Marked (M)

Originally posted by pjmjjk

Werewolf!Jungkook x Reader

Halloween Drabble Series


Summary: you were in heat, Jungkook didn’t know.

A/N: This is my fic. I am re-posting onto my sideblog.

Growing up as a werewolf was hard. Growing up as a female werewolf without a pack was impossible. You had a pack that you were good friends with and asked for help and advice from, but that’s as far as it went, for now. You have yet to find a mate and enter a pack, and were currently going through heat so you had to stay indoors to avoid any…unwanted situations a.k.a. to avoid fucking random humans and/or wolves in broad daylight. You were holed up in your apartment, skin burning and your third pair of panties for the day, ruined. Walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge, you groaned, realizing that you were officially out of food and had no choice but to go to the store down the street.

You picked up your phone and dialed the Alpha of the pack you knew. Namjoon had always been willing to help you, even though you weren’t technically part of his pack. He had still always called you family.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you? I haven’t heard from you in days!” He cheerily answered, and you smiled to yourself, he always had a way of cheering you up.

“Hey Namjoon, uhm.. Well I kind of have a problem.”

Keep reading

True American
“The actual fuck are you watchin’?” Looking up from your spot on the couch, you spotted your roommate Niall at the door, his friend Mikey trailing behind.   Niall had promised that he wouldn’t be home for the rest of the day so you decided you weren’t going to change. Curled up in a pair of an ex’s boxers and an old football jersey, you had spent a good 6 hours watching Netflix and eating all the junk food Niall had stocked up on.  

Keep reading

New fic from Ash

Since the entire Olicity fandom is reveling in the embarrassment of riches that was this year’s SDCC, I thought I’d post this for those who missed it over the weekend.


“Queen,” the guard says, gesturing me out of the cell.

On my way out, I wave goodbye to the bearded man in the dirty pullover who made small talk with me all evening. “Bye, Brian.”

“Take care, kid.”

Finally someone posted bail. I pray to God that the person waiting on the other side of the electromagnetic locks is Terry McGinnis. As they print-scan me out and give me my shit back, I do a little bargaining with the Almighty. If it’s family, I want Uncle Roy. If I can’t have him, let it be one of the Diggles – Lyla would be fine, but I’d prefer Elaine. At least give me Mom.

Just please, please, please don’t let it be –

“Jonathan,” says a voice that gives new meaning to the word deadpan. “Congratulations on your first arrest as a legal adult.”

I shove my wallet into my pocket, which buys me three more seconds without eye contact. Then I square my shoulders and face him. “Hi, Dad.”

My father in a rage is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. He just gives you this look, as if only his mercy and restraint stand between you and swift, nasty death.

I was fourteen the first time that look came my way – just old enough to feel worldly and sophisticated, but just young enough to have no clue what a little shit I was. My experiments with casual rudeness toward the forces of conformity and repression (Mom and Dad) were met with stern words and revoked privileges.

Then I got ticketed for underage consumption.

“Jonny, these choices will follow you for years,” Mom said, pacing the other side of the kitchen island. “You are so much smarter than this.”

“Maybe I’m not,” I said, shrugging deeper into my jacket. It was leather. I was that badass.

She rounded on me. “You’re welcome to stay here and think it over during fall break. Dad and Abby and I will enjoy Paris just fine without you.”

In what family lore would later describe as a suicide attempt, probably a cry for help, I leaned the kitchen chair back on two legs and said, “It was just beer. You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

A second later I was dangling in midair. The chair clattered to the floor behind me. Dad’s hands were clamped under my arms, and he held me nose to nose with him.

“You do not,” he growled, “speak to my wife that way.”

My heart stopped. The whole world was two blazing eyes in a stranger’s pitiless face. When he dropped me, my legs nearly crumpled under me.


I looked at Mom, who was standing very still at the counter with her mouth in a surprised O.

“I’m sorry I said that to you,” I said through numb lips. “It’ll never happen again.”

“Apology accepted,” she said faintly.

I haven’t called Mom anything nastier than “you crazy woman” since then. In fact, I never earned The Look the same way twice. I’m a creative genius when it comes to pissing Dad off.

But he’s not pissed right now. Right now he is disappointed in me, which is so much worse.

“Let’s go home,” he says wearily.

Keep reading