body tense under his simple touch.

 They arrived at a mansion, the building white and gold with many windows and balconies. A beautiful garden that would be comfortable to walk around in on a bright and sunny day unlike this dull and dark one they had. The sky was grey, dark clouds moving by quickly and smell of rain evident. They stepped out, y/n feeling more nervous than ever knowing this is where she would be staying. But she always would remind herself ‘don’t get caught and you’ll be fine.’ She wasn’t 100% sure what would happen to her if she did ever get caught.

But she knew it would end with her body being thrown into a lake and never found again. “Shall we?” Jungkook’s hand was placed on her lower back as he pushed her forward to walk with him into the place he called ‘home.’ He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and he looked at her shapes, wanting nothing more than to rid her of the dress and throw her onto his bed and fuck her until the sun goes down. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that, he had to remain professional and basically be a tease until she begged for him.

He was a dom! So, it only made sense, he loved being in control and making them scream. But teasing and making them beg on their knees for his cock was a big turn on for him. They walked inside and a woman in a uniform immediately rushed over and he threw hew his jacket, his body guard carrying the bag full of money towards his office to put in his safe. “Dinner will be ready soon sir, shall I set the table?” The woman asked and Jungkook agreed, y/n looked around.

 Getting familiar with the place since she would be staying here for the next few weeks, and finding where he keeps all his information was important too. She walked upstairs and looked at all the paintings that hung on the wall, some looked expensive with the golden patterned frame they sat in. She continued walking, stopping as she came across two large doors with golden handles, pressing it down before it opened with ease. The room was big, paintings on the wall, a large walk in closet, a few mirrors here and there. The large bed with over ten pillows sat on it.

Y/n walked over and sat down, feeling how soft and comfortable it was compared to the crappy mattress she had back at home. She ran her hands over the silky material that covered the mattress and felt cold yet so warm against her skin. “Comfortable?” She was startled by Jungkook and quickly stood up, feeling like she had been caught gawking at his wealth. And in a way, she did. He was leaned against the door frame, hands stuffed inside his pockets with his tie loosened around his neck now and a more relaxed look on him now.

His eyebrow still arched from his question and a small smirk on his plump lips. “I see you found our room.” He said walking in, slowly making his way over to the blushing girl. Our? She thought, feeling her ears catch fire at the thought of sharing a bed with him for four weeks. She was thinking about how weird it would be, she’s never shared her bed with a man before and she didn’t think she would be sharing a bed with one. Jungkook was now standing right in front of her, his index finger softly placed under her chin to tilt her head up slightly to meet his daring gaze.

“Stop thinking so hard.” With those words being said he had swiftly leaned forward so her back was pressed against the mattress and his frame was hovering over hers. His right hand holding himself up over her and the over gripping her side roughly, gripping the fabric that hugged her body as his stare undressed her. She could feel him and how hard he was as he pressed his lower half into her more, as if in a way, he was trying to find some sort of friction. He leaned down, finally connecting his lips with hers, the kiss was poison to her lips.

She felt as if she was committing a sin, and in a way, she was. She had been with guys before but when she was near Jungkook he made it feel like this was her first time. After a heated make out session, Jungkook had to restrain himself and pull back. Smirking slightly at the whimper that left her lips, as much as y/n didn’t want to she needed him but she knew he wouldn’t give it her easily. She knew that he would play some sort of game to get her to bed for him badly. But two can play at that game.

“I want to take you shopping tomorrow. I want to spoil you badly.” His voice rasped, a faint growl in it as his eyes flickered between her eyes and her red swollen lips that were still agape. “For now, you can wear my clothes.” He said pushing himself up and away from her, leaving her to lay there untouched and frustrated. But what y/n could really use right now, is a shower. She looked down at her watch and saw that it was just after six now. She didn’t realise how fast time flew. Just a few hours ago, she was being dressed up to look the part. 

Jungkook walked out and back downstairs, himself sexually frustrated just as much as y/n. He walked into his study, closing the door behind him as he turned back around to see the bag sitting on his desk. He moved the books off the shelf and began twisting the knob to open the safe. Hearing the click and it opening, he began piling the money in there. Smirking to himself at how wealthy he had become over the years. “Master Jeon! Dinner is ready!” The maid called and Jungkook walked out of the study, the safe locked and the books placed back on the shelf to look like the rest.

Y/n made her way downstairs, Jungkook meeting her at the bottom. A small chuckle leaving his lips as he held out his arm for her to take which she gladly did and walked into the dining room. It was huge, a big diamond chandelier hanging from the ceiling that lit up the room. She could have sworn that this used to be a palace because there is no other place around here like this. She sat down and Jungkook sat next to her, comfortably placing his hand on her tight.

“What is it with you and putting your hands on me all the time?” She asked, the questions sounding harsher than intended. “I just can’t keep my hands-off you baby.” He replied with a smirk, sudden regrets coming back to her to accept this mission. “For dinner, I prepared chicken, vegetables and a salad. I found that expensive wine that you’ve been wanting to open. Please enjoy.” The maid announced before stepping out, leaving the two to eat together. “Dig in.” He said smirking as he picked up his knife and fork and began eating.

Y/n felt uncomfortable but began eating any way, the food tasted like she was in an expensive restaurant, she had never had such good quality food before this day. She grew up with a very poor family and only ate rice, even now she just managed to get by in a house with some furniture around that she needed. “Does it suit your taste buds?” Jungkook asked and she nodded, reaching forward and taking a sip of her wine that she’s been thinking about for a bit. It tasted like bitter fruit at first, soon turning a little sweet on the tip of her tongue.

 “Which side do you want?” Jungkook walked out of the bathroom, a white towel hung loose around his waist as he walked over to his wardrobe. Running his fingers through his damp, cold hair that was currently messy. But what y/n couldn’t tear her eyes away from was his toned chest, how was it possible for someone his age to be that ripped? He flashed her a toothy smile at the corner of his mouth when he noticed her stealing glances. Looking up from the magazine she was reading every now and then to get a quick look. “What’s your star sign?” She asked, pushing her frames back onto her face a little more.

He smirked, knowing she must be reading those horoscopes or something in her magazine. “Virgo.” He said as she looked down to find the one, before smirking. “The Virgin. Your element is Earth. Your planet is Mercury.” She said, chuckling slightly that he was considered a ‘virgin’ apparently. Jungkook walked over to the end of the bed, grabbing her ankles and pulling her towards him. The silk pyjama shorts rising slightly, exposing her thighs. His hands rested on her knees which were bent and by his sides.

“Virgin?” He arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, eyes glaring into hers. She felt so nervous and intimidated. “I can tell you, that I have probably been with more people than you.” His husky voice was intoxicating to her, but she had to resist. “I think not. I really doubt that.” She said, smirking slightly. Pushing her frames onto her face since they were slipping slightly. “When was the last time you fucked someone?” His words made her cringed but she answered the question any way.

“The other night. At a bar, he walked me home and we slept together. He was big too, thick and veiny. The way I like it.” She felt like she was going too far. Who is this person? She thought to herself quietly. “I bet I could be better.” His hands soothed the skin on her thighs and he could feel her tense under his touch. “C’mon, let’s have a round. See who lasts longer.” He licked his lips seductively, and as much as y/n wanted to she voted against it. “How about no? I’m tired.” Was all she said before pushing him away and climbing under the covers.

Turning off her lamp and his left on and the only light left in the room. Jungkook quickly dressed himself in just some sweatpants and climbed into bed next to the girl. She was already warm and her body giving off heat, he couldn’t help but wrap and arm around her waist and pulled her body into him, her ass pushed into his crotch caused him to his, he hasn’t had sex in ages and was so needy right now. But he wasn’t going to be the one to cave in.

FIC: Ornamented [1/1]

Rating: M-ish (for talk of/reference to sex)
Pairing: f!Hawke/Isabela
Word Count: 1,784
Summary: On First Day, it is traditional to check that one’s friends and neighbors are still alive. Just in case wolves came across the fields and ate them in the night, you know.
Also on: AO3
Notes: It’s good luck to end the year with a Hawkebela fic, right? Right. Takes place mid-Act 2.

“You know, in Lothering, First Day was just an excuse to check that everybody was still alive. Morbid, isn’t it?”

Isabela forced one eye open and rolled it toward the source of the noise: Hawke, shutting the door to Isabela’s room with an ample hip, a steaming mug clasped in her hand.

“I’m alive,” Isabela replied—a bit unnecessarily, she thought, but Hawke could be obtuse at the best of times, and judging by the tone of her voice, this was not the best of times. “You can leave me to sleep this off, now.”

Hawke gave a little hum, then a cluck of her tongue, and sat down on the bed beside Isabela. “I waited as late as I could. You’re my last stop. Incredibly, everyone is alive.” She chuckled a little. “Besides, a sip of this, and you’ll feel much better.”

If only Isabela believed her. She’d had some of Hawke’s remedies before—little mixtures she claimed that her father, a perfectly capable apostate, had perfected—and they usually weren’t worth the weird, gurgling stomach which pursued her for hours afterward.

She didn’t exactly possess the strength to roll away from Hawke at the moment, though. She’d forgotten what being sick—really sick, not just a pesky hangover or passing sniffles—felt like. So much snot had no business coming out of her nose. Surely she couldn’t produce much more of it.

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Day Five

Summary: Phil is enjoying a relaxing day at home when the door knock. On the other side of the door is a little girl selling popcorn with her very attractive dad. A little girl who isn’t above a little quid pro quo when it comes to selling her popcorn.

Words: 1.7K

Warnings: Dan has a kid so if you can’t handle adorable Parent!Phan then be warned.

Author’s note: Ehehehe, I like this one a lot?? I got the prompt from one of the many OTP prompt blogs, but I can’t for the life of me find the post. And I know this one isn’t suuuper holiday/winter themed. It was supposed to but it got away from me. 

Anyway prompts are still wiiiiiiiide open (you can prompt me here) and also I’m moving my posting time up for today because reasons.

Phil enjoyed the holidays. He loved the lights and the music and the general Christmas cheer. One thing he didn’t like about the holidays was the fact that he lived right smack dab in the middle of a primary school district. Generally it was fine since the kids were all remarkably well behaved and generally minded their manners, and Halloween was always fun because there were plenty of kids that dressed up and came to his door begging for candy. Yes, generally living in and amongst families with children was fine, but at the holidays there seemed to be an endless supply of fundraisers for one thing or another. One week it was chocolate, the next week catalogues, the next citrus, the next magazine subscriptions. This week it just so happened to be popcorn, and while he was indeed an avid lover of popcorn, he refused to buy this stuff seeing how every time he did the popcorn was always stale and sad by the time he got it. However, one fateful Christmas changes all that and he suddenly found himself buying fundraiser popcorn every year for the next several years.

The story began much like Phil’d every other Wednesday afternoon during the holidays. He’d spent the day before filming and editing and answering emails and all that good jazz and he was rewarding himself with a lazy day. He was dressed in his warmest PJs to keep the chill down and he was binge watching his newest favorite anime with his fourth cup of coffee and Thor curled up next to him. Unfortunately, he was snatched from his relaxation by a brisk knock at the door followed by a doorbell chime. He groaned when he realized it was just past four - prime fundraising time - and looked down at himself. He most certainly wasn’t dressed to impress by any means, but he figured his Star Wars PJs and t-shirt were enough to keep him out of jail and any child out of therapy, so he answered the door, ready to politely decline whatever it was they were selling, but offering a donation.

However, standing on the other side of the door wasn’t a child, but instead probably the most attractive man Phil had seen in real life in a very long time. He suddenly and very desperately wished he’d had another productive day where he got dressed and styled his hair and put in his contacts. That or just refused to open the door. “Oh, um, uh, hi?” he stammered, cursing his pale cheeks for revealing his humiliation so spectacularly.

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anonymous asked:

Id like to send you a Hoods-Mills fluff prompt for when you have a moment ? After Regina is taking care of Robin, Henry and Roland take it upon the selves to take care of Regina after the Fury incident. No one else writes their family quite like you

Mothers and Sons:

She watches his chest rise and fall, half-afraid of blinking in case it were to stop, glued to his bedside in case there is damage to his body she can neither sense nor see. The easy rhythm of his breathing should lull her into relaxation, but she’s taut to the point of snapping, and she straightens her spine as she reaches for her second cup of coffee, fuel necessary to keep her sharp during this self-imposed vigil.

“Mom. You need to rest.”

She turns to face her son now standing in the door frame, not surprised to find Roland glued to his side, sucking his thumb as the child is prone to do when he’s overtired.

“I thought you two were asleep.”

Small feet rush to her side, and Roland practically propels himself onto her lap, burying his head into her chest as his arms wrap around her neck. She gathers him as close as she can, whispering assurances into his ear as she strokes his back through his soft, cotton pajama shirt.

“He’s not going to sleep without you,” Henry whispers, moving into her bedroom. Roland’s sniffle tickles her shoulder, and she places a kiss into still damp curls that smell of baby shampoo.  “Why don’t the two of you just climb into bed with Robin?”

She hesitates, every muscle in her body wanting to stretch out on to her mattress and let it detach her from the worries of the day.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him,” she breathes, watching as Henry crosses his arms over his chest. “In case there’s still something…”

“He’s fine, Mom,” Henry interrupts. “You know it. The doctors know it. And you were hurt, too. You need sleep as badly as he does.”

“I’m fine,” she insists as Roland winds his legs around her waist.

“That fury threw you against a tree.”

“But it didn’t try to suck my life away, Henry. It didn’t leave me cold and practically…”

She stops, feeling Roland tense around her body at a word she calls back before it can solidify.

“Unconscious,” she corrects, swallowing hard. “On the ground.”

She and Henry stare into each other, each of them taking stock of this impasse they’ve reached.

“Then I’ll watch Robin for you,” Henry says with a shrug. “You and Roland can go sleep in my bed.”

She’s shaking her head before he can finish his sentence.

“That’s what you’re supposed to be doing,” she reminds him. “Sleeping.”

“I tried, but Roland can’t settle down,” Henry says, his arms falling to his side. “He doesn’t want me right now. He wants you and his dad.”

She feels tears on her neck, tears a child of Roland’s age shouldn’t be crying, and she rocks him back and forth in her chair, torn between the need to care for both the father and the son simultaneously.

“Please, Mom,” Henry whispers. “For once in my life, let me take care of you.”

Her heart melts at his concern as her arguments wither away under the weight of bone-crushing fatigue.

“Alright,” she says, exhaling into the room. “But only for a little while.”

A few minutes later, she’s settled in his bed, snuggled up next to another little boy she will one day officially claim as her own, allowing this young man who’d somehow managed to grow up overnight to tuck her in and lean down to plant a goodnight kiss on her cheek.

“Come and get me when you get tired,” she instructs, always the mother, always worrying over him, even when there’s no need.

“I will,” Henry states. “I promise. But only if you stay in bed and sleep.”

She smiles at this, at Henry’s stubborn streak, at this fusion of Charming hope and Mills pragmatism that defines this lanky teenager she loves more than life itself.

“You drive a hard bargain,” she hums as Henry turns out the light and walks to the door, laughing as she hears him mutter, “Who do you think taught me how?” Her eyes close the moment the door is shut, and she’s asleep within seconds, blissfully and completely asleep, as is the curly-haired boy who snores softly into her chest, warming a piece of her heart he doesn’t yet realize already belongs to him.

anonymous asked:

Women of FFVII in SOLDIER? (Also, thank you so much for always answering these asks and giving consideration towards all your responses. You're an incredible writer and I really appreciate you.)

  1. In a terrible twist of fate, Aerith and Ifalna were unable to escape from the labs. Aerith was injected with Jenova cells and mako. This turned her into something rather Jenova-esque, but she’s not nearly as hell bent on taking over the planet. Hojo originally intended to keep experimenting on her, but then noticed how quickly Sephiroth had taken to her. He backed off to see what would happen. Sephiroth taught her how to fight. Aerith added an eight inch blade to her preferred staff to make a naginata. 
  2. Where Cloud grew up idolizing Sephiroth, Tifa found herself watching Aerith. She wanted to meet this woman SOLDIER. When Cloud left for Midgar, Tifa followed. She nearly threw a fit when she got into SOLDIER and Cloud didn’t. Tifa found herself being leery of swords and blades. She proved she could beat most of her enemies to the ground with her fists alone. She still found the time to try and help Cloud get in. 
  3. Aerith is often very manipulative. She can usually talk her way into getting what she wants. The only person she never uses it on is Sephiroth. Sephiroth’s kindness to her has always been genuine and she loves him like a brother. She has less respect and fear from other SOLDIERs, but still earns their loyalty. She still has the habit of casting out cures in the battlefield. 
  4. Aerith still knows how bad ShinRa is for the planet. Jenova’s influence hasn’t stopped her other Cetra abilities. She dearly wants ShinRa gone so that she and Sephiroth can be free. She has a small faction of SOLDIERs who are devoted towards her and Sephiroth and would be willing to turn on ShinRa when the time comes. The Turks know about this, but don’t do anything yet. 
  5. While in Wutai for a second campaign, Aerith comes across the White Rose of Wutai herself. She smells an opportunity. Yuffie drives a hard bargain, but Aerith eventually agrees to her terms. Yuffie is given only mild enhancements to make it look like Wutai figured out a way to make SOLDIERs. Aerith, Sephiroth and their allies (which includes Zack, Tifa, Genesis, and Angeal, plus one Cloudy) simply wait to see what the reaction will be. 

Fandom: Big Hero 6

Pairing: Tomadashi (Tadashi x Gogo)

Summary: “Well then,” He raised his glass slightly. “I challenge you to have a drinking contest with me, whoever gets piss drunk first, will have to pay for the drinks,” One corner of his lips raise up mischievously. “Agreed?”

Drinking competition. Between this two dorks. That’s all I’m gonna say. Drinking competition.

Fanfic // AO3

  He felt terrible.

   And wonderful.

   Tadashi didn’t know which was actually suitable for him at the moment, but he did felt a mixture of both. Like some part of him felt light-headed and dizzy and he wanted to puke all over the ever changing colours of the neon-lighted floor that would probably get him and his friends kicked out later. And he would most likely get blamed later on after all of them were sober enough.

   Another part of him actually enjoyed it, the strong liquor actually made the load on his shoulders lifted a bit, the numbness making him immune to the stress and pressure he was feeling at the moment. He felt lighter, like he could run for miles until he’ll just collapse somewhere and doze off.

   He blinked a few times, trying to focus back his eyesight after he was lost in thought. He was facing the dance floor, sitting on a stool as he leaned against the counter, elbows on the surface with his fingers wrapped loosely around a glass shot. His dark eyes scanned the clearing, where people were laughing and dancing with each other -grinding would be an appropriate word he thought, the way people touch each other could make his ancestors roll in their graves- loud obnoxious music blared from the speakers, and he could feel the vibration of it to his core.

   He tugged on the collar of his white dress shirt, trying to get some air after he drank god knows how many shots, the humidity of the room was getting to him.

   He glanced at the glass in his hand idly, before chugging it whole with just a gulp.

   Oh yeah, Aunt Cass was definitely going to give him a talk later. But she couldn’t exactly say anything, he was, technically, an adult.

   The rebellious strike in him was actually puffing with pride.

   He should thank his friends for their kind gift of bringing him here.

   Speaking of friends, Fred was probably mingling around somewhere, leaving right after he slapped a few hundred dollars in Tadashi’s hand. The said person was left gaping at the money in his hand before looking up to what his friend was trying to speak over the music.

   “Enjoy yourself, man!” Fred particularly shouted in his ear, a hand thumped on his back before he trotted away. “Get yourself wasted, break a few hearts! Live!”

   He remembered showing the load to Wasabi with a smirk, and the other man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I made a good decision of being friends with Fred,” Tadashi stated as he sat down on the stool beside the bigger man. “Care to join me?”

   Wasabi’s booming laugh made him chuckle as he handed the barista a note. “Thought you’d never ask.”

   Now, his friend was off dancing with a girl after they had their drinks, leaving him alone to his thoughts. One of her friends started sauntering to where he sat, a smile curved on her red lips. He thought she looked pretty, with her long raven hair curled and the knee length fitted dress hugged her figure snugly.

   “What’s a guy like you doing here alone?” She greeted him, lowering herself on the stool that Wasabi once occupied.

   Pretty as she was, he wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone after consuming excessive amount of vodka, or he wasn’t interested to talk to her specifically. Either way, he’d rather be alone with his thoughts. But he couldn’t be rude, so he looked at her way and gave her a smile, slightly forced if he admitted it to himself. He thought he nailed it just fine when her eyes darted down to his lips. “Enjoying my birthday,” He answered with a raise of his empty glass, before watching the crowd before him again.

   She let out a pity sound. “All alone?”

   He shook his head, still not looking at her. “Nope, my friends are here somewhere, enjoying themselves,” He chuckled. “Apparently, dragging me here is their idea of a birthday present.” Then he clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t supposed to say that much, that was like an invitation to a conversation he would like to avoid in the first place. That was obviously the alcohol talking.

   She let out a laugh, throwing her head back. “That’s so sweet of them.”

   “Uh, yeah, sure.”

   He could feel a smile she was giving him. “What’s your name?”

   He shook his head, one corner of his lips twitching at her determination. “Sorry, but I don’t give out my name to strangers.”

   She probably pouted. “Are you sure?”

   He nodded. “Yep.”

   He felt her hand touch his arm, and he made a mistake of glancing at her when he suddenly felt her lips brushed against his cheek. Apparently, she had leaned forward, and he could smell the beer in her breath. And, it was also obvious she was drunk. “You don’t mind me giving you a present though?”

   She trailed her mouth to his ear, and Tadashi’s foggy mind couldn’t command his body to move as he only sat still, the warmth in his chest spreading too rapidly. “It’ll be just a while.” She continued softly, her other hand trailing up his chest.

   He tried swallowing the ball lodged in his throat, his fingers tighten around the glass. “I-“

   “Enjoying yourself, birthday boy?”

   He had never been so happy to hear that voice.


   He was about to give her a smile when he stopped, stiffen in place when he saw her.

   She sat on the stool beside him, holding a shot glass like he was. But what surprised him was that she was out of her usual clothing of leggings and leather jacket, and instead donned in black jeans shorts, wearing a midnight blue off-shoulder sweater that showed her slender shoulders, and she wore black ballet flats Fred gave them as a joke for her last birthday that he’d never thought she’d wear.

   And she looked absolutely gorgeous.

   It didn’t help that the feeling he was struggling with just now was spreading to his abdomen.

   “Is she your girlfriend?”

   He snapped his head to look at the other girl, who was eyeing Gogo with what he assumed was distaste. She had gotten herself off him -he could at least breathe a bit- and had instead sat with her legs crossed on one another.

   It took a moment for her words to reach to his brain before he straighten up. “I- she-“

   He stopped stammering when Gogo gave a lazy grin, looking at their way with an elbow on the counter, her nimble fingers wrapped around the glass delicately. Tadashi had to remind himself not to stare and immediately looked away, suddenly the heat was becoming unbearable as he tugged his collar a little. “Nope,” She answered, taking a sip of her drink. “Just a friend,” She waved her hand dismissively. “Continue whatever it was you were doing, pretend I’m not even here.”

   The girl -he didn’t even know her name, and had no interest of finding out- glared at Gogo, who chose not to notice as she ordered another shot from the barista. Then, the girl gave a sniff of disdain, rising from her seat. She flashed him a grin, leaning down as he resisted the urge to pull away from her. “That short time was nice,” She whispered in his ear, slipping something in his breast pocket. “Maybe we’ll see each other sometime,” When she straighten herself, she gave one last look of hatred at Gogo before leaving, disappearing among the throng of people.

   He didn’t move for a while, until he slowly turned towards his friend, where she made no secret to stare after the girl. “Wow, she really hated my guts for stealing her moment with you.”

   “Thanks,” He muttered, taking a deep breath. “Just, thanks. I didn’t think she would leave,” He fished out his pocket, and unfolded the tissue. “Huh, she gave me her number,” He waved it to her. “You want it?”

   Gogo scoffed. “What for? It’s not like I was the one she wanted to-“

   He held up a hand. “Stop, I know what you’re going to say,” He shoved the tissue in his pocket pants, slumping on the stool. The effects of the alcohol was starting to take toll on him. “Did you come alone?”

   “Nope, Honey drove us here. She said she’s not going to drink much, and just mingle around, because at least one of us has to drive,” She shrugged. “Whatever, just so long we don’t get crashed then I’m fine.”

   He glanced at her. “I didn’t know you drink.”

   She nodded to his empty glasses. “Could say the same thing to you, Boy Wonder,” She twisted in her seat so that she was facing his way, wrapping an arm around her stomach while still holding onto the glass with her other hand. “I thought you were too good for that.”

   He smirked, ordering a shot for himself. “I can’t exactly be a good boy scout every time,” He nodded a thanks to the barista. “I tend to hide my rebellious side more often than not, for Hiro’s own good.”

   “What, don’t want him think that his big brother is actually Denise the Menace in real life?” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I find that hard to believe.”

   He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”


  “Well then,” He raised his glass slightly. “I challenge you to have a drinking contest with me, whoever gets piss drunk first, will have to pay for the drinks,” One corner of his lips raise up mischievously. “Agreed?”

   “Oh, you drive a hard bargain, but then again,” She gave a low laugh. “Prepare to get your ass kicked.”

   They clinked their glasses together.


   She was winning.

   There was no doubt about it.

   She didn’t look too drunk, maybe her eyes were a bit glazed over but he didn’t know, because he was drunk as hell and wasn’t sure if the glasses on the table were moving or he accidently flicked on some button to rollercoaster mode.

   He actually felt giggly all of a sudden.

   The lights weren’t helping too. They were bright and flashy and were giving him a headache, he had to close his eyes discreetly a few times before he could continue. He didn’t remember when, but the crowd had mingled towards the both of them by forming a semi-circle and were chanting and cheering encouragements, probably betting among themselves who would win.

   He couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked, and found himself staring at her more often than actually focusing on winning. She caught him a few times, and merely raised an eyebrow as an acknowledgement before continuing the challenge.

   He was too distracted and just plain drunk that he didn’t realise he was falling from his stool until he actually did fell down, and then the crowd either cheered or groaned by it.

   He just laid there for a while, staring up to the ceiling. Then, a hand came to his field of vision and he took hold on it, where he was pulled to stand up. His legs felt like jelly as he tried to straighten himself, using the stool and Wasabi’s arm as support, adjusting his eyes to the light.

   And she was just standing there, looking ridiculously smug as her lips were stretched into a wide rare smile he had never actually seen her done before. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her posture screaming victory. “It looks like I win, Hamada,” She gave him her signature two finger salute. “A pleasure beating you.”

   There were ooh’s around them as he stared at her. It was then he grinned, a pure shit faced grin. “And I’ll be claiming the prize.”

   He wasn’t sure what exactly happened, but next thing he knew was that he stumbled towards her, and she only managed to widen her eyes in surprise before he crashed his lips onto hers, sloppy and all in their drunkard glory.

   He dimly heard the crowd roared around them, but he was too focused on wrapping his arms around her waist as she clutched onto his shoulders, chuckling against his lips. He could actually feel his own smile widen at that.

   “You’re so wasted,” She breathed out, pressing her lips to his. “And an idiot.”

   “Look at it this way,” He tried to get rid of the  slur in his voice. “We both won.”

   “As if.”

   The amount of alcohol he took made him stumble easily when she lightly pushed him back, grabbing hold on the counter to keep himself from falling. He had to blink a few times to focus on his vision. When he could see again, she was smirking at him and gave him her famous two finger salute again. “Pay up, Boy Wonder.”

   He couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across his face, thinking the same thing over and over again.

   It was by far, one of the best birthday parties he had ever had in his nineteen years of living.


for tripskyeweek and what if trip had been recruited that day instead of ward


There had been a bag over her head and a man sitting across from her with a wide grin, laughing whenever she brought up conspiracy theories.

“I think this is my favourite assignment yet.”

Skye cocks her eyebrow and leans forward slowly.

It might be her favourite mission now too.

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Dramione: Hermione coaxing Scorpius, who wants to be with the Potters’ boys, into trick-or-treating with his brothers. For astorias.

“But why can’t I go with James and Al?”

“Because I need someone I can trust to look after your twin brothers,” Hermione replies. She smiles and bends down to Scorpius’ eye level. “And they don’t want to go trick-or-treating without their heroic big brother.”

It’s the right thing to say: Scorpius’ chest puffs out just a little more. Still: “Frank gets to go with the Potters–why can’t I?”

Hermione puts a finger to her chin, as though deep in thought. “Would you be all right if you got to go out with the Potters later?” she asks. “Just watch the twins for a few hours and then the rest of the night you can run wild with the other, older boys.”

Scorpius is about to protest out of reflex, but then he stops to consider. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal.” Hermione reaches out a hand to shake, but Scorpius isn’t done: “If you promise I get all the leftover candy.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she mutters dryly. She and Scorpius shake on it, and she shoos him along to where the twins are waiting just outside the front door. 

“Bye, Dad!” Scorpius shouts as he runs past his father, who was standing in the doorway to watch the entire exchange.

“Be safe!” Draco calls after the three of them, though it’s doubtful they can hear a word.

Hermione stands as Draco comes back into the house. He smirks as he wraps his arms around her. “You were planning that outcome all along, weren’t you?”

“Someone taught me to open with the big stuff to make the smaller things more palatable.”

“Who could’ve that been, I wonder,” Draco muses, though he knows very well just who she’s talking about.

She rolls her eyes. “I never thought boys would put up so much fuss. But, then, he is your son.”


“Maybe we ought to try for a girl,” Hermione muses, as though Draco hadn’t said anything.

“If you think a girl wouldn’t be just as difficult, ‘Mione, I have some bad news for you.”

Driving Lessons

A/N: Inspiration from THIS, and direct quote from meant0be’s tags. Thanks for the plot bunny ladies. Hope everyone enjoys. It’s a little…interesting when it comes to mood, but I like to think it captures some of their back and forth. They’re just so INTENSELY flirty, y'know?

Summary: Val and Z sneak in a forbidden driving lesson on their day off, ‘cause Z is too ready to get her license.


“Stop looking at me!” she barks out nervously, shooting him a quick look of annoyance out of the corner of her eye.

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Fluffy little ficlet.

Bunnies. Anna studied them with a half-grin, and felt the faint tickles of soft fur and tiny, wiggling noses against her bare skin. She was laying in the soft, summer-green grass of a sunlit meadow – reclining against a large rock with an absolute… flock? Gaggle? Whatever… of bunnies climbing all over her. Probably a good thing, since she was naked and they at least gave her some cover. The white one on the top of her head kept trying to comb her hair no matter how many chocolates she fed it, but at least it hopped onto her shoulder and started kissing that instead.

Wait, what? Kissing?

Anna frowned and blinked, and as she did, the soft grass was replaced with the satiny covers of her bed, and the white bunny with the pale skin and hair of her sister, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress and leaning over her on one arm as she pressed light kisses to her exposed shoulder.

“Els,” Anna croaked, and ended up making the already short name even shorter as she tried to blink the haze of sleep from her squinting eyes.

“That’s me.” Elsa settled in front of her on one elbow, and there were light, cool fingers tracing over the now rather rumpled dress that Anna had fallen asleep in. “You missed the midday meeting with the trade council for a nap?” Potentially scolding words, but the queen’s expression was one of half-curiosity, half-concern. “Are you alright?”

“Ungh.” She tried unsuccessfully to bite back a yawn, and readily snuggled closer when an arm circled her back and drew her in. Elsa’s embrace was warmly familiar, and the small difference in body temperature lent a pleasant chill to Anna’s face when she tucked her head under her sister’s chin and inhaled the scent of her skin. “How much trouble would I get into for throwing a minister off the North Mountain?”

The body she was curling into moved in a silent chuckle, and there was the faint press of soft lips to the top of her head. “That successful of a session, hm?” Elsa wondered, and Anna almost missed her voice entirely because she was too focused on the blessedly cool fingers that settled at the back of her neck. “You’re warm, love. Headache?”

“Glad you’re blocking the sunlight,” Anna grunted, and then groaned when those fingers started gently kneading at the base of her neck. “Oooh, you have exactly a month to stop that. Maybe two.” She felt Elsa chuckle again, and found not only a smile, but the energy to slip both of her own arms around Elsa’s waist and pull her closer still. “Okay, three, but that’s my final offer.”

“Hm.” Another set of fingers clasped her chin, and Anna kept her eyes shut against the light as her head was gently guided back. Then there was a kiss pressed to her forehead, and she sighed as she felt a chill spread over her face and extend down her throat like a soothing balm. “How about a lifetime?”

Cautiously, Anna cracked one lid open and saw clear, perfect blue eyes studying her with warm affection. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Majesty,” she drawled, and since Elsa’s skillful ministrations meant that the sunlight was no longer sending lances of pain to the back of her skull, this time she got the pleasure of watching pink lips shape an amused smile. “Alright – it’s a deal.”

Best deal going, as a matter of fact.

Marco buys little packages of plastic baby animals and little toy cats and stuff… He gives them to Star as a form of bribery to stop doing rly dangerous stuff 

He’ll be like “Star! listen to me! Don’t get so close to that cliff!” 

“Why not?”

“you won’t get this tiny plastic baby giraffe”

“!!!!!!” She steps away from the cliff. Marco drives a hard bargain. She needs that baby giraffe for her collection. 

Judging Books By Covers

TITLE: Judging Books By Covers

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Twenty Five

AUTHOR: wolfpawn


Imagine Loki is cast out into a castle in his Jotun form, under a spell that will return him to his Aesir one if he learns to accept himself for who he is, not what he looks like, and can find another who will do the same. Angry and repulsed by his own appearance, Loki fears he will live out his days as the monster he so greatly loathes. 


It was passed noon when Lagertha exited Loki’s chambers again. Her lips swollen and deep red, just as Loki had sworn they would be, her hair tossed and her clothes crumpled. One of the maids, Myra was walking up the corridor the same time, the maid could not help but notice her dishevelled appearance, her eyes widening as Lagertha cursed herself for not thinking to ask Loki to use his seidr to at least make her look less like she was mauled by a wild beast. “Myra, could you please get the lunch and leave it on the table outside the quarters half way down the private hall on the right?”

Myra frowned for a moment at being given conflicting orders, as Lagertha had instructed her not to concern herself with meals that very morning, but knowing her place, the maid said nothing and simply nodded as she did what was asked of her.

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