My sister doesn’t even stir when he enters my room. His footsteps are silent, but the air gets so cold that I see my breath. My little sister shivers and cuddles even closer to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my waist. I hope she stays asleep.
I know he’s tall and thin, but that’s all I can see. My room is so dark that everything else about him is masked in shadows. My breathing picks up. He’s standing by my side of the bed.
He stares at me and as he does, the spots where his eyes should be begin to glow an eerie and vacant white. He continues to stare at me, unblinking and still. Finally he moves.
He lifts his hand up and gently places his bony and icy thumb to the swollen part of my left eye. He rubs it soothingly. I still don’t move. He adds more chilling fingers to my face and gently trails them down my cheek where an old scar is before he runs his index and middle fingers over my lips. The swelling has gone down, but my bottom lip is still split.
His hand leave my face and moves to my arm. He grabs my right wrist and pulls it up to examine. My self-made marks of mutilation have faded, but are still fairly easy to spot if one is looking closely.
The noise that emerges from his throat is soft, but there is the faintest emotion of despair and amusement to it.
He delicately places it back on my bed and then picks up my left arm. And now his hold on me tightens painfully, but I still don’t make a sound and my sister still remains asleep. And that’s all that matters.
He chuckles as he trails his cold fingers over my freshest cuts and they bleed through the hastily-made bandages I put over them. But these self-made cuts are different from all my others. These cuts weren’t made in a fit of rage or in a moment of selfish weakness where I forgot about my sister and wished for death.
No, this new cuts are…pretty. They are more carefully made and decorate my arm with beautiful dripping red designs of eyes, pentacles, numbers and symbols I don’t understand and didn’t bother to look up. What I put on my arm made no difference to me. All that matters is that it worked.
His lips part and I see a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth smiling at me. He leans closer to me until his lips touch my ear. Cold, he’s so cold.
“Slow or quick?” His voice is soft and whispery, but I still hear the amusement and pity laced with each word.
I look at my sister. I can’t see her newest set of bruises in the dark, but I know they’re there.
“Slow,” I hiss.
He chuckles again and leaves my room. I hear my parents scream. I smile, hugging my sister closer.
Warnings: SMUT. Excessive use of pet names, mentions of bruises and small cuts, oral sex (fr), unprotected sex, slight spanking, instead of his metal arm Buck-Buck has a full sleeve of tattoos, he’s hot. This is for the second part.
So I sent ans ask for @bucky-plums-barnes Sinful Sunday about Bucky having a full sleeve of tattoos and being the kind of guy your parents always told to stay away from, @ryverpenrad said they’d write another version of this, so I’m tagging them and my wives @sexylibrarian1 and @thecrownedrose Because I love them!
Soooooooooo, does Bendy enjoy being short? Becuz he could probably just shapeshift into a taller version of himself if he wanted. . . right?
“Wrong. What, you guys’re some kinda experts on this stuff? It takes concentration, ya know? Longest I ever held a form that wasn’t my own was only a few hours, and it was exhausting. Like trying to balance on one foot. Fine for a while, but not forever.
Anyway I don’t ‘enjoy’ being short, but I don’t not. It doesn’t bother me, not sure where you got that idea. I am what I am. And my audience loves me the way I am.
I mean, look at me, I’m adorable.
My height ain’t almost ever a problem. I’m not in the market for a change.” -BTDD
DALLAS WINSTON; or the brooklyn kid. new york has always been too big for someone so little. he’s nine and smoking in back alleys. ten and sleeping in jail
cells. eleven and loses his mother, breaks his heart. but there’s no use in fixing what he doesn’t need anyway. so he picks himself up, and moves back home.
DALLAS WINSTON; or a spitting image. his great-grandfather left a bloody fist that bruised the following generations. his grandfather left a kick that would crack the bones guarding his heart, and his father left a family that couldn’t last without him. so he fights with the fists or his great-grandfather, kicks with the anger of his grandfather, and hates with the heart of his father. he refuses to forgive and forget, so he buries the hatchet in other people.
DALLAS WINSTON; or tough, cold, mean. they don’t see the way his lips turn downward when the small boy with black eyes comes to him crying, broken, bruised. or hear the way he convinces the young boy with auburn hair that his brother loves him, because theres nothing more he wants than to have a home to go to. he doesn’t show that he cares in the way other people do, and therefore they dont understand him. so he lets them talk and assume and figures he’s better off the way that he is anyway. tough, cold, and mean.
DALLAS WINSTON; or ruthless. he’s the blood under your nails. bite mark under your scarf. blue-black bruises and a rip in your sunday dress. he wants you in the wild way, the three a.m. drive and forest fires and the red scream of the sky at sunset. you want to hold his hand, hold him. like a rainbow embracing the clouds after a thunderstorm. you want romance, you want to be in love. he laughs and tells you there aint no such thing.
DALLAS WINSTON; or the small things. he reckons new york was always better for him. tulsa is too small, too cramped, too many people with their eyes on him. but he stays for the tall trees he sits under when the sun is unforgiving. he stays for the boys who are more loyal than the new york hoods could ever dream to be. he stays for the warm weather, fresh air, and good times. but most all, he stays for the small boy with dark eyes and dark skin. the boy who has somehow found himself tucked comfortably under his wing, who makes tulsa worthwhile.
DALLAS WINSTON; or brotherhood. the familiar get-ready gaze when the beginnings of a fight arise. in this life, its his only sense of family. bruised fists clink together beers and they laugh through bloodied teeth. they have the same scars, same stories, same fucked up heart. his shirt is covered in blood, he doesn’t know if it’s his or someone else’s. the boys don’t notice, don’t care, they’re all the same anyway.
DALLAS WINSTON; or an abandoned house. empty bedrooms and rotted floorboards. they creak under your feet and you think at any minute they could send you falling. fast heartrates and uneasiness creeping up your spine. the light never reached him like it did others, all his corners are dark, hidden away. you stay for a night and are gone by day.
DALLAS WINSTON; or st. christopher. patron saint of traveling. he sits in a gold pendent against his chest, been from tulsa to new york just to go to tulsa again. he wonders if he’ll ever hang it in a home, if he’ll ever have one. he knows the streets like he should know hallways and closets and bathrooms. one day he’ll pack a bag, throw it in a trunk, and drive off with no one but st. christopher, hanging on the rear view.
DALLAS WINSTON; or grim triumph. life did nothing but wear him down, exhaust his seventeen year old soul beyond repair. the guns went off into the night and in the split second he had, he grabbed his st. christopher, smiled, and let the bullets take him somewhere he didn’t know. he’d seen enough of the world, anyway. he was ready to go home.
Description – The reader meets
Newt in their first year at Hogwarts and their friendship goes through the
years at school.
A/N – I was up at 5AM with this
in my head and I finished it at 10AM but then I had to go to work so I couldn’t
upload it till now. 8 pages long, so proud. I’m thinking of doing a part 2 with
the ball itself, what do y’all think?
Your heavy bag weighed you down
as you pelted down yet another identical hallway to your next Charms class. If
you didn’t hurry, then you would most certainly be late once again and that was
something that you really couldn’t afford right now. You constantly tried to be
a good student but with all the moving staircases, trick doors, and such, it
really didn’t take much to disorient a clumsy student such as yourself.
As time marched forward, you
pressed on, struggling to keep pace as you ran out of breath. It was when you
ran around a corner that you slammed into another student. Both his books and
yours skidded across the stone floor.
“S-sorry.” The boy stuttered,
hurrying to reach his scattered notes with shaking hands.
“No, it was my fault, I’m sorry.”
You apologised, helping gather everything up, no longer caring if you were late
to your lesson; you had always been raised to believe that if you created a
mess then you should stop and help fix it.
The boy couldn’t find the words
to respond. Nobody had ever apologised to him before, mainly because they all
found him to be weird. It surely meant that you didn’t know who he was then
because no one in their right mind would apologise to the “Freak of Hogwarts”
You looked down to his books, the
main titles were ones such as, “The Heroism of Killing a Creature” by Vladimir Greystock,
“The Only Uses of Animal Parts” by Henrietta Bagmiles, and “The Trapping of
Magical Creatures” by Elie & Brunhilda Gardham.
“Jeez, that’s a lotta books about
killing creatures. Why do you want to hunt them so badly?”
Newt was taken aback by the
question, it meant that unlike the other students, you really didn’t know who
he was or about his interest in preserving the lives of magical creatures, “I-
I don’t. I-it’s just that the material on magical c-creatures is somewhat
sparse and the only people who know w-where they are do so b-because they
h-hunt them. I-I-I’m going to change that.”
It was only after the bold
statement that Newt lost his little confidence again, he was awaiting the
taunting laughter, name calling, or some other such manner of teasing; perhaps
a hex or jelly-legs jinx of some form.
“Wow,” you beamed a toothy grin,
“That’s really cool. I’m (Y/N).”
You stuck out your hand, Newt
recoiled momentarily, wary of some new form of prank. You waited patiently and
after about a minute he gently grasped your hand, you shook it heartily. For a
fleeting second Newt dared to look you in the eye, he was astounded when he
found your gaze to hold no malice or contempt, just genuine happiness that he
had shook your hand.
“So, do you have a name or am I
stuck to calling you new friend?”
“Yep, we shook on it, didn’t we?”
“R-right. I’m Newt Scamander.”
“Newt? That’s a funny name.”
“Yeah, I like it though. Muggles
don’t have names like that, but I’m finding that a lot of witches and wizards
have great names like that.”
You nodded, unashamed, despite
some of the mean comments you had received due to your heritage; it seemed that
you were one of only a small handful of muggle students, perhaps that would one
“It’s okay though,” You beamed
with pride, “because I’m in Hufflepuff and they haven’t had much to say about
it. Hey, check out your tie, I guess you’re in Hufflepuff too. How come I
haven’t seen you in the common room before?”
“Oh, I um, I usually spend time
in the l-library. S-so who bullies you? Is it the S-slytherins?”
“Hmm, no, not in particular. It’s
mostly Gryffindors, I guess all that bravery gives them something to hide
behind. We’ll see how they hide from a good hit in the nose though, see ‘em try
to magic their way out of that. Say, are we going to just sit on the floor and
talk or are we going to head somewhere comfier? How about the common room?”
Newt swallowed, he had never had
a friend, not even one in his own house. If you were truly his friend then
surely, he could confide something, albeit something small, other things would
come later, “I don’t f-find the common room to be all that c-comfortable.”
“Oh… Well how about the owlery?
Since you like animals so much. I’d say the paddock but I’m not supposed to be
seen right now, seeing how I’m accidentally missing class right now, never mind
though. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Okay… The owlery then.”
It had taken almost an entire
year but Newt finally stopped stuttering around you. Mostly. To say he had a
small crush on you would be an understatement. He adored the way you listened
to all his ramblings, even when they just tapered off into a comfortable
silence. Then there was the way you always remained loyal to him despite what
the others told you about his strange ways, although he wished you weren’t so
confrontational about it. Once someone had cursed him with a spell that made
him trip into the mud whenever he tried to walk. By the time you found him,
there was quite a crowd gathered and you had received a detention for punching
the boy who had done it as well as throwing his wand into the lake; it took the
teaches quite the effort to convince the merpeople to give it back. Another
thing that added to Newt’s adoration of you was the many times you’d covered
for him with the other teachers; Newt would often wander into the Forbidden
Forest until the late hours of the night, it was at these times that you would
create some excuse of where he really was or what he was doing.
As a way of thanks, Newt had taken you
to the Forbidden Forest more than once to show you some of the creatures he had
met. On occasion, you would help him build nests for the various unusual
creatures that inhabited it. You even sometimes helped write notes on the
creatures’ behaviours and lifestyles.
Newt couldn’t tell you his
feelings of course. If he did that would surely be the end of him. He expected
that a hole would appear on the ground to swallow him up; after all, stranger things
had been known to happen.
“Newt?” You approached him in the
owlery, disrupting his many wonderings.
“(Y/N)!” He squeaked, falling off
the wall he had been perched on.
You snickered, offering a hand to
help your fallen comrade.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“I looked for you in the paddock
but you weren’t there so I rushed over here instead.”
“Because you’re my friend and
today’s super important.”
You eyed up Newt incredulously,
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
You shook your head in disbelief,
then pulled a card out of your cloak, “Happy Birthday Newt.” You rejoiced
loudly, sending a couple of the owls into a panicked frenzy.
Fresh tears hit the back of
Newt’s eyes as he took the card with tentative hands. He never made much of a
fuss on his birthday since nobody else did, you on the other hand had been
planning the day for months, awaiting it with eager anticipation.
“Come on, open it, open it, open
it.” You bounced up and down on the spot.
Newt did and found a card with a
Beagle puppy in a party hat with a colourful ‘Happy Birthday’ at the top. The
inside had a crudely drawn stick figure with the word ‘Bowtruckle’ written next
to it, followed by lots of X’s.
“(Y/N)…” Newt was almost
speechless. “It’s lovely, thank you. I-I think it’s broken though, the- the
pictures aren’t moving.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s supposed to be
like that. Muggle cards don’t move.”
“Oh, right.” Sometimes Newt
tended to forget that you were muggle born, “Hey um, what are the X’s?”
“They’re kisses, silly.”
“Yep,” You continued, oblivious
to the Newt’s growing panic, as well as the red spreading over his cheeks that
wildly contrasted his ashy brown hair, “We put them in our cards when we’re
friends or family with people. Don’t wizards do that?”
“I-I-I’m not entirely sure. I
d-don’t often s-send cards.”
“Hey, you’re stuttering, are you
okay? Oh, are you unwell?”
You placed your hand on Newt’s
forehead. He backed up as far as he could against the wall, leaning as far as
he could. “Come on Newt, stay still, you’re too tall for me to reach up there.”
You pandered, “If you’re unwell it’s okay, we can go to the hospital wing.”
“I-I’m fine, I just liked the
card, that’s all.” Newt’s voice was still fairly squeaky until you relented and
backed off, giving him some room to breathe.
“Alright. Oh, I need to give you
“Y-you got me a gift?”
“Of course I did, now close your
eyes, I left it at the bottom of the stairs so you wouldn’t see it.”
Newt did as ordered while you
hefted his gift up the spiral staircase. You set the gift down in front of him
with a light thud. “I uh, couldn’t find anything to wrap it in,” You stated,
“but you can open your eyes now.”
Once again, Newt followed your
instruction. In front of him sat a brown suitcase. He reached out for it
delicately, stroking the smooth leather in awe, “(Y/N), it’s beautiful.”
While Newt truly did find it to
be the best thing he had ever received, he would have said the same thing about
any item presented to him by you, even if it were just a leaf you liked; any
gift from you was sure to be precious.
“That’s not the best part.” You
twitched excitedly. “It’s enchanted, you can climb in it and everything. Not
sure why you would, but you never know. It’s so you can travel like you wanted.
I know you can’t really use it now but when you’re older you can go everywhere
and have enough room to keep, like an entire house in there. There’s even a
muggle mode so they won’t catch on.”
Newt looked up to you guiltily,
“(Y/N)… Those kinds of enchantments don’t come cheap… How much did you-”
“Not another word Scamander, this
is my gift to you – no returns or exchanges. The cost doesn’t matter.” You
folded your arms to show that you meant it. It truly didn’t matter that you’d
saved up for the better part of a year to buy him the gift, your logic being
that you didn’t have any other friends to buy for since they avoided you
because of Newt.
“Thank you (Y/N), thank you.”
Newt wanted to hug you for the
thoughtful gift, instead he reached out, unsure of what to do, pulled back his
hand temporarily, then settled for patting your shoulder awkwardly. You smiled
brightly, as far as you were concerned Newt had practically jumped on you in
his own way; any form of contact was his very own, anxious way of showing
Newt searched the castle grounds
frantically for you. He had heard about a particularly rough interaction
between you and another student over your muggle heritage and although the
stories of what had happened changed between each passing student, one thing
was for sure, you hadn’t come out on top.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Please let
me through.” Newt rushed past the milling students, searching over the tops of
their heads in the hope of finding the merest glimpse of you.
“Oy, creature lover, looking for
that filthy excuse of a date you have?” A Slytherin heckled, much to the
delight of several other students.
Newt froze in front of the
Slytherin, wishing that he could be braver or even simply look the other
student in the eye, “(S)he’s not my- Never mind… W-where i-is (s)he?”
The student sneered, proceeding
to take the mick out of Newt’s stutter, “T-t-try the b-b-b-broom closet where
all the l-l-losers b-b-belong.”
Newt rushed to the nearest broom
closet where he could hear you whimpering from within. The throng of students
had since dispersed, each heading to their own classes.
“(Y/N), is that you in there?”
Newt called through the door.
“Go away.” You yelled through a
“(Y/N), please come out. At least
tell me what happened, please? I promise there’s no one else here, it’s just
“No. Go away Newt. I don’t want
“I’m not leaving (Y/N), not until
you tell me what happened.”
There was a long pause before you
answered. “I lied to you.”
“Every time I said it didn’t hurt
when I got called names. Why does it even matter what my parents are? WHY DOES
EVERYONE HATE MUGGLES?”
“… I don’t hate muggles. In fact,
I think muggles are wonderful. (Y/N), I’ve seen you fight your way through
three years of this, whatever’s happened now can’t be too bad really can it.
Now come on, come out here.”
“I’m not coming out.”
“Then let me in.” The words came
out as a frantic plea.
There was no sound for what felt
to Newt like an eternity, during which he feared he had lost you. Then, much to
his relief, he heard the latch click open. When Newt entered, he slammed the
door behind him, locking it as promised. The second he saw your face he knew
the reason you were so upset. Words such as ‘freak’, ‘pathetic’, ‘worthless’,
and worst of all ‘mudblood’ were scrawled over every inch of your face with a
scabbing spell; the resulting scabs leaving trails of blood mixed with tears
down your previously smooth skin.
“Oh (Y/N).” Newt whispered,
reaching out cautiously.
The gentle tone of his voice
brought on a fresh bout of tears, you collapsed into his arms. Newt held you
tightly against him, slowly lowering himself and you to the floor while you
wept. For once in his life, Newt never had to wonder what to do or how to do
it, the time spent with his animals had taught him to gently stroke your hair
and whisper soothingly.
It was after that day that you
allowed yourself to be more vulnerable around Newt, so long as it was just him.
In those moments, Newt was always a natural at calming you down and cheering
you up with various random facts.
When the fourth year rolled in,
the school announced that the fourth years and above would be taking part in
a Christmas Ball.
Ever since the announcement
students had flocked to their sweethearts to ask them out and in truth you
yourself had received a few surprising invites; each of which you’d turned down
in the hopes that Newt would ask you.
Newt had spent endless nights
pacing around the empty common room thinking of ways he could ask you to the
ball without stuttering or messing the thing up entirely. Should he ask you as
a friend even though he wanted to be so much more? If he asked you would he be
too scared to dance, to touch you? Would you kiss him? Would you punch him?
Could he be bold? Was it wrong to ask by owl? There were simply too many
unforeseen possibilities, too many questions. As such, he left it, convincing
himself that he would ask you the next time he saw you; it was always ‘next
The days rolled by, turning into
weeks. Most students already had their dates, outfits, and entire evenings
planned out and you were still alone, hanging your hopes on Newt. You had long
since caught onto his crush on you, he was hardly subtle about it, and from
your long time spent with him you definitely had feelings for him in return.
One week away from the ball you
were lying awake in your dormitory when you heard a crash from the common room,
followed by a muffled “Bugger.” You grinned, getting up from bed to find Newt;
it was honestly a miracle that he hadn’t woke any of the other students or if
he had then they didn’t care enough to check out the source of the sound.
When you reached the common room,
you saw that Newt had tripped over one of the many throw pillows left by the
“Lumos.” You whispered, summoning
a bright light from your wand.
Newt shifted backwards, tripping
into a yellow beanbag with a mumbled “Oh dear.”
“Newt, calm down, it’s just me.”
“(Y/N)? Oh, thank God, I thought
I was going to get in trouble for being out past curfew.”
“Yeah well… Hang on, what
happened to your shirt? Jeez Newt, you’re bleeding. Give me a sec.”
You cast your wand around the
room, lighting the candles and bringing light the room once more. Upon closer
inspection, you saw that Newt’s hair was dishevelled, he was covered in dried
mud, and that three large gashes ran from his neck to his stomach; fortunately,
they weren’t too deep.
You sighed despondently. During
your years with Newt, you had become handy with medicinal magic, learning it after
you’d seen his other injuries. Some had left scars where you had been too
inexperienced or had done a quick patch job but more often than not you had
healed him to perfection.
“Alright,” you nodded, “Take off
your shirt, let me see what I’m working with here.”
Newt turned crimson, averting his
gaze from you. Although you had seen it all before he still got embarrassed
every time you had to treat one of his injuries; mainly because it usually
involved him removing an article of clothing. Nevertheless, he did as
instructed, removing his tattered shirt and getting up to sit on the desk chair
where you usually treated him.
“How’d it happen this time?” you
asked, stroking lightly at the edge of the first scratch with your thumb to see
how deep it truly was.
“Just found out that you need to
bow to a hippogriff first. Didn’t get away in time.” Newt muttered in response.
“Ah, I see. Was it Jerry?” You
summoned a sponge and water from across the room to clean the wound before
“J-Jerry?” Newt stuttered, trying
not to focus on the shivers your warm touch brought.
“Black one with white tips, when
we were watching them I named her Jerry.”
“N-no. I-it was the g-g-grey one
“Ah, that would be Wilson. Hmm?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I could use Terago to stop any
further bleeding but healing this is tricky, maybe if I combine it with… Yes,
that should do it.”
You pointed your wand to the
injury, “Terago,” the remaining blood cleared away, “Episkey. Reparifors.”
As suspected, the three spells
combined worked to a positive effect, leaving only sore red marks where the
gashes had been.
“Alrighty then,” you grinned
proudly, “you are good to go Mr Scamander.”
“(Y/N) wait,” Newt shot up off
the chair, finally ready to ask you the question that had been weighing on him
for weeks. “I know a few people have already a-asked you but i-if you h-haven’t
answered them yet then m-maybe y-you could t-tell me, w-would you p-please… um,
would y-you uh… lend me y-your potions homework.” He finished lamely, mentally
cursing himself for being such a cowardly fool.
You released the breath you’d
been holding, shaking your head with a weak smile; clearly you were going to
have to take the upper hand. “Sure. By the way, I have something to ask you.”
“What?” he sighed dejectedly,
still disappointed in his failure.
“Would you like to go to the Christmas Ball with me?”
You raised your eyebrows, “No?”
“Not no. I mean yes but… Oh God I
ruined it. I was supposed to ask you and then you did and this is all my fault.
I couldn’t just get the courage to ask you because then it would have been
perfect and everything would have been-”
You could have watched Newt
babble the night away but you decided to end his suffering quickly, “Newt,
sweetie, calm down. It really doesn’t matter who asks who, does it?”
“Well… No, I suppose not.”
“So? Is it a yes?”
Newt reached out to hug you,
barely hesitating at all now, “Yes.”
You closed your phone, gulping. You felt guilty, angry and a bit lonely in a way. Taehyung was your best friend since old trainee days and talking to him like that made you bit your lip so hard it would bleed. You didn’t like what as happening at all. You felt selfish for not trying to give her some chance but that girl hurt you so much in the past that there was no turning back for Shinhye.
The fact that she now is getting her way threw Taehyung’s heart is breaking you inside. You knew you would cry sooner or later but for now you decided to stay tall and exit your room off to the dance room, if you weren’t gonna sing better practice those dance skills of yours.
Entering the room you were quite surprised to see Jimin and Hoseok already here. They looked kind of worried and they both walked up to you, Hoseok putting his hand on your shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Are you okay (Y/n)?” Asked Jimin unsure of what he shall do to make you smile again.
“I’m just… quite… “ You sighed, sitting down on the floor soon joined by your two caring friends.
You looked at the ground as Hoseok and Jimin exchanged a look, oh they knew what happened to you so well.
When he was younger Hoseok and you met before you moved to Busan and you kept in touch afterwards, he knew everything that happened since you would either call him or send him letters telling him every problems, happiness and sadness of yours and as for Jimin, he was the only person still friend with you in school when Shinhye would tell everyone that you picked your noes or you that still peed your pants. He knew what horrible things she had done to you and so did Hoseok.
“I’m quite shock…” You said finally breaking the silence.
They both nodded. Who would’ve thought your best friend was gonna do this to you?
“I know (Y/n),” said Hoseok, “don’t pay attention to that though, it will only ,make you sad… NOW NOW! Let’s cheer you up! Jimin and I worked on a special choreography just for you.” He add as both of the boys helped you up smiling like the Cheshire cat.
You looked at them both as they readied themselves to dance.
“Click on the play button,” said Jimin pointing toward the radio.
You did as he wanted and as soon as the music started you immediately recognized it. Your favorite song.
The boys started to dance in a synchronization that was almost insane. You soon started to feel like you wanted to dance too. You brain processing the boys’s move, you started to dance.
You looked at their bodies in the mirror and followed their movements. You fell into a state of concentration where you would only hear the song and dance the moves. As the music ended you slowly drove out of that concentration and was back to normal state. You turned to look at the boys which were smiling at you like two dorks.
“What?” You asked embarrassed.
“You danced it! All of the song,” yelled Jimin as Hoseok grinned proudly.
っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ [Hoseok x reader x Jimin ft. BTS] Bangtan text serie where the reader is a girl member of Bangtan and she discovers her best friend, Taehyung, wants to date the person she dislikes the most. Adding to this, ends up she doesn’t get along with the other girlfriends of the boys. Her only supports are Hoseok and Jimin, but even with their help, she slowly starts to think she might leave the band.
Summary: You get taken by a group of goodlooking dudes because your mom did something stupid.
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (ft. other members)
Genre: angst, comedy?
Warnings: language, mentions of guns and blood.
Authors Note: Thank you so much for all the nice feedback on the prologue :D
I should really start thinking before saying something. You thought, sitting down on bed in the small room the seven men locked you in. Your stomach growling after a couple minutes of just aimlessly staring at the floor. I also sould’ve eaten something before going on my super secret mission.
Title: Broken Memories Pairing: Newt x Female!Reader Words: 4,272 Rating: T
On the day she died, tears were cried. The sky wept for the first time and the sun no longer shined. Mornings were no longer full of light and joy. And because she loved mornings, he now hated them. His dreams died with her, and the only thing left was despair. The sole thing he ever saw when he closed his eyes and fell into slumber was her.
“Newt?” A soft voice rang through his ears as he shifted for a moment. “Newt.” It said again, this time in a sing songy voice. As Newt drifted into consciousness, he chuckled in that deep laughter laced with grogginess she absolutely loved hearing. His eyes were still closed but he could see her figure move behind his eyelids, maneuvering her position to block the rays of the sun from blinding him. “Morning luv,” Newt said, opening his eyes slightly, her hazy figure coming into focus after a moment. “Good morning Newt.” She greeted back, leaning down to give him a sweet kiss. He cupped one side of her face as he lifted off the pillow and deepened the kiss. She laughed lightly against his lips, returning the kiss with the same amount of enthusiasm. Once they separated he laid back on the pillow, gazing at the gorgeous girl in front of him as she stared lovingly back at him. A sweet smile graced her lovely features and her bed head hair fell onto her face like a silk curtain. Newt raised a hand and brushed away her (H/C) locks with the tips of his fingers, leaving feathered touches. She squirmed slightly at the ticklish feeling and smiled wider. “It’s time to get up, Newt.”
Her voice faded away like an echo, waking up Newt with a start. He sat up right in the makeshift bed he once shared with her. Newt brought his hands to his lap and stared at them as they slightly shook. He couldn’t help but glance over at the spot where you would usually sit and sighed heavily. Once more he woke up alone, with a dull ache in his chest.
Today was like any other day, the sun was dim and the clouds were slightly shaded gray. He hadn’t seen the sun properly shine with its former glory in a long while. Not since her death.
Newt torturously got up and dressed down to start his tedious day. Once he was fully clothed, he walked out from his hut and headed towards the Kitchen. It was very early and the only people who were up were the Runners which gave Newt some peace to eat in silence. He stalked up to Frypan and settled in front of his wooden counter.
“Newt? Aren’t you up bright and early.” Frypan chuckled and fixed him up a quick sandwich, just as he had done for the Runners. Newt just gave a tight lipped smiled and nodded towards Frypan, collecting his sandwich, along with a jug of water, and made his way towards her favorite tree. He sat in silence, slowly eating his breakfast. She always loved sitting under this tree because as the sun came up, it shined just the right way and illuminated the Glade in a heavenly glow.
He may have hated the mornings, but sitting here, it was like she was right there with him. And this tree was the only thing that gave him the sense that she was still there. Newt stayed under the tall tree until it was time to head to the Garden. He got up with a grunt and limped his way to the one place in the Glade where she loved the most.
Once he was at the Garden, Newt unsheathed his machete and started hacking at a nearby stump.
After a while, Newt started noticing people filter all around the Glade. He sighed briefly and went back to work.
By the time he had finished removing the rather large stump, it was noon and time for his break. Newt straightened his back and leaned against the shovel in his hands, putting most of his weight on his healthy leg.
He stared out into the open field, squinting slightly to avoid the bleak rays of the sun. Then he saw her clear as day, spinning around in a circle, laughing wildly as those silly flowers crowns she liked to make adorned her head.
A rustle of grass caught Newt’s attention as he stopped working for a minute and turned his gaze towards the noise. “Ahah, I’m finished!” A feminine voice called out. He chuckled at her silly antics continued his work. “Shouldn’t you be working instead of making those flower crowns, luv?” Came out Netw’s slightly strangled accented chide. “No, because it’s our break and you’d know that if you weren’t so focused on working yourself down to the bone.” She said, placing the flower crown on his head as he rose from his position on the ground. Newt simply took her hand in his dirtied and calloused one, and kissed it gently, giving her his infamous half smile. “Thanks for the crown, I’m sure it’s wonderful.” She chuckled lightly and shook her head. “It is, I made it just for you and even used your favorite assortment of colors to decorate it.” Newt pulled the hand that was still in his, and moved her closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her as she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed her. When he pulled back Newt gazed into her (E/C) and watched as they shined with love and adoration. “I really do appreciate the flower crown you’ve made for me.” She hummed and escaped his grasp, picking up a second flower crown that laid in the grass next to them, and situated it onto her head. She then ran out into the open field and spun a circle with arms wide open, all the while laughing her heart out. Newt just stood in his place and watched her, a big smile gracing his handsome features.
A ghost of a smile could be seen on Newt’s face as he shook his head, his dirty blonde locks bouncing along with the movement. He abandoned the shovel in his hands and made his way towards Frypan’s Kitchen for his lunch. The line there was surprisingly short as he took his place behind one of the many boys in this cursed placed.
Once he grabbed his meal, Newt trudged back to the tree where he had his breakfast. It was somewhat peaceful, minus the sounds of chattering, until a shrill ring echoed through the air. Just as he was finishing his last bite, the alarms to the Box rung out.