this has been sitting in my fold

the taste of crimson | M

Contains: smut, angst {mafia!au}

Warnings: violence, death/murder

Words: 11,236

Summary: When the leader of mafia finds himself being blackmailed by his old colleague, Hoseok discovers that his problems can be quickly taken care by a cold blooded killer ー you. 

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A/N: this has been sitting on my drafts for like two weeks and I finally managed to finish it. This will probably be one of my last fics for a while, since my classes start again very soon, so I hope you guys like it <3

The man looked down at the folded piece of paper resting on the wooden table. Around him, the afternoon had already dripped into a cloudy autumn night, the buzzing of people coming in and out of the restaurant sounding muffled to his ears. The odor of the place was pleasant ー perhaps vanilla, with a vague hint of alcohol ー something that combined perfectly with the warm indoors atmosphere. Sitting on the opposite side, Min Yoongi waited with crossed arms, his obsidian hair falling over his attentive eyes.

“Is she any good?” Hoseok questioned, staring back at his companion.

Yoongi paused for a second, but did not look surprised. “The best in the business.”

“I’ve never heard of her,” he said, fingers reaching for his half-empty wine glass. The ruby liquid contrasted against his caramel skin, glowing under the dim lights of the establishment.

“That’s enough indication that she knows what she’s doing,” the other man said promptly, almost as if he was expecting such claim. He raised an eyebrow, signs of impatience gleaming in his irises. “Do you want it or not?”

Resting his glass back on the surface, Jung Hoseok closed his lips, thinking for an instant. He had ran over this subject for a long time now, but it still felt a bit strange to him: not the action itself, but who it would be applied to. It was not as if he was unfamiliar with paid assassins, but he was at least a bit reluctant to send one after his former friend.

Hoseok never thought he’d be victim of blackmail. He was careful, very careful; but, someway, it was not enough. At some point, the empire he had built for himself was being crushed beneath his feet, running like thin san in between his fingers; all that in the form of a wolf who hid inside a sheep’s clothing, who grew close to him just to dive into his secrets. Kim Taehyung, V ー whatever the name he went by, he was not the one to be trusted. And Hoseok learned that in the worst way possible.

Breaking free from his uncharacteristic hesitation, the man reached forward, taking the paper. Instead of unfolding it, he immediately hid it inside the pocket of his dark suit, looking around to be sure no curious eyes were on him. “How does it work?”

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I AM FOLDED (AND UNFOLDED)

this is my first wes & laurel fanfic in which wes finds out in the scariest way possible that she is pregnant with his child. now, sit back and prepare yourselves for a n g s t. 

title from the song ‘colorblind’ by counting crows that i definitely will recommend that you listen to while reading this. 


All that he is able to focus on is how the shade of her skin matches the white duvet that has been thrown over her, how the sound of her raspy breaths fails to fall in synch with the that of the beeping machine monitoring her heartbeat.

From his pocket he finds his phone where the text from her is still displayed on the screen. As soon as it’d showed, he’d raced out into the street: I need to talk to you. I’m afraid it can’t wait. Meet me at Annalise’s.

Something about it made panic prepare for rushing into his veins. When he showed up an hour later, his gaze and nostrils caught the smoke at once, as it evaporated in the November air like her name passing his lips. He was ready to break the barricades with his bare knuckles to get to her, but then a fireman finally noticed his tense facial expression and informed him that a young woman who was found alive amongst the flames had been brought to the hospital.

Alive, but in what condition? Even though the fresh air surrounded him, his lungs heaved as though they’d been battling the smoke too. “What started the fire?” He composed himself long enough to ask, but was only told that no one had any idea yet.

A little past four in the morning, he arrived at the hospital after walking down empty streets for almost an hour, looking at the kind of asphalt that he used to scrape his knees on as a child. Back then; he thought that there was no greater pain. As it turns out, however, there is.

Gathering his nerves into a pile and tucking them as far away from his gut as possible, Wes approached the nurse who was sitting behind the desk by the entrance. “Excuse me, I need to see Laurel Castillo, immediately.”

“Well, I’m afraid that you can’t, Sir. She’s in the ICU.”

“But you need to understand–“ He croaked, feeling his throat tighten like a knot. “She’s my wife.”

Wes was sure that he had never lied so easily in his entire life. Considering the sadness, which broke through within the nurse’s eyes at his words, it might just have been his best as well. Still, it wasn’t quite enough: “You’ll have to wait until she’s more stabile. Then, we’ll send you in, all right?”

Through his gritted teeth, an apology managed to emerge.

He spent the rest of the night in a shitty chair in the waiting room, unable to stop the thoughts from jumbling up like notes in his mind.

Finally, at 7:46 a.m (yes, he had been staring at the clock every two seconds), they allowed him to see her, but frankly his legs seemed to have turned into concrete over the night, and it took him nearly five minutes to walk to her bedside when he laid his eyes on her.

Now, the nurse has left him for five minutes to pick up some documents, but breathing isn’t becoming easier. Closing his eyes, Wes wonders whether his is nearly as raspy as hers or if it’s only something that he is imagining. The lump has returned to his throat as he dares to take her hand in spite of how he fears that she will crumble at his touch, turn into ash right before he wakes from this nightmare.

The sound of the door opening is muffled by his mind as he focuses on how raw her skin feels. Did the flames threaten to tear at it, kissing it quite differently from how he had three weeks ago. He tries not to think about that, but sometimes he can’t push the memory away. Robbing himself of the happiness that it brings him is becoming increasingly difficult as the days pass.

“Mr. Gibbins?” The story, he remembers. Laurel is his wife, who kept her last name, who was at their teacher’s house when the fire started, who nearly died while he wasn’t there. “She’s improving, albeit very slowly. The biggest concern we have right now is how much damage the smoke inhalation has done, to both her and the baby.”

Wes almost chokes on nothing. A long second passes before the words emerge, coated in disbelief: “The baby?” He would stand up, but it’s as if a 100-pound weight has been dropped to the bottom of his hollow chest. Maybe it’s his heart. “She’s– pregnant?”

Immediately, the nurse’s eyes widen apologetically. “You didn’t know? Oh, I’m so sorry, but I’m compelled to give you this information.”

Releasing a breath from the cage of his chest, Wes replies: “I understand,” before his mind drifts towards the memory of them next to each other in his bed, blissfully safe. “How far along is she?”

“About three weeks.”  

God. Parting his lips, he expects words to fly out as they normally would in a stressful situation, but they simply won’t. They have stuck to the inside of his throat while his heart is screaming with a force that pains his chest. Blinking tears away and clenching his jaw, Wes murmurs, his voice barely audible: “She is pregnant with our child. I–“ Ruthlessly, the tears cut him off as they come racing down his cheeks, spilling all his nerves and fears into the palms of his hands. It’s been a long, sleepless night, which means that he is simply unable to hide or suppress how scared he feels.

He didn’t think that he ever would, but right now he does not remember lying. He sits by Laurel’s beside like her husband, caressing her hand; crying for her, and for the baby that she never told him she was having.

Immediately, it hits him that that was what she wanted to talk about when she sent him the text at night. What else would it be? She was in the house waiting for him so that she could tell him that she was pregnant, but flames destroyed the whole damn building while she was in it.

When he finally looks up from his hands, struggling to breathe, he sees three familiar faces, frowning at him. They have replaced the nurse in the doorway, looking twice as worried, and it makes him feel nauseous. “Wes?” Asher whispers, taking a step forward, yet Michaela grabs his sleeve, tugging him back.

“Frank’s dead,” says Connor next to her, but Wes couldn’t care less at the moment. He doesn’t know how to feel anything except the fear that has mixed with the blood in his veins, even though he is aware that they all want him to say something, but it wouldn’t matter, not in this moment.

“We know that she’s pregnant, Wes. And now that the father’s most likely dead–“

“The father isn’t dead.”

“What do you–?”

Feeling anger build in his chest like a sudden tidal wave, Wes dares to look directly at them for the first time since they stepped in. Nevertheless, he is aware that he hardly will be able to scare them away by staring at them with his puffy eyes, although they have been reawakened slightly by lightning. “The father isn’t dead, because it’s me!” Just shouting threatens to take his breath as though he has walked into a brick wall. “Laurel texted me at 2 a.m. last night. She wanted me to meet her at Annalise’s house, probably to tell me that she was pregnant, but when I got there, the whole house was engulfed in flames. I know that you will blame me for this too, but I’m afraid you’re too late, ‘cause I’m already blaming myself for the fact that I might lose them both!”

Being angry hurts like needles poking at this chest, causing his body to shake until Michaela places her hand on his arm in effort to steady it.

“She’s only three weeks along. The nurses have told me that I must prepare myself for her having a miscarriage.”

“Wes…“

Honestly, Wes didn’t think that Michaela, who is usually all thunder and hurricane, could speak so softly, and he isn’t sure how to interpret it. Is she speaking like this because she knows what is going to happen? Is this more pity than it is comfort?

Of course it is. If Laurel lives, their child most likely won’t, and if she dies then he loses both of them at once, which will pain him in ways that he can’t even imagine without wanting to throw up.

Surprisingly, Connor brings him a mug of black coffee - perhaps expecting him to drink it or maybe he is aware that at the moment, Wes wishes that he could drown in it, so that the liquid blur out every thought that keeps his chest gasping for air.

Taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside

His mother used to listen to that song all the time, and it’s only now that he fully understands why she said that she related to it so much. Everything hurts to the point where nothing else can be felt, turning his skin numb to Michaela’s reassuring touch and his eyes blind to their worried eyes.

And all that is left is how badly he wants to reverse time until the scent of lavender in her hair and the shelter of her body returns to his senses, so vivid, so… alive.


When Laurel wakes up two days later, he is at her beside alone, and he knows that it is selfish to not call the others, but the only thing that matters right now is the color that’s slowly making its way back to her cheeks. He’d spent the past forty-eight hours in her apartment, looking at every page of every book and clutching every form of fabric in hope of finding a piece of her there.

Now, her blue eyes easily find his, and his heart skips a beat. “I need… to talk to you,” her strained vocal cords struggle to form the words, so he simply places his hand on the side of her face, thumb caressing her cheekbone.

“I know. You don’t have to think about it right now, Laurel. Whatever happens, I promise that we’ll figure it out together, all right?”

“But…”

“Sssh… We’ll figure it out.”

She believes him, or at least that’s what her tiny smile tells him, and he can’t help but grin with relief, his heart fluttering. Alive.

Post-It Notes, ch.2

on Ao3

ch1 | ch2

So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but I refuse to listen to my own advice and now this fic is kind of consuming my life. But anyway, Marinette continues to be a nerd. How this girl functions, the world will never know.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue this fic!! It’s a lot of fun writing it!

Enjoy!! <3


At this point, Marinette could literally implode.

Adrien has been avoiding her eyes all day. When she walked into the classroom, he simply buried his face in his history textbook, but not even that could hide the bright red blush on his face from her. Marinette runs her thumb over the carefully folded post-it note in her pocket.

She sits down at her desk and pulls out her own textbook, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention. She stares dreamily off into the distance, tracing the words out on her leg:

I love you.

The words are burned into Marinette’s mind and onto the back of her eyelids.

I love you.

She wants to take that post-it note with the fateful I love you and superglue it to her heart.

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The Sixth Sense

Title : The Sixth Sense
Pairing : Reader x The Pack
Word Count : 1,400

A/N : Since this is a Halloween week and my inbox is now open for Halloween themed request I’m just going to put it right here the first Halloween themed one shot. Hope you guys like it. There’s also a few bloody mess here, just a heads up! :) 

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anonymous asked:

Oh gosh I am so happy to have found your blog because I am just like EEEEK SOMEBODY WHO LOVES THE DEMOLITION BOYS AS MUCH AS I DO HHHNNNN Q//u//Q makes me sooo happy! Can you share a bunch of random headcanons you have for Bryan/Boris K.? He's my fave and so yea ;3; <3

THIS MAKES ME SO GOD DAMN HAPPY. Bless this, oh my God. Talk to me about anything to do with Bryan/Demoliton/Blitzkrieg Boys, their my babies, and Bryan is my main homie. I love the boys so much, this honestly makes me so happy.

Damn right I can share a bunch of headcanons for Bryan! One: I totally imagine that although their no longer attached by the reins of Boris and his abusive ways, Bryan still attempts to maintain this tough guy, no emotions sort of look, probably because ‘being emotionless’ has been drilled into him from such a young age, so he just sits there, folded arms, ‘meh’ at everything, and it probably takes Tala to remind him that being human is okay, for Bryan to loosen and realise that the Blitzkrieg Boys aren’t just a team any more… They’re his family. They’re his brothers, and his best friends, and they’ve been through everything together, so it’s okay to just unwind and be himself, rather than acting like a damn machine.

Two: Bryan actually likes Kai. I’ve read all the fanfics and whatnot that suggest that Bryan hates Kai, or holds a strong disliking for him. I personally think that, obviously Bryan didn’t trust Kai, which is obviously established within the third season, and Tala confirmed it, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t like him. I do think it took him a while to warm to the idea of Kai as part of the team, but I personally think that eventually Bryan adjusted to the idea of having him there, and kind of warmed too.

Three: Bryan is super protective over his friends/teammates. His teammates are his closest friends/family, and this includes Kai, (the reason I included this is because of season 3, when Tala, Spencer and Bryan stand in front of Tyson to stop him from getting to Kai.) Bryan is definitely the sort of guy of puts himself between someone and his teammates and stands ready to jaw someone. Bryan is a fearless son of gun, and will destroy people. I totally imagine that Bryan is more protective when it comes to Ian, than he would be more protective than he would the others. I don’t know, Bryan probably wants to fight everyone. I mean let’s be real, Spencer is tall enough to throw someone over his shoulder, and Tala probably passionately rants to someone, whilst dropping a few sarcastic lines, and Kai is Kai, and he’s mentally vice gripping someone, and Bryan just flies in with a flying headbutt.

Four: Bryan and Ian definitely come up with stupid bets, oh my God, like who can cram more food into their mouths, or who can drink water the fastest, and that’s probably the most childish that you’ll ever see Bryan - when he’s cramming something into his mouth and still trying to declare he’s the greatest of them all, whilst Tala looks on in disgust, and Spencer comes up with all the puns in the world.

Aw man, I have so many about this boy! You should definitely drop into my ask more often, so we can share headcanons, and scream about how much we love Bryan!

Oh wow. Hey guys, let’s enjoy how literally from the first frame of this episode, THIS IS PAINFUL AS FUCK

It opens up, and my first thought was how it reminded me of a playground I used to visit all the time when I was little. It set an immediate tone, and a nostalgic one at that. We pan across slowly, taking in the rock wall where kids could climb. The benches where parents or guardians would watch and supervise, currently abandoned. The sandbox, with half-buried spades and buckets on their side. Play has been interrupted and the toys abandoned.

Then the slide, with Naru sitting on the edge. She’s folded over, as small as she can be, Hiding her face, hugging her knees. And there’s Usagi. The distance between her and Naru feels like it goes on for miles. She’s turned away and standing awkwardly, her school bag in front of her. Hovering. She wants to help, but has no idea what to do.

And these images are TERRIBLE. Before we even start, they’re spelling out for us the loss of innocence that is this entire arc’s emotional center. It’s safe to say that Naru has come here for comfort, or at least chosen to rest here when it all became too much for her. The contrast is heartbreaking. Naru, in this abandoned child’s place, wrestling with problems that no child should ever have. She doesn’t belong here, there are no answers for her. But then where does she belong? Naru has nowhere to turn. Her mother won’t understand, certainly not after Naru stole from her. Usagi wants to help, but can’t help seeing things though what Sailor Moon knows. Naru is completely lost, and the image of her crying at the bottom of that slide while Usagi may as well actually be on the moon is killing me.

And poor Usagi. I can’t imagine she’s ever really been in a situation where she couldn’t just hug a problem away. Usagi wants so DESPERATELY to help, but she’s caught. As much as Naru doesn’t belong in this playground anymore, neither does Usagi. She, too, is learning the hard way that the problems facing her now are so much larger than making sure you didn’t lose your spade in the sandbox. Usagi is Sailor Moon, she’s been given all this power, but when Naru is facing a real, adult problem that’s too big for her, all of Usagi’s power is useless.

Hats Off and Smiles On

Despite the fact that it’s a prestigious affair that marks the end of her high school career, Pacifica would really rather not attend her graduation today. And no, that has nothing too do with the fact that her parents bailed again, or that the two people she really wants to see go to school a state away. Okay, maybe a little bit. (Older Dipifica)

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Critical Role fic

I suppose this was inevitable.

I don’t usually write fic about things that are likely to happen soon, but this scene has been buzzing hard enough in my head that I had to get it down. Vex/Percy, ~1300 words, worksafe, MAJOR spoilers through the most recent episode (ep. 69). I expect to be jossed as early as next week, but see if I care.


As the rest of Vox Machina filed out of Castle Whitestone’s War Room, each heading off to make their preparations for the coming storm, Vex paused in the doorway, then turned around. Percy had remained in the room, sitting alone at the foot of the table, hands folded in front of him, head bowed.

Vex felt a hand on her shoulder; she glanced up to see Vax'ildan staring down at her. Vax lifted his chin, flicked his eyes in Percy’s direction, then back to her, followed by a nod so tiny that no one else would have seen it. But Vex knew her brother, and she knew exactly what that look meant. Talk to him, he’d said without words. Don’t let the opportunity slip away again.

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Death to Should

It has taken me 8,395 days to shake off the cage. Some days, I still wake up choking, with “should” lodged in my throat like the most poetic death. My arms and legs grew through the plated bars, but I folded them neatly back inside to avoid the stares… I always said I didn’t care.

I’ve been awake for a long time, but the sun is only now breaching the horizon. I’ve been sitting on thorns in the dark, wondering how to peel myself apart, and as the light creeps in ever brighter, I realize they are horns. The pain comes not from being wrong, but from believing there is only one right.

I still hold my breath through dark alleyways where “should” was the cold blade against my neck, and even though I was afraid, I never knew how to say “the trickle of blood running down my flesh is the realest thing I’ve tasted in ages.” You learn to love a darkness that you believe won’t leave.

It’s taken me a lifetime to forget the rage. The pressing weight of “should” on my chest is a weapon, and I’ve rapidly become the nuclear sort of dangerous, desperate to escape the kind of pristine existence I could never have survived. I “should” have been alright.

I’m standing now; standing on two feet and covered in ashes from the “shoulds” I’ve sacrificed to my own God. I am not blank, but renewed, living from the imbibed ruin of “should” and I’m on fire in the most beautiful way. I’m impressed by the beauty of the world, even on the ugliest days.

My war with “should” is over.
The battles ended today.

I never counted myself courageous.
I’ve come out whole.
If only I’d known who I could have been if “should” had been removed.

Ashley Wylde
April 27th, 2015