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The Girl From the Journal (Pt 2)

Part 1

Surprise! I finished the second part to my soulmate AU! Sorry it took 62 years to finish. Enjoy!

A/N: In this AU, Riverdale is a much bigger city than it is in canon, so the Riverdale Register is much bigger as well. Also, shoutout to @birdlovesafish for giving me the idea for Betty’s nickname that Polly’s kids call her. Thanks, lovely!

Betty Cooper stumbled through the revolving glass doors of the tallest building in town, the Riverdale Register. Betty took a look around the recently renovated lobby, her eyes widening in awe at the pristine marble flooring and state of the art computers on every desk from the receptionist’s right in front of her, to the reporters’ in the back room. 

“May I help you?” The man standing behind the reception area asked in a nasally voice, his nose turning up to the tall ceiling at the sight of Betty and her too-tight ponytail and wrinkled baby blue skirt clumsily sliding her way across the recently mopped wet floor. 

“Yes! I’m looking for a Mr. Jones,” she explained once she had made her way safely over to him, holding onto the counter tightly with one hand and smoothing down her blouse with the other. “Um, he left something of his at my sister’s cafe this morning and I’m here to return it.” 

“Do you have a name?” the man wanted to know, glancing down at his computer briefly to check something before flicking his eyes back up in her direction impatiently. 

“Uh, I do. But whatever name you give him won’t mean anything to him,” Betty informed him, her words coming out rushed and jumbled as she scrambled to explain herself. “He doesn’t actually know me - I mean apparently he writes about me, but he’s never met me. Well technically he met me this morning, but it was only briefly and I don’t think he really even looked me in the eye or-”

“Rambling crazy lady with a journal,” the man spat, cutting her off and eyeing her with a look of annoyance as he picked up the phone on the counter to punch in a number. “That’ll be enough of a description for him, thanks.” 

“Rude,” Betty muttered under her breath, backing away from the desk and rubbing her arms up and down uncomfortably as she waited for the receptionist to make his phone call. 

“He’ll be down in a moment,” he told her. “Try not to touch anything while you’re waiting. In fact, try not to even look at anything breakable until Mr. Jones arrives.” 

“Well okay then,” Betty mumbled, making her way over to the wall on the opposite side of the reception area where she found row after row of noteworthy articles from past news editions, framed and polished for the entire office to read. 

Betty scanned the wall, taking in title after title until one particularly lengthy column that sat at the very end, nearest to the staircase, caught her eye. It was written by the very man of whose journal she was lugging around in her purse, and as curiosity got the better of her, she began reading until she was completely immersed in his words, just as she had been when she was reading his journal. 

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Wolfiplier Fic Part 1

Here’s a quick little wolfiplier thing I started writing last night. I intend to finish/continue it which is why it’s going to sound a bit rough. Anyways, enjoy!

Brief summary: Mark is kidnapped by an unknown individual and even though he is saved and returned home, he later finds himself experiencing an incredibly shocking event that only Sean and Signe know how to fix with the assistance of Tyler and Amy.

@paperbaghero inspired me to write some wolfiplier so hopefully I can do their artwork justice! Check out their comic if you haven’t already, it’s awesome!! <3

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BTS Reaction to Your Girl Group Winning a big Award

Namjoon: He would be super happy and clap along with everyone. He’d smile fondly as you and the rest of your group give your thank you speech.

Taehyung and Hoseok: Would deadass be so hyped for you and your group especially if y’all are close. Like they would forget for a split second that they’re being watched and also that they’re in an aWARD SHOW.

Jin: He’d clap along with everyone else and probably dance along to your music that’s playing while you and your group head on stage to give your thank you speech.

Jungkook, Jimin and Yoongi: They would clap along but other than that they’d keep a semi blank face. That doesn’t mean they aren’t happy for you just that ya know they don’t know how to express it while in public.

WIP - The Girl From the Journal Pt 2

So here’s a sneak peek of the next part of my soulmate AU that I wrote quite a while ago. I wanted to share what I have of Bughead’s first official conversation. So while it’s not finished, it’s a start right? ;) Thanks @jandjsalmon for making me want to actually finish this lol. Read part 1 here or on ao3

Betty scanned the wall, taking in title after title until one particularly lengthy column that sat at the very end, nearest to the staircase, caught her eye. It was written by the very man of whose journal she was lugging around in her purse, and as curiosity got the better of her, she began reading until she was completely immersed in his words, just as she had been when she was reading his journal.

“Wow, he’s good,” she breathed, staring at the article in awe, feeling completely captivated by this stranger’s thoughts on the boycott at the local theater a few months back.

“I hated that article.”

A voice coming from behind Betty startled her into shuffling backwards, nearly knocking a ceramic vase off the shelf hanging on the back wall. She turned to find the man she had seen at the cafe that morning descending the stairs, the beanie he was wearing earlier now absent from his head, leaving him with a thick head of dark hair that Betty thought suited his features very nicely.

“I sat outside that theater for sixteen hours waiting to talk to some C-list celebrity who supposedly organized the entire event and who, turns out, had no idea what he was even boycotting,” Jughead explained as he took the few steps to stand beside her, his eyes focused on the wall in front of them.

“Well apparently it was good enough to make the wall,” Betty pointed out, turning on her heel to gesture to the framed articles laid out before them. “Looks like you have a lot of wall-worthy articles.”

“Yeah,” Jughead muttered, his expression distant as he finally turned to meet her gaze. “So what’s this I hear about a crazy lady and a journal?”

“Right! First of all, not crazy,” Betty began, turning back to glare at the smug receptionist with as much disdain as she could muster. “Well, I mean I might be crazy. I lied to you. I’m not here to give you back your journal - well I am, but I think that we should talk about it first - not in a weird way or anything. I just think that-”

“I’m hoping that there’s a ‘second of all’ amidst all that… whatever that was,” Jughead teased, quirking an amused eyebrow in her direction as he gestured back towards the receptionist polishing the counter with his coat sleeve. “Because I’m really starting to see what Matthew was saying about your tendency to ramble in long strides now.”

“Second of all,” Betty said with mock-annoyance, stepping forward to shove the leather-bound book into his chest. “Here’s your journal.”

Jughead took the journal from Betty, their fingers brushing ever-so-slightly and lingering atop the front cover for just a split second. To anyone watching from the outside looking in, it would have looked like an accidental encounter, nothing more than a meaningless touch from two strangers. But to them - they felt it in their fingertips. That electricity that clued them into the idea that maybe this was more than a coincidence. Maybe this was fate.

me: im gonna write out this scene from a future fic that i cant get out of my head. it’ll be quick, its fine

me, 1400 words later: fuck

contains: prompto | noctis + a smooch or two. it’s like, brotherhood esque

theres a ref here to this one fic which is like, the best fic ive ever read

by the time the credits start to roll, prompto has nearly forgotten they were even watching a movie. prompto had made some offhand comment, something about a chocobo that was present in an earlier scene, and that caused noctis to snort and say something snarly, and that sparked the sudden conversation they’re having now.

the movie itself is of no consequence; it’s a mediocre movie they’ve seen many, many times together that it was only really on due to how familiar it was — and there’s some voice in prompto, something equally anxious and excited, that’s amazed he’s such friends with the crown prince now that they have a comfort movie— so, really, the movie managing to run it’s course while they argue about the sizes of monsters isn’t special at all.

unlike prompto, who’s all wild gestures and noises, noctis is rather still when he talks. it’s probably because of his seemingly perpetual drowsiness, with the current late time undoubtedly feeding into it. where noctis was facing him before, making faces at prompto and laughing whenever he said something particularly outlandish, now he’s leaning heavily into prompto’s side, head falling to land on the blond’s shoulder.

for a moment, prompto can only think of how warm noctis is.

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Below Zero- Taehyung(m)

Originally posted by orchid-bud

// (m)- mature (f)- fluff w/ a sprinkle of angst // word count: 6,175 // 

And if it comes back it was yours all along…

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate how much you think of him. You hate how much he makes you question who you are. You hate how much he makes you want to be a good person. You hate everything about Kim Taehyung.

Everything down to the individual strands of brown hair on his round head.

“Yah. Y/N,” Park Jimin’s teasing voice calls your name, throwing pencils at your back until you flip around, agitated and annoyed.

“What?” You snap, avoiding the watching eyes of Taehyung in favor of the thin slits of Jimin’s. You’d been avoiding him for a solid three weeks at this point, and you are pretty proud of yourself for it too.

“Ohhhhhh,” Jimin throws his hands up and wiggles his eyebrows at Taehyung, who just looks at you in unassumed thought, “someone’s sensitive today.”

“Shut up,” you retort, turning around with an indignant huff.

Tapping your pencil against the edge of your desk, you wait for class to end nervously, wanting to get out from Taehyung’s deep stare and from the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Maybe she’s blackmailing him. You don’t know why he’d even look at a bitch like her. Maybe if we hate her enough she’ll just transfer again. They aren’t even in the same social class. He sleeps on sheets more expensive than her rent.  

Words circle in your head like hawks, a lonely fox wandering in the desert, stranded and with nowhere to hide and no one to save it. It wants to just rip up all the dirt and burrow underneath the ground to where it’s cold and unsuspecting.

Where no one can touch it or talk to it. Where no one can break its heart.

“For the last pairing…” the teacher points to you, a long pink nail arched in the air, “since neither of you seem to be paying any attention in my class, I’m pairing you and Kim Taehyung together. I hope you can manage to pull whatever you have learned into a finished project.”

You open your mouth, standing up in your seat to begin a protest when the bell rings, loud and heavenly to your ears, zipping up and grabbing your bag just to be blocked by a small chest. “Move,” You lock your jaw and make your way from the expensive school bow, to the neatly pressed collar, to the long, thin neck of Myung-hwa.

You don’t need this right now. All you want to do is run into the darkest corner so you can cry and make it darker with a long pity party before you start on the project yourself. No way in hell you are getting anywhere near Taehyung again. 

“I said, ‘move’,” You try to shove past her plastic chest, but her frail hand reaches out to lock around your forearm in a vise like grip.

“Just who do you think you are?” Her voice is low, but by the way everyone is staring at you, you’re sure not a word is lost. “What kind of family do you come from to think that starting anything with someone of a different social status is okay?”

You’re so tired of this, fucking exhausted of all the shit, and the gossip and all glares of assault. You’re so done with the fact that everything is Kim Taehyung’s fault. So mad about how if you never moved you wouldn’t have had to transfer and you definitely wouldn’t have had to cross paths with your first boyfriend.

You wouldn’t have had to see him again.

And you could have just kept living as if he never existed.

He’d taken everything from you. He’d taken every last piece he could until you were stranded without a clue of where to go, of where he went. Of who you were without him. And apparently all of his wonderful friends knew about his triumphant steal too, because ever since you transferred they wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Sorry, I don’t have any interest ‘socializing’ with people like you,” you rip your arm from the snob’s expensively manicured fingers, sad you didn’t even rip a nail in the process.  

“Excuse me? I am the daughter of one of the world’s richest men, my father throws meals worth more than you down the drain every day-”

And there everyone goes again, making assumptions about your worth. You step forward, ready to backfire when a voice cuts in.

“Is everything okay over here?” Taehyung inserts himself in your conversation for the first time, deep voice grating against every one of your nerves and electrifying every space of skin.   

“We’re fine, Tae,” who knew rich girls were so good at lying? “just introducing ourselves.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment, weighing her worth in amounts of trust before cocking his head to look at you, “is everything okay…. Y/N?”

You snap back as if he’s struck you, scoffing softly and turning on your heel, ignoring every stare or hushed whisper as you slam the door to the classroom behind you and breathe in the significantly less hot air of the hallway, “like you care.”  

You can feel your face burning, ignoring the curious looks from your peers as you stomp down the hallway, trying to hold your head up and eyes straight. “Hey! Wait!” Taehyung calls from behind you, shoes pounding on the squeaky floor.

Your throat clogs, stopping for a split second before continuing faster. If you could just make it to the girls restroom…

“Hey,” Taehyung’s hand grips your shoulder, entire body convulsing at the feeling of him.

“Yah!” You startle yourself, twisting around in great agitation and annoyance, “what do you want? I have somewhere to be.”

“We’re partners…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you inch back, “I’ll do all the work myself and put your name on it.”

“But…” he reclaims the inches you’re putting between you two.  

“You don’t have to do charity work on me because you feel bad.”

“You’re not charity work,” his eyebrows furrow and you make the mistake of looking behind him for a split second to find everyone watching, Myung-hwa’s arms crossed and eyes shooting laser beams from across the hall.

“I’ll do it,” you repeat, growing panicked under more unwanted attention, you back up until you hit the stair railing, not letting him get a chance to speak before hurrying down.

“Y/N,” but he’s hot on your trail, wind lashing behind you as he continues to swipe for your elbow, your hand, your sweater, anything he can grasp to stop you from running. To keep you from moving away again.

Surging forward, he stumbles down the last step, falling against you and in turn sending you against the wall. A loud grunt leaves your lips and a pleased huff from Taehyung’s, finally getting a firm hold on your wrist and your back against the wall behind you as the harsh light plays shadows on your surprised face.  

You look up at him, “let go of me.”

His grip only seems to tighten around your wrist, thick lips parting as he holds you against the cool plaster, “no. If I let go, you’ll leave.”

“That’s the idea-”

“Well don’t.”

“Look, Kim Taehyung, I don’t know who you think I am or who you want me to be, but I’m not that. I’m not who I was four years ago and I’m sorry-”

His lips silence any of your further words, slamming you back into the wall as he forcefully kisses you. You are speechless, eyes wide open and staring at Kim Taehyung’s impossibly dark lashes.

You remember how he used to taste, you remember how he used to hold your hand and how shy he always looked when he’d brush against you or push your hair behind your ears. Little Kim Taehyung is nothing like his aged counterpart.

Little Kim Taehyung is but a novice compared the professional against you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You push him back roughly, lips tingling and stomach dropping through your ass. You want him back. And the feeling makes you sick.

“You said you’re not who you used to be… but you taste like you used to,”  his voice is laced with sigh, pulling back to open his eyes, “meet me after school for our project,” he pulls himself together as if nothing ever happened, “you remember where I live don’t you?”


It’s the big white house at the end of a long black road. The one with the curling iron gate and the expensive red brick to ground it. The one that looks like it’s worth more in one leaf of grass than your entire life savings.

The one you used to run down the halls of, screaming and laughing as Taehyung chased after you with his long legs in elementary school. The one where his mom always told him to take the couch and you the bed, but by morning he was curled next to you or you were snoring at his feet. The second bedroom up the stairs and to the right, where Taehyung stained his new satin sheets with tears as you said you were leaving for the summer. And the same room you had stained them three years later when he announced the relationship you had was over, moving off to an expensive boarding school while your mom moved you from one high rise penthouse apartment to the next. Guess a million dollar suite isn’t on the same galaxy as a ten million dollar mansion anymore. You suppose when you grow older things are run differently, and you understand why you’re parents never let you have play dates with certain kids and always dressed so expensively for every school affair.

There’s no room for a misstep. No room for false accusations or rumors.

And for Kim Taehyung there was no room for you.

Why are you even here?

Hitting the stainless steel buzzer, you tap your foot impatiently, wondering if maybe, just maybe you can make a run for it and say something came up. “Mr. Kim has been expecting you,” a small voice buzzes you in, crossing the courtyard quickly before anyone can see you walking to your own death.

“Welcome, Miss.” A well dressed housemaid opens the door, bowing to you as you pass inside, “you have grown well.”

You turn to her, startled, she doesn’t look familiar, but then again, you haven’t been in this house in four years. She gives you a small smile before shaking her head and gesturing for you to follow, “have you been well?”

“Yes, thank you,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, not letting any of the reflective jewels or glass catch your eye, “I trust you have as well. The house looks as beautiful and well taken care of as it did when I was here before.”  

You feel like you’re going into a warzone, a multi-million dollar, pristinely clean and crystalline war zone. Every step brings you closer to the enemy, every question from the housemaid is another for your demise.  

The stairs aren’t as tall as you remember, coming in front of that second door to the right all too soon, staring at the white paint and holding for a moment before the housemaid knocks for you. “Mr. Kim? Your guest is here.”

After waiting for a moment she bows again, a small smile bestowing her thin lips before she’s gone, moving with such grace that the thin hairs of her gray ponytail don’t sway as she moves, learning through her job how to be neither seen nor heard.

“Y/N?” The door swings open, soundless and smooth, revealing Kim Taehyung, half dressed in pants with a towel around his neck, collecting the sopping drops of water that fall from the ends of his hair.

“Did you forget I was coming?” You raise an eyebrow, desperately trying to keep your eyes on his face as his glistening chest heaves with laughter.

“No, I didn’t expect you to come at all.”

“Well you asked me to.”

“And since when have you ever done what I asked you to?”

Taking in a large breath, you turn around, “get a shirt on.”   

He chuckles, the deep sound going straight through your bones to punch a hole in your stomach as you hear the door close, cheeks red and fingers twitching at your sides as you stare at the wall and try to forget everything you saw.

You entertain the idea of running again, scared of being with him, but also too scared to let this opportunity slide. Your body has craved some sort of contact with him for years, your heart has pleaded to answer his phone calls and to hear his voice, when your brain told you to let him go. When your brain told you he didn’t want you anymore. That your worth was below his effort.

When the door opens again, Taehyung is fully dressed- much to your relief and disappointment, and he leads you into his room with a simple gesture of his hand, clenching your bag with a white fist as you walk past him, making it a point to not inhale his scent.

The light blue of his walls is so familiar, becoming confused at the similar room but different atmosphere, for everything looks exactly as it had, but the situation that brings you into it is entirely different.

He sits at his desk, laptop closed with a pad of paper and pen on top, beginning to spin absently as you sit on the very edge of his bed and let the silence encapsulate the space between you. Your mind is racing with a million things to say, all of the lines you’d rehearsed on the way over.

But now that you’re here you have nothing to say.

Giving your fidgety hands something to do, you twist your hair back into a bun, half hoping it will stay and half hoping it will not so you can have something to busy with other than watch Taehyung spin around in his chair.

“Are we going to start or…”

“You never returned my calls.”

You straighten, “I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Like hell,” he drops his pen on the desk with a sort of deafening click.

“I didn’t.”

“Well I did,” he counters.

“Then I didn’t want to listen.”

“Stop making excuses.”

“Are we going to work on this project?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You look at him for a long moment, grabbing your bag and standing up, “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not,” Taehyung is up and gripping your arm before you can talk a step towards the door, “you’re staying here.”

“Let go of me, Taehyung.”

“If I let go you’ll leave.”

You stop, swallowing thickly and shaking your head profusely, “why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” he holds your hand, “I gave up on you here,” he forces me to sit on the bed next to him, “and here,” he uses your hand to touch his heart, beating fast beneath your palm, “and here,” he brings your joined hands to his forehead, hair soft and smooth above his skin.

“You were the only one who gave up… I wasn’t worth your time and I get that now.” You say, pushing down the lump in your throat and trying to listen over the roaring in your ears as he continues to elaborate and correct all the wrong conclusions you’d drawn.

“My mother told me I would never see you again. And that a relationship would be unrealistic and foolish. She said it would hurt you more if I didn’t break it off and she threatened to cut my rich boy allowance off completely- and for a kid, that was a big deal. I didn’t know what I was doing until you started sobbing in front of me. Right here,” he points to the spot between you both, as if he’s marked it some grave sight in his mind for four years, “by then you were running out and it was too late. You didn’t answer my calls, my texts, my emails, damn Y/N I even sent you letters. I was so stupid.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” you square your shoulders and remove your hand from his, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hides his hurt with hope, trying to find your gaze, “when I heard a new girl was transferring in, I never ever thought it would be you. You’ve changed so much,” he fingers a strand of your hair between his fingers, changed in color and length from the last time he’d seen you, “but not at all.”

His dark eyes search your face, continuing on, “I thought I had changed too, but I haven’t. Not when it comes to you,” he grips your hand with more reassurance and brings it back to his chest, warmth radiating from his chest, “not here.”

You suck in your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, everything in your body stilling and speeding up at his words. The temperature in the room drops below zero and zooms to a hundred in the span of ten seconds, the time it takes for him to breathe rain down your throat and fire into your veins.


“I know it’s been a long time, but I haven’t forgotten you. Or us. What we wanted to become. Have you?”

You stare at him, a million thoughts racing in your head and nothing at all. A million contradictions fill you, overfill you, spilling in the tears with your cheeks and breath from your lungs. You feel relief and dread and fear and excitement and sadness and happiness and you can barely sort through all of them to find the word you are looking for, casting your head downward.


“Do you still want to become those things? With me?”

You nod before your brain knows what it’s doing, heart speaking out for you. Taehyung’s shoulders droop in relief, pulling you forward until your crashing against him in a hug, arms coming to tightly envelope you and scent wrapping itself around you.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he says, collectively, dropping bird-like kisses on your head.

Your shoulders shake, tears clouding your vision and clinging onto him like he’s the only real, tangible thing in your life, “hey, hey.” Taehyung urges you, forcing your head up to him. He watches you cry, watches the tears stain narrow paths down your cheeks and over your lips and down your chin. He watches them push down the space between you and land on his bed, soft, but too loud.

“Don’t cry,” his fingers brush across your face to collect the rain, “it’s okay.”

His words only break open a dam inside of you, crying turning into sobs as you try and hide from him, wanting to burrow your face into the soft cotton of his shirt and never come out. But he isn’t having it, he takes you between both of his hands, weighing the options as you break apart before him. So hauntingly beautiful.     

“It’s okay,” he says again, closing the distance between you to taste your lips, tonguing the salty flesh until the tears give way to sweet underneath. He moves closer to make sure you can’t slip away, pressing harder against you and breathing everything he has into you.

All of his strength and relief and love.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

Your desperate fingers push up the hem of his shirt, feeling his lean body beneath the cotton with growing desire. How many times had you imagined this? How many times do you wish he was there to crave those fillings you couldn’t?

With silent agreement Taehyung pulls back just enough to let you pull the fabric over his head, the string of saliva between your lips breaking as it passes through on its way to the carpet. His torso is ridged with quiet definition, small lines of muscle cutting across his stomach and beneath his pants.   

Next, his fingers inch under your shirt, goosebumps lighting beneath his path until the shirt is no more, the plain blue of your bra so pleasing to Taehyung’s eye against your skin, “I always loved how you looked in this color,” he baritone voice murmurs, looking down on you with a carefully consuming stare, “but I think I’d like it better off.”  

Your cheeks are still flushed from crying, makeup smeared below the rims of your eyes and hair falling from it’s bun. Taehyung takes your cheeks between his long fingers, getting to his knees so he can kiss you once before uttering the word, beautiful, nipping at the lining of your bra whimsically, nimble fingers reaching back to undo the clasp. The straps fall down your shoulders of their own accord, nipples hard and peaked not only from the harshness of the air, but from Taehyung’s eyes.

“Amazing,” he sings your praises, taking one of the rosy tips between his fingers and rolling softly, “so soft and pretty.”

You give him room to get between you, roughly exhaling as he gently licks your nipple before continuing down your stomach, tongue wet and warm against your chest. You watch with obsessive enthrallment as he disappears between you, humming every now and then as he leaves a trail of sweet saliva down your skin.

Taehyung lets his fingers tap leisurely up your thighs, watching you for signs of retreatment as the line of your skirt goes higher and higher, Taehyung’s face dropping lower and lower as the temperature gets hotter and hotter.

“Wait,” you gasp, Taehyung’s head snapping up to you in question.

“I’m sorry, did I go too fa-”

You cut his words off by standing abruptly, pushing your skirt to the floor and stepping out of it before hooking a finger under the elastic of your panties, wetting your lower lip before shoving those down your legs as well. Taehyung’s eyes wander from your ankles, to your knees, to your thighs, to your core and still up to your stomach and breasts and neck and face and all the way back down again, admiring you with a look of raw need on his voice, reaching out for you.

“Come here, princess,” he breathes deeply, unable to take his eyes off your shy figure as it sways towards him, plopping yourself down on the bed in front of him. You run your hands through his hair methodically, trying to calm your racing heartbeat as he plants flowery kisses on your legs, spreading them slowly.

“Taehyung,” your speech catches.

Taehyung looks up at you, reading what you want to say in your gaze as he nods with a smile, “I’ll be gentle, my love.”

You let your hands fall to his shoulders, the smooth chords of his back rolling beneath your fingertips as he leans forward, licking the innermost part of your thigh so playfully soft. You moan lightly, hips already shaking against his movements in sensitivity.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” He asks the intrusive question with such reserve, such a humble curiosity, you shake your head right away, telling the truth.

“Nobody could ever be you.”

His tongue snakes from between his pillowy lips to drag around your folds, the feeling of his wet muscle against your damp core giving you cause to dig your nails into his back, craning your neck towards the ceiling and moaning.

Taehyung lets out an appreciative noise, gripping the backs of your thighs in his capable hands so he can slide you closer, feet dangling closer to the floor. Breathing unevenly, you look down to find his eyes already even with yours, nose cresting your mound, chasing more of the unmarked territory with his tongue.

“I made a list of all the things I wanted to do when I saw you again,” his deep voice vibrates along your skin and ignites your nerves. You want to reply, but don’t trust yourself, looking at him in expectancy to go on.   

“I wanted to tell you I’ve missed you,” he plants a chaste kiss on your clit, throbbing with need, “and how much I’ve thought about you,” he moves down to fit his tongue into the tightness of your core, continuing on over the sound of your cries, “and how much I love you. And want to make love to you.”

Trailing the pad of his index over the place of his tongue, Taehyung seeks entrance, lightly pressing the long thin finger into you, listening to you whine and feeling you stretch around the simplicity of one, wondering how tight you’d feel at two, or three…

“How are you so beautiful?” He sighs, curling his finger up against your walls, intent on getting a reaction as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, “I can’t believe you came back to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Working another finger next to the first one, Taehyung observes as you unravel, ceasing to be quiet and forgetting to be modest in the face of pleasure, the burn of pain nothing compared to how unbelievably right it feels to have him inside of you. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally fitted together, completing the most sorrowfully beautiful mirage you’d ever seen.   

His speed increases, the wetness of you filling the air in oddly erotic squishing sounds, gripping his bedsheets with white knuckles and groaning at how he feels, at how utterly amazing this feels, “I- I want you,” is all you can manage to breathe out, pushing his face closer against you in desperation as he moves away.

“Lay back,” he instructs lightly, hands gripping your waist to help you against the pillows. The reality of this moment begin to sink into your bones, the abrupt fear and excitement tightens your frame and widens your eyes as he climbs over you, licking his fingers.

“Everything about you is so sweet. So sexy. So bewilderingly perfect.”

“Taehyung,” you whimper, lip quivering as he stares down at you, “I’m scared.” 

His gaze softens, smiling assuredly, “I know. But you have nothing to fear when you’re with me.”

You search his face, finding the courage to nod but not trusting your voice, licking your lips. You feel his hard, waiting length prod your thigh, tightening up beneath him at the contact and hearing him sigh tenderly.

“Flip over,” his wide hands grip your waist in feathery gesture.

“Why…?” You begin with apprehension, but you listen to him.

“I want you to trust me.”

You trust him.

You swallow, not making any sign of rejection but not affirmation either, trying to just breathe in and out, in and out as Taehyung’s soft hands glide up the naked curve of your back. Applying slight pressure, his fingers leak the tension from your bones, draw out all the fear and all the caution. His fingers are ridding you of clouds and stuffing you with sunshine.

Filling you back up with his love and his care.

Like you’ve wanted him to for so long.

“Taehyung… don’t hurt me…” You whimper, releasing ragged breaths as his tongue dips into the dimples at the base of your back.

“I’m not- nobody is- ever going to hurt you again.”    

Your bottom lip wavers, hot tears running down your face as his words scar your skin. The deepness of his voice draws blood from beneath your flesh, it carves out chunks of your bone and sucks streams of marrow from within them. He’s killing you to give you life.

He’s breaking you apart to make you whole again.

His warm hands grab at your waist, settling into their small curves as he rubs circles into your stomach, soothing you, “don’t be afraid,” he repeats, getting himself in line before moving his hips closer slowly, testing the waters before diving right in.

His palms work out the knots in your back, relaxing your sore muscles while you sink to your elbows, trying to catch your jagged breath and trying to breathe all at once, making a little sound in the back of your throat to let him know you’re okay.

To let him know you’re ready.

“I trust you, Kim Taehyung,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut so he won’t see the puddles in them as he spins you around, sheets too soft and too smooth against your back.

“Let me see you,” he insists, chasing the tears with his thumb.

Obeying, you blink away the emotion to find Taehyung aptly licking at his finger, tasting the salt of your sadness on the pink of his tongue. This boy is the most peculiarly beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The most profoundly passionate human you’d ever met.

“I trust you,” you repeat the declaration like it’s one of love.

His eyes roam over your features, looking for any lingering signs of hesitation, any indication that you’re not who he knows you to be, or any inclination that you don’t want him. That you don’t want this.

“Let me in then, jagi. Open up.”

Your lips part, seeking the taste and warmth of the person above you, moving your knees so they straddle his chest. Taehyung breathes autumn onto your face, he breathes falling leaves and steaming coffee cups, he breathes the smiling heat of summer and the intense cold of winter. He breathes color into you. He gives you more than grey.  

“Let me love you,” he puts his forehead against yours, “like you should be loved.”

The first push is long and deep, sensuality pouring from your lips. The pain is so beautiful, the alignment of your bodies is so artistic. The swamp of words unsaid is thick and tangible, years of penny wishes and birthday candles and shooting stars that all amount to this moment.

You’d never allowed yourself pleasure once in your life, never finding release in the slide of your hands or the intrusion of your fingers. You could never drown without thinking of him, without wanting him to push you under, without needing him to hold you down. But now he’s done more than that, in one ministration he’s got you completely submerged, he has you dripping and soaking from every crease of your lips to every cut on your skin.

“Because I’ve loved you for so long,” he continues, brushing the hair out of your face with a gentle hand, “let me show you.”

Everything about this is too perfect, too painless, too emotional. You’re waiting for it all to crash to the floor. For the vase of flowers to slide from the tilted counter and to shatter it’s round glass and spill its contents along the tile, drifting red petals along the floor.

You reach up with shaking hands to push the hair from his face, damp palms brushing over his temples. His eyes drift shut, moving himself deeper inside of you, as the warm cotton of his sheets slide along your back.  

It hurts so bad. But it hurts so good. Kim Taehyung makes the discomfort feel okay, he makes the pain beauty and the tension lax. With him, beneath him, it feels as if nothing in the world matters, none of your childish reasons to stay away or to never return his phone calls. His fingers press into your sides, leaving indents that are sure to bruise come morning, using his lips to leave more stains of possessive love along your neck, your collarbones, distracting you from the dissipating discomfort between your legs.  

You fall together in a cacophony of hushed passion, in foamy waves of whispered secrets and unforgotten memories. Of a million dreams filtered through the holes of your dream catcher and a million glasses of resolve shattered along the floor. You push yourself down the cliff of scattered wishes and clean cotton, falling headfirst to find Taehyung waiting at the bottom.

“Are you okay?” His smooth voice catches you from a reverie, forearms bulging at your sides as he supports his weight on top of you.

“I’m more than okay,” you say, moving your stiff arms from their sides and through the rippling strands of his hair, urging him to go faster with a moan from your lips and a tilt of your hips. Obliging without a thought, he snaps back into you like an elastic band, an addictive burn stretching you out and stuffing you up.

Pleasure consumes every atom in your body, ignites every nerve with dancing flame and every lick of blood with intense color. Your heart swells with love and happiness and appreciation for the absolute simplicity of such a complicated moment. At how nothing drives you, how nothing drives him, but love and respect.

You can’t name the moment you realized you weren’t getting over him, you can’t name the time you knew you still wanted him to be yours. Perhaps it was something you always felt deep down, from the second you walked out from his life until the moment you were forced to return. No one kissed you like Kim Taehyung did, no one gave you butterflies, and no one made you feel something like he did. No one made you feel as safe or as worshipped as him. And maybe he doesn’t deserve you anymore but you don’t care, you want him, you need him.  

A pit in your stomach begins to hollow, mouth open and bleeding with professions of lust and euphoria, telling him how good he’s doing, how great he feels, how much you still want him and love him. His breathing is fast and erratic, matching his pace as his skin rubs against yours, blessed friction giving you more stimulation along your thighs.

“I can’t believe how tight you are, how incredible you feel,” he rasps, putting his sweaty forehead against yours as he pounds harder, completely fucking you out in the best of ways as your nails claw at the smooth flesh of his back, “that’s it, let go baby,” he praises.

Tightening yourself around him, you struggle to feel every single sensation he’s feeding you as your high begins to power down, a thousand and one feelings flooding you at once in the name of Kim Taehyung. He’s providing you with something beautiful you’ve never been able to touch, he’s helping you reach what had been unreachable.

Moaning for him one last time you release, watching the popcorn of his ceiling blur into kisses and hearts and sighs. You don’t know how something can make you feel so broken and so whole at the same time…

But it seems like Taehyung has been blowing apart all the things you thought to be true.

He continues to ride your sensitivity, getting lost in the tightening of your warm walls around him as he plunges in and out, in and out, drawing from you like breath before going back in, murmuring just a little longer, as you writhe and whine beneath him.

A few more thrusts and Taehyung keeps his promise, burying his face into your neck and inhaling the addictive concoction of your scent as he pulls from you to cum, lines of seed arching from him to color your skin in white rivers, bleeding down your sides and onto his sheets.

Before you can blink Taehyung leaves and comes back with a damp rag, wiping the drying cum from your stomach and breasts with a soft hand, playfully kissing your damp skin. He can still taste you on his lips, the dreamlike state of perfectness still intact.

After a lot of convincing he gets you to roll over until he can pull the stained sheets from under you and get a blanket from beneath the bed to cover you with, rectangular smile breaking across his face as he watches you curl under it, so cute and so his.

“Taehyung,” you reach out, happy to be met with the warmth of his arms.

“Yes, princess?” He lays next to you, propping up on his elbow.  

“…what happens from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this real? Are we real? What are you going to tell your mother?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve grown up now and I’m not afraid of losing anything but you,” he runs a finger down your hair with a sly smile, “now, sleep. I’ll work on the project and put your name on it.”

“Nope,” you yawn, but settle deeper under his blanket, “that’s supposed to be my job.”

You snake your arms around his midsection and force him to stay down with you, “if I let you go, you’ll leave,” you steal his words, smiling with sleepy joy as your eyes begin to droop shut.

“Would you let me up if I promised to return?” He chuckles, kissing your forehead and watching your body relax into the bed, succumbing to sleep as you reply:

“Not a chance.”  

Guess who’s back bitchesss. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood smut dealer;)

~a.k.a Admin Eggplant


To be honest, when your father happened to walk past your room and glanced in, the last thing he had expected was to see you kissing Bruce Wayne. He just sort of froze for a split second, watching with wide eyes. His little girl was growing up.

His ears went slightly red as he quickly continued walking down the hallway, not wanting to disturb you. If he did, it would just be embarrassing for everyone involved so maybe he was just better off not mentioning it for the time being.

*not my gif

Escort (REQUEST)

Justin needing an escort for his family 2 week cruise and y/n is contracted. At first they don’t like each other but then a series of events leads them together.

Tugging my suitcase off of the dock, I sighed as I spotted my client and his family. I had been assigned a two week job, hanging off of the arm of Justin Bieber to keep his parents from nagging him about a girlfriend. I would have normally complained about a job this long, except, this was basically a free vacation.

Smiling as I approached the party of five, Justin noticed my presence and walked towards me, “Let me get that for you.” He went to reach for my case but I stuck my hand out, “I got it.”

Muttering something under his breath, he placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to his family. “(Y/N), this is my dad, Jeremy and partner, Chelsey.” I smiled and done a slight wave. This was already awkward.

Remembering that there were kids, I turned to look at them, “And who are these cuties?”

“My siblings, Jazmyn, Jaxon and Allie.” He pointed to them all individually and they smiled at me. I could definitely see the Bieber in Jaxon.

When checking in was complete, I found out that Justin and I were sharing a cabin, great. Putting the card in the door, it lit up green before he pushed it open, revealing to us the plush room. Considering that this was a ship, the room was extremely spacious and the bed looked incredibly comfortable.

My thoughts were cut short by the sound of Justin’s voice, “Look, here’s your money. You don’t have to fuck me or whatever you escorts do, just make it look like you’re enjoying yourself, alright?” He tossed a cheque onto the bed.

My jaw dropped and I crossed my arms, “Excuse me?”

“You heard.”

“First off, that’s so rude. Second, escorts aren’t prostitutes; we “fuck” through mutual consent, that part is not what I’m paid for.”

“Just try not to piss me off on this vacation. I’m already stressed enough having to bring someone along, I’m going to the bar.”

The door slammed and I stood glued to my spot on the lavish carpet, stunned. How could somebody be so disgusting?

Deciding that Justin was not going to be the bane of my existence (though he was slowly becoming it), I undressed and slid on my bikini, slinging a t-shirt dress on over the top. Taking my spare key and sunglasses, I made a trip to Jeremy’s room, knocking on the door.

“(Y/N), hi. Where’s Justin?”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes at his name, I smiled, “He went to the bar. I was wondering if the kids wanted to go to the pool? To give you guys time to unpack and whatnot.”

His face relaxed and he, too, smiled. “That’d be really nice, actually. Come in, I’ll get them ready.”

I stepped inside to see that the room was identical to ours, with bunks for the kids. I smiled at Chelsey and she returned it, so this wasn’t Justin’s mother? I decided not to pry, after all; I was just doing my job.

Walking along the deck with the children, they bombarded me with questions; I didn’t mind, they were cute. Jaxon cheekily asked if he could hold my hand and I knew this one was one to watch. Immediately, I knew that these fourteen days were going to be slightly easier because of them.

“Can you guys swim?” I asked. I didn’t need anybody dying on my watch.

“Yeah! We all got lessons!”

“That’s great! Be careful, though. I’m here if you need help.”

I smiled as they all jumped in one by one. Sitting down on the edge to get in, I spotted Justin watching me, jaw clenched, glass of rich brown liquid in his grasp. Breaking eye contact, I got into the water too.


The first few days were somewhat frustrating, but manageable. I’d successfully managed to ignore Justin, and only interacted when necessary; at dinners, for example. Sleeping beside him was awkward and almost unbearable, I could practically feel him edging closer to the side of the bed, on the verge of falling off, I contemplated sleeping in the tub several times.

But it was that Thursday I saw a side to him that I was yet to see, warmth. Jazmyn, or as I’d learned, Jazzy, came into our room, asking that I do her hair for Chelsey’s birthday meal. Whilst waiting for me to finish my own look, Justin played with her and I even heard a laugh or two from him.

I smiled as I watched through the mirror, though it broke as I saw him glance at me. Despite being able to hold my own, and bite back - Justin still made me nervous. Intimidated, almost.

“Jazzy, are you ready?” I asked, standing up from the dresser and flattening the skirt of my dress.

“You look nice.”

Turning to see him now stood, hands in his pockets, I smiled a little, “Thank you. You too.” He nodded and walked into the bathroom, my heart pounded.

Dinner was tolerable. I mainly found myself absorbed in the kids, it was the only time I didn’t feel under pressure. Jeremy and Chelsey were lovely people, but I couldn’t help but notice their questioning glances toward eachother at the interaction, or lack thereof, between Justin and I.

“So, (Y/N), will we be seeing you again after this vacation?”

I choked on my wine and Justin’s firm hand came to pat me lightly on the back, before he spoke for me, “Who knows. Our schedules are pretty hectic, right, (Y/N)?” I quickly nodded.

As we made our way to the room, Justin placed his hand on the small of my back, I avoided making any sort of eye contact, my evident surprise would be given away.

“You’re really good with my siblings. Do you have children?”

I glanced up at Justin and saw him removing his shirt, I looked away; “No. I wouldn’t have the job that I do if I did. They’re sweet and making this trip easier.”

There was silence for a moment and I was wondering if I’d said something to make the tension in the air ten times worse. Probably.

“Look, I’m sorry for my outburst, it was uncalled for. Perhaps we could, I dunno… start over?”

Unzipping my dress, I reached for my camisole and slid it over my head, “Sure. Apology accepted.”

He climbed into bed, “You know, they mean a lot to me. If you hadn’t have been as good to them as you are, I probably would have ignored you for the rest of the trip.”

My brows raised and I joined him, still keeping a fair distance between us, “Good to know.”


“And then his wife shows up, oh my gosh, you can imagine the look on his face. I just stood there, I didn’t know what to do,” Justin laughed as I told him a story about my previous client, “Here I am, in this Tom Ford dress, made especially for me at his request, in front of about a hundred people, with his wife threatening to tear it off of me and make me walk home in my underwear like the ‘whore I am’.”

His face dropped a little, “She said that to you?”

“You’ve gotta laugh at it, really. I was just doing my job. I mean, at the end of the day, who was $3,000 richer and could walk away from the situation without actually getting their ass kicked? Me.”

“I’m sorry for judging you,”

“It’s fine. It happens all the time.”

“(Y/N)! Come swim with us!”

I looked over at Justin, “Join us?”

It was nice to see a fun side to Justin, not a harsh, insulting one. Standing at the side for a moment to watch as Allie and Jazmyn performed their synchronised swimming routine, it was all fun and games until I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, “Justin!” I screamed as he pulled us into the water, a large splash being created.

Coming up for air, he laughed at me and I pouted, “That was mean.”

“Aw come on, (Y/N), don’t be like that…” His arms re-slipped around my body and held me close, “I’m sorry,” He whined in a baby voice.

My heartbeat sky rocketed as he looked down at me, the close proximity making me want to be swallowed up by the non-existent current in the water. Our eyes met and for a split second, I watched as his eyes travelled to my lips before back up.

My breath hitched as Justin leant in. Everything felt like it was in slow motion and before I knew it, his lips were on mine. It took me a second to respond, but once I did, my arms wrapped around his neck and I pulled him closer.

“Get a room!”

Pulling away, my cheeks flushed red as I saw that it was Jeremy calling from the side of the pool. Justin chuckled and squeezed my hips, “Is there a possibility that I could see you again after this trip?”

I gulped, this trip was strictly professional. I’ve received this offer many times, from many men and each time I have refused since I wasn’t to mix business with pleasure, but with Justin, I found it hard to say no. This man was captivating, and I was intrigued to get to know the real him.

“It’s possible,” I smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss.

nobody said it was easy

Headcanon: Scott gets bad nightmares, and always has, and when a terrible one strikes in the middle of the night after the turian ark, no one can wake him.

(Scott/Gil, AU Scott is a teammate, his sister Sam is the Pathfinder, read here on AO3)

Gil stirred in his sleep, blinking awake into the darkness of the crew quarters. The solid roof of his bunk was above him, and the silence throughout the rest of the ship told him that it was the dead of night; or whatever version of night that they used in the middle of space. He tried to close his eyes again, feeling the heavy tug of sleep, but something else in the room other than Suvi’s gentle snores caught his ear.

It was Scott’s voice.

He shifted, hanging his head over the side of the bunk, half expecting Scott to be sat up reading, mumbling the words quietly to himself under his breath. But his little overhead lamp was off, there was no blue glow of a datapad, and as Gil’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that Scott appeared to be asleep.

But his sleep was fitful, his head turning from side to side, his blanket on the floor from where he had kicked it off, muttering things to himself in his sleep.

“Scott,” Gil whispered, hoping to stir him enough to knock him out of his dream and send him back to sleep, but it didn’t even earn a reaction. He thought about just leaving him to it, knowing that it would likely pass in a moment or two. He lay in the dark for a while, listening out for the evening out of Scott’s breathing, but it never came.


Keep reading


Full email Adam Lanza sent to his mother in response to her feeling like she wasted her life, age 16:

“You do not seem to understand that I was attempting to comfort you with what I consider to be a maxim with which to live. You unfortunately probably still do not understand what I mean. As a disclaimer: I type nothing in this that is in a tone that is condescending, vindictive, malicious, snide, malignant, or any synonym that you can think of. I mean well.
If you believe that you wasted your life, as you seem to have insinuated, you will gain nothing from regretting it and will only depress yourself; you cannot change anything from the past. There is something that I can assure you of that will always be true: it does not matter if you live for the next one year, five years, ten years, fifteen years, twenty years, thirty years, fifty years or even 100 years; the day before you die you will regret ever worrying about your life instead of thinking of what you want to do.
Every new year that you do live, you will regret not having started anything that you wanted to do the year prior, only regretting the past more.
What I mean is that you should think of what you want to do today; not starting next year or next month, but today. Thinking that you are not going to be able to do anything in the future will only ensure that fate. Also thinking that you are too “old” is going to ensure the same fate.

It is not as though I do not mean that you are homeless and begging; I would spend my life savings to prevent that out of obligation for what you have done for me. My personality is merely inherently unmoving; I will not be upset over something that you cannot change. And you should not be upset either. What you should do is think about what you want to do.
I also want to mention that I purchased something two weeks ago on Newegg to double your computer’s memory without even saying anything until now. I do not try to avoid doing anything for you as you seem to think. I am glad that I was born, and I appreciate your having taken care of me. (It is not my fault if you have not detected as much of an increase in speed as I would have liked, however; I blame its outdated processor. I would change that if I could, but it’s not possible to do so for your model.) Please read the first paragraph again.

Nancy’s response back:

I appreciate your effort to be a comfort to me. I apologize if I seemed angry or antagonistic. I was simply over emotional and as it is often the case worrying about the future. I admit that I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed by my circumstances lately, but in no way do I regret having raised two wonderful children. I have high hopes for you both and will consider my life a success if you and Ryan live happy and productive lives.
There are a few things that I do regret … one of the biggest is that I dropped out of college, believing it to be more important to help your father get through college. Financially, it was impossible for us to afford a college education for both of us, and it seemed more important that he receive a diploma. In some ways I regret leaving the workforce as it has severely limited my prospects for the future, but again, it was a decision that I made to take more responsibility for the house and the children, and to allow your father to concentrate on his career. I do feel that I was able to be a better mother and have been able to put great effort into raising you and your brother, so that regret is mitigated in that respect. On the occasion that Ryan or you show some appreciation for my efforts, I feel completely justified in that choice and dually rewarded.

I know that it is harder for you to show appreciation, and that it does not come as a natural response. I really do not want you to feel obligated in that way. I do not expect any help, financial or otherwise, from you or your brother, and would not accept it if it were offered. I am certain that I will not be homeless or begging on a street corner, as your father is obligated by law and morality to see that my 30 years of service and sacrifice are compensated for. He has assured me that I will live a comfortable life and that my health expenses are covered. He is an honorable man. I am grateful that I was married to someone who honors his responsibilities. He has also taking [sic] responsibility to provide a college education for both you and your brother, so that neither of you will have to struggle and sacrifice as we did.
If you choose to, you will emerge from college with a master’s degree of your choice, debt free, to pursue any career in life that you wish. When I think of what I would like to do for the future, I think I would like to get my college degree first. I just thought of that tonight, as a direct result of my conversation with you. I think it would be possible as I dropped out only a year shy of my degree, and it seems as I might be spending quite a bit of time on campus waiting for you to take classes, so why not take advantage of that?! I suppose I could take classes at the same time you are taking classes.
I agree with you when you say that I should try to think positively of the future and what I want to do today. There is nothing that I can do about my diagnosis, and I do try to be as healthy as I can, despite the prognosis. I am sure that you noticed that I exercise regularly and do my best to stay in good shape. It’s not like I have the attitude that since I will be crippled anyway I may as well give up and get fat and sedentary now. I am working hard to stay as healthy as I can, for as long as I can.
At some point, I might like to start a business. I sometimes toy with the idea of an internet business like my friend, [L], owns. (Did I punctuate that last sentence correctly?) Her website is [xxx]. You should have a look at it sometime and let me know what you think of it.

Anyway, I would like you to know that no matter what, I am very proud of the person you are. I have no preconceived notion of how you should react or respond. I know that you tend to be more reserved and less emotional and I do not perceive that as condescending malignant, or callous. You are pragmatic and stoical. These are fine attributes. I am glad to know that you are glad to be born and appreciate being taken care of. I love you very much and am more than happy to take care of you in any way I can. I suppose I have felt that you didn’t even notice how hard I try to make things as tolerable as possible for you and that has made me feel sad in a way. I am much happier now, knowing that you do not despise me for bringing you into this world. Above all, I want you to be happy, no matter what you choose to do.
You may not think I notice, but my computer is working faster and I have been able to download bank statements faster and search the websites quicker. I was able to get baseball scores for all the games in a split second, and watch a video clip that a friend sent without any freezing. I didn’t know that you had worked on it, so I thank you for your efforts. You should let me know when you do thoughtful things so that you can get credit! As an aside, I am having a problem that has been ongoing for months. The cursor abruptly moves to a different place in text now and again when I am in the middle of typing a sentence. It is very strange and annoying. Maybe you can have a look at it sometime? Thank you for taking the time to send me this e-mail. I now understand your motive and meaning, and I truly appreciate it!

Snowfall All Year (Pt. 1)

A/N: I missed Christmas by like 15 minutes, so let’s say I didn’t miss it. Okay, so I got a new laptop,, meaning I may just get to post more seeing as I’m writing more. I was thinking of doing a Latina!reader series of fics/drabbles seeing as I am Mexican-American. Idk let me know what y’all think?

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 3,993

Originally posted by daeguboy

Summary: He loved you so much, he couldn’t say it, but he couldn’t just let you slip away, so he used you for company. Halfway to his psychology degree, he lost you, but a white lie brings you back to your childhood friend, first love, and first heart break.

You could never understand what was so beautiful about the snow, it was honestly glorified rain. You had never cared for the snow, nor did you hate it, it was just there. No matter how fleeting though, you wished he loved you like he did the snow.


You stretched to find Namjoon sat upright, sheets fallen to his waist, looking out the window. Dawn’s light was shining on him, and you were mesmerized. He looked like a Hellenistic art piece while you were a mere onlooker, the best you could get was beneath him.

“Namjoon?” You spoke sleepily as his face remained unfazed, transfixed by the white Christmas before him.

“It’s snowing,” He simply stated, voice wiped of any grogginess, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He mused, not particularly caring of your opinion. He never did.


You glanced from the window to the time, 6:54 am, about time to go begin a 24-hour study session for your exams. Thankfully, the campus library was open 24 hours just about everyday, and you had picked the first snow day, meaning not many people would be there.

Reluctantly, you slipped from your year old sheets and slipped on a large white turtleneck over your jeans, casually adding white tennis shoes and a white beanie to the mix.

Your phone vibrated as you reached for your denim jacket mindlessly to help face the cold, “Hello?” You spoke, not looking at the contact name.

“Hey cutie, where are you headed on a Saturday?” Your friend, Sooyoung rang through the earpiece as you located your headphones, plugging them in.


“It’s closed, hang out with me,” She whined as you opened the door of your apartment, greeted by a harsh slap of the cold hitting your face.

Your face scrunched up at the sensation and the news. Why was it closed in the first place? You knew the first snow was special to people, but you didn’t expect it to be this special.

“Then I’ll go to Western Cafe,” You sighed, “Why is it closed? And how do you even know?”

“Beats me, I wanted to see if I could find someone to give me their notes for philosophy, but it was closed,” She mused, “I should probably just call Namjoon.”

“Yeah, he’s a really sweet guy,” You spoke sarcastically, “Last Christmas with him was by far the best.”

“You should’ve just flown home, I swear,” Her voice dripped with hints of guilt, “Christmas is tomorrow, are you going home this time?”

You scoffed, “To what? An empty house? My family has a habit of vacationing without notice, too risky.”

“Then let’s get you a nice fuck buddy to last you till then tonight,” She chirped.

You rolled your eyes, “No, I hate parties, and I told you yesterday I have to study,” You stated, crossing the street a few blocks over to the small coffee shop, “Even if you know how great I am at detachment with the no strings attached deal,” Sarcasm slithered its way into your voice once more.

“I know this time of year must kinda suck, but you can’t close yourself off,” She whined, “Namjoon did some pretty shitty stuff for a shitty amount of time, but don’t let that interfere with your life.”


“Do you even love anything?” You snapped wrapped up in sheets, but still unravelling each time his fingertips ghosted on your bare shoulder.

A sense of hope ebbed and flowed through you in vain, just like it did each time you asked this question, each time you got into these fights.

Namjoon was a psychology major and had noted that yelling is unproductive, and you bad noted how in love with him you were, so your fights were usually calm with a violent atmosphere.

His eyes only faced the window at your question, “I love the snow,” He simply stated, “I love myself enough to tell you that I don’t love you, not yet, probably not ever you know that, right?”

The room fell into a heavy silence, but he remained unfazed as your eyes cast down. You had been shot down before by him, but not like this, not this vulnerable. Your throat dried up as you desperately wished you could suck the words back into your mouth, but his response landed on your shoulders delicately but with an outstanding mass, just like snow. Over time, he would respond like this, and you would be fine, but each time it began to weigh on you more, until eventually, the foundation you built to love him snapped under his lack of connectivity.

You had no one to blame but yourself for the two years wasted trying to light a spark with an emotional dud.

“You know, I think I finally do,” You let out a humorless laugh as you slid into your clothes.

This sound made Namjoon turn to you, “Oh, did I hurt you? How unfortunate for you,” He mused as your eyes casted down again after you got dressed, “ Are you leaving? For how long this time?” His voice was sickly confident considering your history, “I hurt you a lot, don’t I?”

You nodded, “Almost as much as I love you, how funny,” You responded, grabbing your phone, “Maybe if I cry outside you’ll fall for my tears? Maybe you already have at this rate,” Your voice cracked, “Maybe I should love myself enough to never come back.”

His lips curled into a sickeningly beautiful smirk, “You can certainly try, it would be a sight to see,” He mused, “Loving yourself enough to become more than a pastime is a good goal, I applaud the declaration, but not the cycle of execution you have,” Your entire body sunk in embarrassment, he was right, “Maybe I’ll look in your eyes and you won’t smile one day, how interesting would that be? Did you ever imagine that, a time where you don’t love me?”

“You do,” You sadly confirmed,”I’ve thought about only you loving me for so long, I haven’t given myself time to, maybe I should give the execution of your fantasy a shot,” You confirmed, “Maybe I’ll love someone else someday, maybe even myself,” You almost giggled at the thought, “Goodbye Namjoon, Merry Christmas,” You began walking out.

“See you later,” He simply hollered as you left, letting your tears fall with the snow he adored so much.


You sighed, about to open the door to the shop, “I have to study until 7, at least, okay? Then I’ll hold your keys for 5 hours and sip a soda.”

Her squeal was shrill, but still gratifying, “Okay cool see you at the Alpha Delta house!” You rolled your eyes as she hung up, opening the door to the cafe, ordering your usual drink and setting up your study space in a secluded corner.

Namjoon smiled as the snow touched the exposed areas of his skin while he approached his favorite coffee shop. He would often people watch there, and he couldn’t think of a better day to do so.

Upon ordering, he found that someone was sitting at his usual table. The barista that was utterly infatuated with him offered to move then, but he refused. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit somewhere else, but something snapped in him when he saw the face of the mystery person. Your face.

You were there.

You were just typing away, both you and him unaware of the way his heart sped at the sight of you watching cram videos while you studied weeks in advance and sipped your drink. He wanted to be annoyed by you taking his seat, but he determined that is like being angry at the universe for prioritizing Starry Night over himself.

Namjoon’s lips unknowingly twitched upwards for a split second as he watched you chew your lip while you were consumed with studying. He hadn’t properly seen your face in over a year with the campus being so large and your classes differing.

You had changed your hair and developed your own individual sense of style. You had become your own person instead of his fangirl, but he wasn’t quite ready to input that into his mental file he unknowingly had of you. He found himself staring for quite a while before deciding to sit.

A few hours in, you were nose deep into your laptop as someone approached you, a vaguely familiar voice requesting to sit in the chair in front of you. Your headphones were in, so it was a bit muffled, but it was comprehensive. Too lazy to look up, you assumed the other seats were taken and just nodded mindlessly. The person’s face was blocked by your laptop screen, thankful you could avoid awkward eye contact.

Eventually, your break alarm vibrated your phone and you turned it off, beginning a 15 minute break. You sighed, laying your head on the table, looking at the snow pile up.

“Are you studying so that you don’t have to bring your books home?” The presumed male asked.

“I’m not going home, but I have the day off and nothing better to do, “ You participated in the mindless small talk, “Why are you here?”

“I like watching the snow from here,” The person mused, “Stunning, no?”

“It seems I identify with the snow in certain aspects, so no, not at all,” You deadpanned.

“Psych major?” You cringed at the question.

“Had a fling with one,” You responded, “Plus I take a psych class,” You chuckled a bit, “Incorporation of self deprecation is also a specialty of mine, even in small talk with strangers.”

“Are we strangers now?” The man spoke, “I suppose that’s accurate.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you lifted your head to be face to face with a now dirty blonde, still adonis, Namjoon. He smirked a bit, but it faltered as you stared at him. He noticed the way your lips formed a frown, going the opposite way they used to, “Hello, y/n.”

The day he so fantasised about finally came.

Any sense of light in your eyes replaced by his image in your pupils. Any hint of a smile wiped by the subconscious cringe you exhibited.

He now realized his fantasy was no more than a melancholic nightmare he crafted with the first words you said to him in your reunion.

“Eat a dick,” You snapped, now noticing the empty seats and tables surrounding you.

He blinked in surprise. You had rarely been so crude, especially to him. He noted the change in tone and vocabulary you developed since that last time he saw you, last Christmas.

“One year and my greetings are mindless insults now? What development,” He scoffed, eager to see your reaction. Part of him wanted to see you breakdown, but many parts than he could admit wished to see your smile as you looked at him once more.

Instead, you frowned, “What do you want?” You asked incredulously, “What could I possible have to offer a douchebag of your royal caliber?” You huffed.

“It’s neat how your personality switches like that to me,” He observed, “Defense mechanism?”

His heart subconsciously tightened as the harsh words hit your face, but this was the only way he could get you to talk to him. He felt like an elementary school boy.

“Yes, I get angry after seeing someone that once hurt me, what a revelation you got there,” You seethed, “Wanna over analyze my blinking to feed your ego some more?”

“You’re such a child,” He stated, slightly annoyed at the fact that your reunion had minimal impact on you.

You could swear he could hear your heart pounding out of your chest. You blamed it on his beauty, because despite how much he infuriated you, he was still a work of art.

“You’re such a prick,” You snapped back.

His face curled into a smirk as you prepared yourself for the icy words he would throw at you, “Tell me, have you become promiscuous?” You learned your cheek on your right hand as your eyebrow quirked, “I want to see if my hypothesis was right.”

“That in my heart numbing pain, I’d cling to anything that would make me feel?” He nodded and your entire face scrunched in absolute disgust while he reveled in a reaction from you, “Oh yeah, I suck dick, fuck dick, eat dick all damn day,” You retorted sarcastically, “I’m actually conversing with one right now, amazing I know.”

His smirk fell as he felt the final blow of your icy words strike his walls, crumbling them, “You were never this snippy towards me.”

“I was an exceptional idiot back then,” You remarked, “Now what do you want? I’m busy,” You clipped, starting to type again.

“I can’t check in on an old friend?” His smirk was alive again as your typing ceased, fingers stilled.


“Go away!” You shouted, a smile permeating on your face as Namjoon simply shook his head, looking up at you from the window, “It’s just another day!”

“Nonsense!” He shouted in response from your front yard, “It’s your 17th birthday, and I refuse to let you spend it alone!” You giggled as he pouted while holding balloons and wearing a party hat, trying to hold the massive cake steady, “What kind of sad excuse of a best friend would I be if I did?”

You sighed, “I have to stu-”

“Study tomorrow!” He simply hollered back with his dimpled smile following suit.

After a few hours of eating cake and watching movies, you looked at your phone to see your parent’s picture of their scenery from their hotel out of town and sighed at the thoughts in your head. You had been working up the courage to ask this question you grasped onto anything to preoccupy you, until you let your mouth open, “Namjoon, you’ve had sex, right?” You immediately covered your mouth as he looked at you, swallowing hard.

“We’ve been friends for 13 years, you know I have, why?” He questioned.

“I…I just want to get it over with, you know? I’m not exactly pretty and I don’t want to not ever… and I was… nevermind this is ridi-” You were cut off by a kiss from Namjoon.


“Fuck off, our friendship ended a long ass time ago,” You rolled your eyes, “I’m not the kind of ‘old friend’ you check up on, I’m the kind that you see in passing, but only think, ‘Wow, I sure fucked up with them,’ not come and bother me.” You snapped, “I don’t what you want Namjoon, but I know I’m not giving it to you-”

“Not anymore? What a shame,” He sighed, looking at the snow again.

“Is there a point to this-”

“We need to talk,” He spoke almost ominously.

You paused, your eyebrows scrunching together at you stared at his now serious face, “Why? Are you pregnant?” You moderately joked but he stayed straight faced.

His phone buzzed and he sighed, “Not quite, no,” He replied, “Look, I gotta head to my weekend class, so can we talk tonight?”

“Namjoon, what-”

“Okay see you then,” With that, he was gone, and you could finally breathe again.


There something amazingly beautiful about the way you cried. Your head casted down, hair shielding your face the best it could as light sobbing sound emitted from your beautiful lips. All Namjoon could do was watch in pity with sprinkles of pure awe. You were so beautiful. Each tear fell so delicately, emulating the snow outside your parent’s house. You were sat on moving boxes for your new place and were slouched down into a vulnerable sit with your hands press against the box under you.

“Y/n, I thought you said you wouldn’t cry,” Namjoon sighed, “It’s just a little move,” He fumbled a makeshift comfort system together, because as beautiful you were, it still hurt to see you upset.

You only shook your head, “I’m not crying because I’m moving,” You sniffled, “I’m crying because I’m in love with you, Namjoon,” You sobbed.

“You can’t love anyone until you love yourself,” He simply replied.

You shook your head again, “Bullshit,” You spat, “I love you so much I can’t even focus on how much I utterly hate myself,” His heart stopped as you looked him in the eye.

It was a bittersweet confession, because Namjoon has been waiting for this for 10 years, but he didn’t wait for it to not lost. He wants you. He wants you forever, so he can’t have you now. Not until you both learn how to love yourselves, especially him.

With that conclusion, Namjoon nodded, “Let’s continue packing, shall we?”


As he was sitting on the couch in the middle of a busy party, Namjoon wondered where it all turned to shit. When did he start loving himself more than he thought to love you? When did his self-indulgence begin to destroy you? When did you finally begin to love yourself? Was it when you stopped loving him? Was it when he rejected your love but not your body? He was finally ready to love you, but you didn’t seem to love him anymore.

He sighed as his phone kept vibrating, his mother. He put his face in his hands in frustration. He had lied to her and your parents, and he needed you to help fix it.

“This seat taken?” A familiar sullen voice reached his ears, and he just shook his head, not bothering to see who.

You sat down, looking at Namjoon as your beloved friend took body shots, “So let’s hash this out now,” You spoke, “What did you need?” Namjoon looked up at you.

He studied your appearance. You were wearing a plain dress with fishnets and a coat. He took note of the makeup and gave you a once-over, “It’s snowing out there,” He stated.

“And I’m wearing fishnets, I know,” You sighed, “Now what is it?”

“I lied to our parents,” Namjoon blurted out and you blinked.

Namjoon was a lot of things to you. He was an asshole, prick, and all around fuckhead, but he was no liar.

He sighed as you remained gaping at him, “I really don’t want to go home for Christmas, since I like to study, but she wouldn’t take that excuse anymore, so I-” He heaved a large sigh, “I told her I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend, you,” He looked at you as your eyes flared up.

“What the fuck?!” You yelled, your voice falling on a majority of deaf ears to the pounding music, “Why-”

“And they told your parents,” He cut you off and you sighed heavily, “Who want to skype on Christmas day with us since they’ll be traveling.”

It wasn’t like you had any plans, but you were far from keen at the thought of spending it with him.

Nevertheless you sighed, “You’re such a fuckhole,” You grumble, “Fine, I’ll meet you at your dorm tomorrow morning, dumbass,”

You hated parties. You hated drinking. You did like dancing. Did you dance well? Who knows? All you knew was that the guy trying to bump uglies wasn’t too bad, so you went along with it for now.

Namjoon watched you with a sour look in his face. He had no right to feel so heated, he knew that, but that didn’t stop him from clenching his fists. All his life he protected you until you reached college. Then he ruined you, and now he’s watching his friend’s slimy hand roughly caress your sides, treating the art that was your body like silly putty.

The rando’s hands touched your hips and you closed your eyes as his breath hit your ear, “Did you want to g-”

The moment was short lived as Namjoon pulled him by the cuff of his collar, “Jiminie,” His gruff voice made your hairs stand as you turned to see a very attractive, now flustered, guy who looked small in comparison to the towering figure that was Namjoon who smiled condescendingly at the guy, “Why are you touching what isn’t yours?”

Jimin’s eyes widened, “Hyung? You have a-”

“No, he doesn’t,” You snapped, pouting.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes at Jimin, “Off limits,” He simply said as jimin’s eyes went wide in realization.

“Fuck off Nam-” You were cut off by a kiss from Namjoon.

A sloppy, possessive, and unbelievably unnecessary kiss.

Namjoon didn’t know how or why, but he knew that it was almost like a reflex.


“Y/n, stop pouting,” Namjoon spoke as you sat across from him in the university library while he studied, “You’re supposed to study too.

You huffed, deepening the unbelievably cute pout that made him bite back a smile, “Studying is stupid,” You whined, “It’s snowing out, let’s go do something,”

He sighed heavily, glancing at his books again, “Later,” He simply stated and a whine slipped from your mouth as you stared outside.

You were subconsciously pouting and his heart filled with warmth. Your fingers were tapping to a random beat as you leaned your chin on your other hand, watching the snow fall. Namjoon studied your features for what had to be the billionth time in adoration. Namjoon loved you, he knew that, but he couldn’t admit it yet. He deemed it best to build a better relationship between you and your self-esteem before you and him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to confess. All he wanted was to have you as his, love you as his, keep you as his.

He just couldn’t bring himself to say, “I love…” Namjoon was ripped from his thoughts as your eyes snapped to him with hope twinkling in your irises. He realized his vocalization and panicked, “The snow,” He finished off the sentence and you pouted again, only to have your bottom lip retreat as he kissed you like he usually loved to when you made that face.


Namjoon kept his lips mashed on yours until Jimin awkwardly slipped from sight and you managed to push him away, ignoring the ache in your heart as you did, “What is wrong with you?!” You shouted, “We talk once after a year and it’s suddenly okay to do this bullshit?”

Namjoon blinked, “I…I’m sorry, that was just a reflex,” He sighed and your heart jumped.

Despite that you scoffed, “Well it’s been a year so get that shit out of your muscle memory,” You snarled, pushing past him, “I need to go home-”

“Stay at my place,” He blurted and you turned to face him with your most perplexed face.

“Why on Earth-”

“7 a.m. Skype call, that’s why,” Namjoon’s smirk made a reappearance as you relented, following Namjoon to his car.

“You’re all over the place today,” You mused, buckling your seatbelt, “How unlike you.”

“Your aggression is unlike you,” He countered and you scoffed again, leaning your head against the window, closing your eyes as the cold glass cooled your forehead.


It was autumn now, and you still hadn’t called him, let alone even looked at him, but he looked at you. He longed for you. He was so close to being able to love you, but you were so far away now, and he had no one but himself to blame.

You were across the room of the party he was at, looking just as uninterested as you always did at places like this. You busied yourself with your phone, unaware of the staring Namjoon.

“I’d fuck her”  Namjoon turned to Jimin, who had just spoken to Jungkook.

“Me too, no doubt,” Jungkook agreed, “That quiet girl, right?” Jimin modded and Jungkook groaned, “Probably a freak.”

Namjoon usually dismissed their talk, but it was when he realized they were mentally defiling you, he could no longer stand it.

Imagine Meeting Jared at Starbucks

12:28pm. Okay. You have almost exactly three hours to finish this paper and get it turned in online. You and a couple of your friends were going to spend Spring Break following Mars around. The third show was today. Your midterm paper in your history class was also due today. The show tonight was 3 hours away from school though, so waiting until you finished your paper and driving wasn’t an option. Your friends decided that you’d go and drop them off at the venue to wait in line while you found some place to work before meeting back up with them. 

You found a Starbucks close to the venue and it was honestly your best option despite the teenage girls in Uggs who continued to walk in and out to order venti frappuccinos and drink themselves into diabetic comas. 

You needed three more pages, which probably wouldn’t have been too hard if you’d actually been paying attention all semester, but you were having to read all your documents now and it was getting very stressful. 

12:30pm, you glance at the time again. It’d only been two minutes but you were frustrated at the fact you hadn’t written or read anything in those two minutes. You turned up the music on your headphones a little louder, hoping it would help you concentrate when you saw a group of guys walked in, there were maybe 7 of them which seemed a little odd. They got in line and it didn’t take you long to recognize Jared and a few members of the crew. 

Your heart races for a split second as you weigh your options of getting up and saying hi or not. You look back at the blank page on your screen and shake your head, you were going to the show tonight, it didn’t really matter and you didn’t want to seem like a creepy stalker and run up to say hi. You wouldn’t even know what to say. Everyone runs up and says hi. It wasn’t like you’d be memorable in anyway if you were to do the same. 

So you go back to writing your paper. Someone must have seen the multiple Mars symbol stickers on the back of your laptop because you could see from the corners of your eyes that they all took turns glancing over towards you as they waited for their drinks. But you tried to act like you couldn’t tell though you did lower the volume completely of your music so if they said anything you could hear them. 

You forced your fingers to type out an entire paragraph before you spotted Jared walking over with his coffee in hand. He stood next to the table you were at but didn’t say anything. He probably thought you were an idiot for having not noticed him and not saying anything, it was clear you were a big fan. Holding yourself down in the chair you think quickly it might be fun to mess with him. 

“Please don’t bother me right now, I’m busy” you mutter just loud enough that he’d know you were talking to him without glancing up from your computer as you pulled out one of your earbuds. You typed another few words. 

Jared didn’t say anything, he let out a slight laugh though before beginning to say something but quickly stopping as he realized you weren’t giving him the time of day. You could tell he was trying not to laugh as he walked back over to the group he had come in with. 

Some of them were still waiting for their drinks when your glanced over and caught Jared’s eye for a split second. He was still watching you for some reason. You looked back at your screen quickly and went back to typing, sipping the last of your coffee. 

A couple minutes later, a new drink was being set beside your old one and Jared was sitting down across from you, “Do you hate me or something?” he asked as you glared up from your computer, clearly more annoyed than you’d meant to seem. 

“No, I just drove three hours with my friends so they could get in line for your show and I have to finish my midterm or I’m going to flunk out of school. I just really don’t have time to be talking.” you flashed a smile at him before looking back at your screen. 

“What’re you writing?” he inquired, trying to lean over and glance at the screen. 

“You’re very nosey.” you laugh as you turn your laptop away from him.

“I like your stickers.”

“I’d hope so." The two of you sat there for a minute as you quickly typed out another sentence that just came to mind before you glanced at the coffee he had set down. "Did you buy me coffee?”

“I thought you hated me,” he shrugged as if it were nothing. You noticed that it was exactly what you’d ordered before, he must have asked the barista.  

“I don’t hate you, I just like my 3.7 GPA more than I feel the need to act like a groupie.”

“I don’t have groupies,” Jared scoffed and shook his head. “That was in like, 2006.”

“You have groupies, don’t be stupid. You’re just a little harder to get to than you were in 2006.”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own drink, “Where are your friends?" 

"Sitting at the venue. They were first in line when I dropped them off," 

"Kinda fucked up you’re making them hold your spot.”

“I’d do it for them.” You shrugged as you could feel him watching you while you typed out another couple sentences. 

One of the guy’s he’d walked in with motioned towards him and Jared nodded back. “Here,” he grabbed a napkin and began scribbling something down before passing it to you. “What’s your name? I’ll tell them you’re calling. Just call Reni, this is the number. We’ll get you and your friends some VIP tickets, or maybe just them since they’re the ones sitting outside waiting to get to the front." 

You smile and take the napkin with the number on it, introducing yourself and shaking his hand as he stood up to leave. "Thanks,” you nod, setting the number aside to call as soon as you finished the paper. 

“Good luck on your paper,” Jared laughed as he waved and headed out of the coffee shop with the group he’d come in with. 

You sit there for a moment and try not to laugh and call your friends immediately. “Finish. Your. Paper.” you state out loud to yourself, glancing at the napkin with Reni’s number on it, using it as your new form of motivation as you began coming up with sentences to type faster than you had been this entire time sitting here.


I will fight your fight
and I won’t let go (x)

135/365 Days of Outlaw Queen


Luke Hemmings

Requested? Yes :)

Hey I know you’ve said yor busy but if you find time could you do like an imagine where you’re on a road trip with Luke and you go to some little b n b/motel to stay in over night and the owner is a cute old woman and she’s talking to to about how both of you remind her of her and her husband when they were young ? :) thank you if you have time

I don’t know how I feel about this one so I hope you guys enjoy it.

Luke’s POV

I looked from the darkened road to the slightly dozing beauty in my passenger seat, her head lolling lightly to the side as she breathed gently. My heart constricted instantly, the fact that she still made me have butterflies pleased me immensely as I thought about how much she was going to love the place I found on tour, hopefully our new place.

My hoodie looked huge over her hands that rested on her bent knees, her socks way high up her legs without shoes as she made herself more comfortable. The radio hummed gently in the background, different from earlier when it blasted road anthems over her repeated ‘WHERE ARE WE GOING’S as the sun soaked into our skin.

The world took on a brown tint through my sunglasses, tanning her skin, her soft hair, and her beautifully flecked eyes. Now, my eyes squinted tiredly whilst I resisted the urge to reach over and stroke her. Any part of her. Her hair, her face, her bare legs. To draw a heart in the frosty window that her velvet breaths made clouds on.

Dragging my eyes back to the lonely road, the headlights illuminating parts of the road that I otherwise wouldn’t have seen, a sign approached reading motel.

I looked from the sign to her and back and forth until I made the decision in a split second to stop after watching her shift around uncomfortably. The slight swerve shook her as she breathed sharply, sitting up as she rubbed her paw hands over her sleepy eyes.

“Sorry honey.” I whispered as we slowed in the small parking lot.

“S’okay. What are we doing?” She mumbled back as I switched off the ignition, reaching for our bag in the back seat.

“Getting you a bed.” I chuckled as I brought it back, swinging out of the truck I borrowed off Ashton and sloping to her side so that I could help her out. Her heavy eyes sparkled in the light reflecting from the motel, smiling mid yawn as I offered my arms to scoop her up.

Her head rested on my shoulder as I walked as smoothly as possible towards the door, her slow breaths sending heat through my veins like a shock as my body purred in response to her soft touch.

A small and old looking lady looked up as I entered as quietly as possible, smiling as I placed Y/N in a small chair in the lobby, bringing myself back to the front desk as I opened my wallet.

“Room for two?” I asked as I slid out my card and placed it on the counter.

“We have one but I’m afraid it isn’t made up, love.” She whispered back as my head turned to make sure Y/N was ok, watching her snoozing again.

“I can have it made up for you now, but it will take around half an hour. We’re quite busy.” She continued, watching her with a large smile as I nodded tiredly.

“That’s fine. Thank you.” I turned to gently scoop her up again, sitting down so that she could rest her head on my chest as she snuggled in again, bringing a smile that I couldn’t gulp back down onto my face.

The lady called her husband, an equally frail looking man that caused me genuine concern as I wondered how the two were still working. I watched with my brows furrowed as he went off to do the room, the lady turning back to me as she let out a melodic laugh that reminded me much of Y/N’s.

“I know what you’re thinking dear.” I looked down, blushing deeply as she continued. “We are quite old, everyone always thinks the same thing. How are we still working? No one ever expects my answer. It’s simply because we’re-”

“Together.” I cut her off as her blue eyes sparkled brightly, mine finally meeting hers.

“You’re the first to realise.” She said softly, still looking at me in surprise. She came closer, sitting in the chair next to us as she spoke again.

“You two remind me of me and my husband. You look lovely together.” I grinned at her, my eyes flicking to her as I brushed a stray hair out of her eyes.

“Where are you two heading?” She asked as my eyes lingered on my girls face.

“I’m surprising her with a place I discovered. It’s called pine top, I think.” Her mouth formed a round o at my words.

“Let me show you something.” She stood suddenly, moving swiftly for such an old looking thing. She went behind the counter, beaming as she reached under the wall to retrieve something that was stuck there. She hurried back, gently grabbing my hand to shove a picture into it as I studied it.

The faded Polaroid, yellowing and curled at the edges but so clear it cut through me easily. The boy and girl in it, both extremely attractive and content looking were hugging, the girls back to his chest as they sat propped by a tree. The sparkling lake in the background, the other tree marking the clearing to the high point. The sun looked high in the sky.

It looked exactly the same as to when I had discovered it.

“This is you and your husband, isn’t it?” I asked quietly as I hesitantly handed it back.

“She’ll love it.” She replied as I stared at her in awe, watching her fingering the paper lovingly. “I did.”


“Is the normal desk lady in?” I asked excitedly as the young girl blinked back at me.

“She’s just gone for lunch with my grandpa, can I help you?” She tapped her fingers on the desk at her waist as I reached into my pocket, looking at the picture one more time before I handed it over. It burned in my mind, the same lake and the recreated position of me and Y/N, now one of my favourite Polaroids of all time. I couldn’t give her the real thing, but a copy was better than nothing.

“Can you give this to her? I think she’ll know who it’s from. Can I borrow a post it as well or something like that?” She placed them in front of me as I scribbled hastily.


I hope this matched the request well enough for you guys!

You can request any type of writing here!