why does this have notes i will shoot myself in the eye


Imagine starts at 55 seconds.

And thank you so much for 1000+ notes!

“You guys having fun?”

The thousands of cheers from around the sold out stadium echoes through the cool night, every single one directed towards Justin. It’s kind of crazy to think about it - that people literally spend hundreds of dollars just to see him from what probably is a shitty seat at the back of an arena, but at the same time its flattering, and by now I bet his rather used to it.

“I don’t know if you guys heard me, Are you guys having fun tonight?!” He repeats into the mic, fiddling with the gold chain bracelet around his hand.

Once again the stadium filled with screams and cheers from the beliebers, this time twice as loud. I watch as Justin let his eyes drift over to the side of the arena, and decides to yell “Top row, you guys having up there?!” And they continue to cheer.

Then the other side, “What about this side, you guys having fun up there?!”

A small smile fell onto his face as he leans back and removes the gum from his mouth muttering, “Alright, as long as were having fun. Just livin’ the moment.”

Then continues to move forward and lightly strum the first notes to Cold Water. A second later his hand moves back to his mouth, placing the gum he removed earlier back inside. I can’t help but roll my eyes at my boyfriends indecisiveness. Once more he continues to strum the guitar before for the third time, removing his hand and looking down onto the chain.

“This damn bracelet is annoying.”

Suddenly moving his wrist towards the guitar and using his bracelet to tap the strings while saying, “You see all this noise, I don’t like that noise. It sounds wrong. I’m not diggin’ it.”

I can’t help but smile. Its so cute when he just speaks his mind, and I can tell the crowd feels the same since I do notice a few people chuckling up the front.

Turning towards the wings of the stage, where Scooter, I and the backstage crew are all standing, he jokingly adds, “See Y/N this is your fault - Giving me this bracelet.”

After fumbling around with it for a while trying to remove it, he grumbles “Stupid bitch.” Under his breath, causing not only me but the crowd to laugh. “One second guys.” He announces.

While still attempting to take off the bracelet I bought him for our 3 year anniversary, he decides to make a witty joke, beginning it with, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

The crowd actually responded with a whole lot of “Why’s?” And justin immediately respondes with “He wanted to get to the other side.”

A small smile cracks his lips as the crowd chuckles at his terrible joke and even chose to acknowledge how dumb it was by adding, “That was stupid.” then adds “but it was funny.”

Finally giving up, his head shoots up to look around the crowd asking “Does someone wanna come help me get this off my wrist?”

Girls from the crowd shoot up and cheer immediately with there hands in the air. As for Justin who is still sitting and waiting for someone come to his rescue. Scooter waists no time in suddenly beginning to push on my back, motioning me forward.


“Go help him.” He demands with a smirk.

“What?!” My eyes trail down my body, instinctively cringing at my purpose sweatpants and staff hoodie I chose to wear. I looked terrible. “Nah-ah. No way.”

“Who cares about what your wearing, go help him!” He chuckles.

“I care! Plus I don’t wanna just walk out on stage! That’s scary.” I pout but scooter shows no remorse.

“Just go!” He puts his arms on my shoulders and pushes me out onto the stage. This time, I can’t turn back because by the way every one in the crowd has heightened there screams, they’ve definitely seen me.

I sigh and mentally note ‘there no turning back now’ before jogging forward over to the seat Justin was seated on by the edge. Justin’s eyes trail around the stage, looking for the reason the screams in the crowd have increased, and once seeing me making my way over, smiles and extends a hand for me to grab.

I don’t hesitate to reach for his gesture and quickly dash over to remove this bracelet as fast as I can so I can get off the stage as soon as possible. At first, Justin is no help at all. Instead, he begins rubbing my arm and trying to get me to sit and stay next to him. “Justin, stop fidgeting.” I laugh.

Justin shrugs his shoulders as if not having any idea what I was talking about before settling and begins cooperating with the process. This bracelet is so damn stubborn! But after some pull and tug, Justin says, “Pull it from this side.”

“Yeah, and you unclip it from over there.”

The crowd aw’s in affection at our teamwork.

As we work together and finally get the bracelet removed, I jump up in achievement and grab a hold of the bracelet myself. As I’m about to make my way back off stage, Justin grabs my arm and pulls me back pouting. “Stay.”

I chuckle nervously and take a glance at the screaming crowd in anticipation, finally turning back to Justin to shake my head.

“Oh c'mon!” He encourages, grabbing my hip and pulling me towards him. I fall onto the seat beside him, my back pressed against his side while his arm rest around my waist. “Have a little fun. I’ll sing you a nice sooong.” He coo’s as if I was a child. “give you a little kiiiss. We can cuddllle.”

“Shut up.” I chuckle to which Justin smiles.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Meanwhile, the crowd has hit the fan, their cheers going wild in a frenzy of excitement. Justin places his arm around my shoulders while using his hand to hold the right notes on the guitar neck. His other hand strumming lightly at the body.

After commenting about how terribly the guitar is tuned, he finally begins singing Cold water in a soft, melodic tone.

“Everybody gets high sometimes you know…What else can we do when were feelin’ low? - C'mon sing it with me baby!”

I chuckle at his enthusiasm and decide to not ruin the song and just keep my mouth shut, but frozen with a smile.

“So I wanna lay with you told I’m old!” He sang, causing my to furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Baby you sang it wrong.” I whispered into his side.

Still strumming the guitar, he looks over at me “Really? I did? Well then how does it go?”

“It goes, ’What else can we do when were feelin’ low? So take a deep breath and let it go -…” I quickly sing as Justin smirks.

I hadn’t realised that justin had actually moved the mic towards me, causing my voice to echo throughout the entire arena, the crowd cheering like crazy in the background while Justin smirked menacingly.

“Hey!” I pouted. “You stuffed the lyrics on purpose!”

“How’d you know?” He chuckled sarcastically. “Well, since you started it you gotta finish. C'mon baby lets go!”

For @profound-boning because I keep bullying her into writing fics for me. So have some dadstiel + dean in glasses.

Fun fact: babies love glasses.

Dean and Cas weren’t aware of this bit of trivia until Claire came into their lives. Dean picked her up for the first time and nearly combusted with the sweet smile the blue-eyed girl gave him before her fat little fists came up to wrap around his frames and pull them from his face.

And it became their Thing. Any time Dean was holding Claire, he lost his glasses to the little girl. She liked to wave them around or chew on them and occasionally throw them at the cat. 

Cas warned Dean he shouldn’t let her get in that habit. And sure enough Claire was soon ripping glasses off the face of anyone who was in arm’s reach of her. 

The first time Claire breaks Dean’s glasses, Cas gives what Dean assumes is an “I told you so” look. But he’s not sure. He can’t see. 

He goes through a few more pairs in the course of their first year with Claire before it’s decided that it would be easier to switch to contacts. 

Fast forward a few years, Claire is in first grade. She grew out of her glasses-wrangling phase a while back but Dean’s grown so accustomed to contacts he doesn’t switch back. Plus, he no longer looks like a total loser at work wearing goggles over his glasses.

But one day Claire gets sent home with a note from her teacher. She’s having difficulty seeing the board even from the front row.

Dean and Cas make an appointment with the eye doctor for the next week. They reassure a nervous Claire that everything will be fine but their little girl will leave that doctor’s office in tears.

“I don’t wanna wear glasses!” she cries when they get home. “I’ll look ugly!”

“Oh, honey, no,” Cas says and strokes her hair. “You’re beautiful and glasses won’t change that.”

“Garth wears glasses and all the other kids make fun of him! What if they tease me too?” She starts to cry harder.

“Isn’t that the funny kid with the sock puppet?” Dean wonders and promptly shuts up when Cas shoots him a look. “Hey, look, kiddo. No one is gonna make fun of you for just wearing glasses. There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re just a tool to help you see. And if someone does say something, sock ‘em in the-”

“Dean,” Cas warns. 

“Eh, tell the teacher,” Dean amends.

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Double Take | Part 2 | PETER PARKER X READER

Description: After Peter realizes that he likes the reader, Ned tells him that the only way for him to start acting normal around her again is for him to tell her. This is proven to be difficult because Peter being, well Peter, is unable to muster up the courage to do so. Instead, the reader’s friendly neighborhood Spiderman pays her a visit.

Author’s Note: So I was lying earlier when I said that part 2 would be the last part. I’m notoriously bad at wrapping up stories though so this shouldn’t be surprising to me really. Anyways I’d like to give a special thanks to @lunastarwatcher​ for bouncing ideas with me and as always I hope you enjoy this fic.

Word Count: 2263

Part 1| Part 3

“So (Y/N),” Ned drawled out as he sat down across from his friends at their lunch table. “Peter tells me that there’s a boy you’re trying to impress.”

(Y/N) put her water bottle down and looked at Peter, who was sitting to the right of Ned. “And you wonder why I refused to tell you his name,” she said with a smug smile.

“That among other reasons,” Michelle mumbled under her breath, but not quiet enough that (Y/N) couldn’t hear her.

“Michelle,” (Y/N) said in a warning tone.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yea, Yea, I’m not going to say anything.”

Peter looked at Michelle with a raised eyebrow “Wait, you know who he is?” She nodded absentmindedly, turning the page of her book. “You told her and not me?” Peter asked (Y/N) shocked.

(Y/N) snorted. “Are you really surprised Pete? I already told you that you can’t keep a secret so…”

“I too can keep a secret,” Peter retorted in a small voice, not looking (Y/N) in the eye.

Ned raised his hand and patted Peter on the back. “I can vouch for him (Nickname). He can keep secrets. You’d be surprised.”

Peter sat up straight and looked over at Ned with a smile. “That’s literally exactly what I said,” he said, raising his hand enthusiastically for a high-five.

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An Unexpected Surprise - Cody Christian Imagine

Request by Anon: Hey! May you do an imagine where Cody and (y/n) rarely fight but when they do it’s a hell of a mess and the current situation is that he and the (y/n) are having a fight, a really big one bc he accused her of cheating on him, bc maybe she’s coming home late and she’s always on the phone, but what really is happeningis that the reader is organizing a surprise birthday party to him, so when he finds out he’s really regretful for thinking she ever could do that to him and a happy and fluff ending? 

Warnings: Arguments, being accused of cheating, some curse words

Word Count: 4,056

Author’s Note: I couldn’t help myself with this prompt. I hope you like it. 

My Teen Wolf Master List

Originally posted by eu-nasciassim

Cody’s POV

The first sign

It’s funny how time flies by when you’re not looking at the clock, but when you do watch the clock, time seems to move slower. I drummed my fingers against the kitchen table as I slowly watched the second hand take its sweet time to move around the clock. Y/N was 29 minutes late. She’s never late and I was beginning to get worried something might have happened. If she was working late, she would have called or texted me to let me know. But tonight, she didn’t and I couldn’t help but think of the worst.

Just give her one more minute, I thought to myself as I pulled out my phone. Instead of looking at the clock on the wall, I looked at the time on the phone. Why must the last minute take the longest?

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anonymous asked:

The ask thing with 28 and 30 with J-hope please? Thank you ^^

Wild Thoughts

Reader x fuckboy!Hoseok

word count: 2687  


Inspired by this prompt list.

summary: I really don’t know what to say about this one….except it was really fun to write…and fuckboy Hoseok does things to me.

Originally posted by hobies

University was a new world. Everywhere you turned there would be a new person you had never seen before or noticed and in a large lecture room that happened to occur very often. You made your way up to the middle of the back and sat down next to a girl that had become your friend, her name was Jia, an 18 year old fresh out of high school who was really outgoing.

“Who’s the guy in the corner over there?” You asked Jia quietly while looking in his direction.

“That’s Hoseok,” Jia replied, “Pretty cute huh?” She winked.

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Chapter 7: I want to be with you // Shawn Mendes

Authors note: Is this the last part? probably. Im so emotional I could cry. Oh look, I am.

Chapter 6: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165723374471/chapter-6-i-trust-him-shawn-mendes

Chapter 5: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165682718231/chapter-5-is-that-really-what-you-want-shawn

Chapter 4: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165578764896/chapter-4-i-think-you-should-kiss-him-shawn

Chapter 3: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165507431011/chapter-3-for-a-walking-dictionary-you-can

Chapter 2: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165456105886/id-never-hurt-you-shawn-mendes

Chapter 1: https://welldamnshawn.tumblr.com/post/165397348631/you-might-need-to-buy-another-lock-shawn-mendes

Just as I’m about to exit the cubicle Peyton’s voice has me freezing in my tracks.

“There is something so going on there.” her shoes click as she walks into the bathrooms, another pair of footsteps following her. 

“You think so? We know that Shawn’s liked her forever, but do you think he actually made a move?” I don’t recognize the second voice so I fall silent, not daring to move.

A tap is turned on. “You didn’t see them together when they sparred the other day. Shawn has fire for Goddess sake. He could have burnt the little bookworm to the ground yet suddenly she’s the one winning? I think he grew a pair and now there’s something between them.”

Are they talking about me? 

“Did your story work? The one of Shawn killing his Mum?” The second voice asks and Peyton snorts in response. 

“He did look pretty pissed off when he heard. Steph told me she saw him storming towards the bookworm’s cabin. Apparently he didn’t leave until after dinner.“

“Do you think he blame’s her?” 

“I think she worked her way out of it and he believes her.” Peyton growls, the tap shuts off.

“What does he even see in her?” The unknown huffs and I clench my hand in anger. They were the one’s to spread the rumor about Shawn.

“Obviously enough to believe that she wasn’t the one telling everyone he burnt his Mother to a crisp.” her high pitched laugh fills the room and I slam my door open, the sound making them both jump.

“You conniving little pig.” I hiss, glaring daggers at both of them.

“Y/n, how nice of you to join us.” Peyton smirks, leaning casually against the counter.

“Go to hell Peyton.” I jeer, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

“Only if you go first.” She returns, matching my glower.

“If I get to see you burn then sure.” I snap, my anger flowing in waves. 

She scowls and I don’t give her another second of my time, walking straight out the bathroom. I race down the hallway, intent on finding the inferno himself.

I poke my head into the cafeteria and when I don’t see him I make my way back outside.

There was only one place I could think of for where he might be. I follow the gravel path leading towards the cabins. After passing mine, I continue further into the denser forest where Hera, Hebe and Hephaestus cabin’s were located.

I’m on his doorstep, knocking persistently on the door until its opened. I push past Shawn, moving to stand in the middle of the cabin.

“Sure, come on in.” Shawn says dryly, shutting the door.

“I know who told everyone that you burnt your mother to a crisp.” I breathe and Shawn’s gaze hardens. 

“Who?” He scowls, his fire igniting at the tips of his fingers.

“Peyton, I was in the bathroom and she was talking about… you, and me,” I pause, biting my lip to stop myself from spitting out unnecessary information. Its just then that I realise I had barged in on a half naked Shawn.

His shirt is gone and the lean hard muscles of his chest are right where I can see them.

He notices my sudden silence and smirks knowingly. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before Y/n.”   

I gape at him before regaining my composure.

“What I was saying was she made it up in hope of you getting furious at me and staying away.” I finish, playing with the hem of my shirt to distract me from the yern to reach out and run my hands down the smooth planes of his chest. “Which worked.” I mumble at the end and Shawn doesn’t seem to hear me.

“Why would she do that?” Shawn growls and small sparks shoot out of his hands.

“Cos she has this idea that you’re in love with me and she doesn’t like it.” I snap, his heated gaze meeting mine.

“Is that a bad thing?” He hesitates, a vulnerable look appearing in his eyes. “if I were to be in love with you?”

“Shawn, this isn’t the time to be asking pointless questions.” I avoid the topic, folding my arms over my chest.

“It’s not pointless and I want you to answer me Y/n. Would it be so bad if I am in love with you?” His sudden confidence has returned and he walks closer to me. As the distance closes the cabin feels smaller and all my brain can focus on is the way Shawn’s curly hair was falling across his forehead and the fond expression on his face.

“It would be a waste of time.” I mutter, taking a step back which he matches with a step forward.

“Why’s that, my little walking dictionary?” he hums, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger.

I scowl, pulling away from his hand. “You’ve already fucked me, you don’t need to pretend your’re interested in my feelings now. I kind of got that vibe from you avoiding me for the past couple of days.”

His smirk falls. “I wasn’t avoiding you because we slept together Y/n. I thought..” he sighs turning away from me and running a hand through his hair in a stressed manor. “I thought you were mad at me, or upset about what we did. Thought you felt like I used you so I decided to just stay away.”

“Wow.” I drawl out sarcastically. “That idea makes perfect sense.”

“I realise it was a stupid idea now.” Shawn blanches. “I was just so freaked out that you might hate me and the only thing I could think of to do was just give you space.”

“That’s the most absurd thing that you could have done!” I exclaim.

“I know.” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It made me feel like all you wanted me for was sex.” I say quietly, looking down at my shoes. He’s at my side in a second, his burning hands cupping my face as he holds my gaze.

"I don’t regret a single thing I did with you that night; except for accusing you of what Peyton did but right now that isn’t important.”

“She doesn’t like the idea of you liking me.” I say, trying to blink back tears. I was getting so emotional.

“It’s not an idea.” He says boldly, his skin heating mine where it touches. “I like you. A lot.” Shawn blurts out and his cheeks are dusted with a pink tinge. “Enough to say that yeah.. maybe I am in love with you.”

I bite my lip, meeting his flame filled eyes.

“You’ve only known me for a week or so.”

“I’ve always noticed you though.” He smiles, and I finally allow him to hold me again. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into his embrace as my hands rest on his shirtless chest. “I saw you on your first day of camp and I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.”

“Oh.” I mumble, moving closer to him. “So you’ve been like stalking me for the past three years?”

“God no, Y/n , I’m not like that.” He laughs, the sound echoing around the room.

“You make it sound like that.” I can’t help the grin breaking out on my face.

“I used to go to the library a lot and I’d always see you there. I realized that you must be daughter of one of the smart God’s so I didn’t approach you.”

“You thought that because I was smart I wouldn’t like you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, my tone teasing.

“Kind of, I mean, I was some loner kid who everyone hated because they thought I was too hot headed.”

“You are kind of a hot head.” I beam, ruffling his hair to which he protests. 

“One of my few faults.” he smirks and I feel my stomach erupt in butterflies at the look in his eyes.

Neither of us say anything. I wet my bottom lip and the action draws Shawn’s attention.

“I don’t want to stay away from you.” He whispers after a moment of silence, moving closer so that our faces were millimeters apart. “Peyton and her jealousy can go fuck off.”

“Shawn!” I laugh, my forehead resting against his shoulder and he smells like he always does, wind and slightly of smoke.

“I don’t want you to stay away from me either.” I say, tracing a random shape on his chest with my forefinger.

He speaks again. “I want to be with you. I know we don’t have the most traditional of relationships but I really like you Y/n. I wish we could go back and redo this whole thing.”

I smile at him softly, shying away from the intensity of his gaze.

“You know how in class today Adrian told us how children of Athena never make rash decisions?” I whisper, finding his gaze again.

“Yeah?” he urges me on, his lips brushing against mine faintly.

“Everything I did in our relationship I thought about and pondered over 100 times until I knew it was the right decision to make. Nothing you or I did was a mistake to me.”

“Does that mean..?” He doesn’t finish his sentence. My hands move on their own accord to thread their way through his dark hair.

“I like how you make me feel.” I press a kiss to his lips and pull back to speak again. “I like how for once I’ve found someone who see’s me for more then just a bookworm. I’m just Y/n, not daughter of Athena.”

He grins, his hazel eyes twinkling in the orange light emitting from the fireplace.

“I like how you make me feel like more then just a hotheaded fireball.”

Originally posted by illumegeoff

Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Epilogue

April 1


I find the letter at the foot of my bed when I wake up.




I don’t know exactly how to say this

I’ve been sitting here staring at the blank page for ten minutes

Why did you have to be the Mage’s Heir?

I wish this didn’t have to be so hard to say

Crowley, this is ridiculous

We’ve lived together all this time and

Bet you thought I hated you

I don’t hate you

I can’t even explain what I

Why did we have to be enemies?

Fuck it.


I love you Simon Snow.



He finds me outside the dining hall, and when he storms towards me I see the letter in his hand. I brace myself.


“When did you even write this?” I begin.

           Baz looks taken aback.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

           “And why did you have to write it today?”

           “It’s April Fool’s Day, Snow,” he tells me, “or did you forget already?”

           “That’s just it,” I say, my voice getting louder. “Why would you write something like this on a day where it could be a prank?”

           “For exactly that reason.”

           “Well, what am I supposed to think?”

           He gives me a look.  “Think whatever you want, Snow,” he shrugs, “I’ve made my move, just focus on making yours.”

           I glare up at him a second longer.  His eyes are gray and deep and almost sad.

           His mouth is right there, and his lips look soft like his hair.

           I wonder if he’s noticed where I’m looking.


I wonder if he’ll reach up…

           Or if I’ll have to reach down…

           Or if I’m even brave enough…


I’m not brave enough.

           I step back while I still can, before I’ve been staring at his mouth too long or before one of us closes the distance.

           I wish I had some sort of parting phrase, something more eloquent than “fuck you”, but I don’t.

           So I turn and walk away, feeling his eyes bore into my back, feeling that same magnetic tension I’d felt when I’d left him to cry away his own nightmares.

           I wait until I’m around the corner before I start running.


Maybe a love letter is a lame April Fool’s Day prank, but when else am I supposed to tell him? When else would he take it with a grain of salt?

           Except he didn’t take it with a grain of salt, even today.

           I hope it makes him hate me.  I hope he burns it in front of me.  I hope he makes me burn it with my own fire.

           I wish he would just break my heart and leave it at that.

           Because the only thing worse than knowing he hates me is not knowing.


I could have kissed him.

           I wanted to kiss him.


           I’m outside when I run out of breath and I lean against an ivy-covered wall before pulling my phone out of my pocket and dialing Penny’s number.



           “Hey Simon, what’s up?”

           I squeeze my eyes shut.  “You’ve got to help me.”

           “Why, what’s wrong?”



           “I almost kissed Baz.”


I find Simon sitting on the ground against a wall, and the grass is wet but I join him anyway and wait for him to speak.

           “What’s wrong with me, Penny?”

           I shoot him a look.  “Nothing’s wrong with you, Simon,” I assure him, “you’re just scared.”

           “Baz hates me.”

           I don’t answer.

           “And I hate him, right?”

           “If you have to ask me, then you probably don’t.”

           “But I must,” he insists, “I always have.”

           “Things change.”

           “Not this.”

           “Where is this even coming from?” I ask.  He hands me a folded slip of paper.  A letter, and even though it’s not signed, it’s clear who wrote it.  

           “It was on my bed this morning.”

           “You do realize this is probably a prank, right?”

           “But that’s just it,” he sits forward urgently, “I can’t tell.”

           “Simon,” I tell him firmly, “if he does feel this way, then what better day to tell you than on a day you might not realize it’s true?”

           “But why wouldn’t he want me to realize?”

           “Oh, I don’t know,” I scoff, “maybe because you’ve been mortal enemies your whole life and he’s supposed to kill you and it would be bad enough if he thought you hated him but even worse if you didn’t?”

           He doesn’t respond, weighing the possibility in his mind.

           “Quick question.”


           “Who almost kissed whom?”

           He shakes his head.  “I’m not really sure anymore.”

           “Did you want to kiss him?”

           It’s a long moment before he gives the slightest of nods.  “Why would I want that, Penny?”

           I put a hand on his knee.  “Oh, Si,” I murmur sympathetically, “you know why.”


I only go to the room for a minute after lunch to grab a jacket, but when I get there, there’s a note on my bed.



I love you too.



Of course I do.  How could I have doubted for a second that I did?


I avoid him for the rest of the day, spending most of it wandering the catacombs and when that gets boring, the Wavering Wood.  I climb to the top of the highest tree I can find and close my eyes, trying to remember how it felt yesterday.

           I don’t know if I should be reading into the note or not, but that’s probably my own fault.  I did it to him, so he did it to me, all on the one day of the year dedicated to practical jokes.

           Yet neither of us have actually said April Fool’s.

           I wait as long as I can to return to our room for the night, and by then it’s dark already.  Simon doesn’t appear to have come up yet, but the window is open, so he must have been here since I found his note.

           As I stare at the window, something dark and long swoops through the outside air lazily.

           I venture closer, and it swings by again, but this time I see what it is.  A dragon’s tail.

           Part of me wants to yank it hard and send him tumbling (his wings would save him anyway, no harm done), but I just poke my head out the window and find Simon on the roof, his tail dangling over the edge.

           “What in Merlin’s name are you doing up there?”

           “Turns out I like high places,” he replies without looking at me.  I should go back inside (I don’t have anything else to say), but the sky is clear tonight and the moon is hitting his curls in a new way and I could study them for hours.

           “What are you looking at?” he asks when he catches me staring.

           I shake myself out of my trance.  “Nothing,” I say, ducking to retreat back in.

           “You should come up.”


           “Up here, it’s a great view.”

           “I can see just fine from here, Snow.”

           “Yeah, but…” he trails off, still gazing out over the grounds, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

           “You can come down if you want to talk to me.”

           “Where’s the fun in that?”  He shoots me a shy smile like he’s not sure if it’s allowed. “Seriously, just get out here.”

           I peer over the windowsill to the moat.  “I’ll fall.”

           “No you won’t,” Simon scoffs, “I’ve seen you climb.”

           “And I fell.”

           “I’d catch you.”

           He won’t look at me again but I can tell he’s not going to take no for an answer.

           I look anywhere but down or at him as I scramble over the sill and up onto the roof, not taking the offered hand but not slapping it away either as I might have done yesterday.

           One almost-kiss and you’d think the world was turned upside-down.

           Well, two almost-kisses.

           I settle into place beside him, anchoring my feet so I won’t slide down the angled roof.  It’s really not the most comfortable position, and the night air is colder up here, but now that I’m here I can see what he was talking about.  The Wood is like a quilt draped over the land and the hills roll like waves into the distance.  “Not a bad view,” I concede.

           “Told you.”

           “It would be a shame if I were to push you off the roof right now.”

           “You won’t.”

           “You sure?”



           “You just won’t.”

           I should, just to prove him wrong. Yesterday I might have.



           “Why haven’t we teamed up before?”

           I give a dark laugh.  “It might have something to do with being mortal enemies.”

           “Is that what we are?”

           “Well, it’s no secret that the Old Families want me to kill you.”

           “So why haven’t you?”

           “Are you getting impatient, Snow?”

           “You’ve had every opportunity, but even the times that you have legitimately tried, you’ve ended up saving me.”

           “I’ll make a note to stop doing that.”

           “Please don’t.”

           “I doubt we’d make a very good team, Snow,” I chuckle quietly.

           He looks genuinely curious.  “Why not?”

           “I think there has to be a certain level of trust in a team.”

           “I trust you.”

           I raise an incredulous eyebrow at him.  “I sold you out to a goblin yesterday, and now you trust me?”

           “It seems that way.”

           “Maybe that’s the reason we wouldn’t make a good team, because of your horrible decision-making skills.”

           Simon just laughs.  “You weren’t actually trying to kill me, and besides, look how it turned out.”

           My mind jumps straight to the almost-kiss at the top of the tree and I’m suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding my blush. “What do you mean?”

           “You killing that goblin,” he practically gushes, “that was incredible!”

           I shrug.  “Goblins are stupid, it wasn’t exactly difficult.”

           “Exactly. Imagine if we’d teamed up years ago, the Insidious Humdrum would be long gone by now.”

           “How boring our lives would be.”

           “We wouldn’t have to be enemies.”

           I look down at my legs.  “We’d still have to be enemies.”

           “We could be unlikely friends.”

           “No we couldn’t.”

           He glances at me carefully.  “Maybe not,” he agrees after a pause.

           Maybe he could be alright with friends, but I don’t know if I ever could.

           Fuck the Families.  Fuck the Mage.  Fuck the roles we’ve been given and the parts we have to play.  Fuck it all.  I just want you, Simon Snow.



           “Why did you have to write that letter today?”

           I don’t know if I’m shivering from the cold or the question, or both.  “I’ve already told you why.”

           “Why couldn’t you have written it tomorrow?”

           I cast him a sideways glance.  “You know that April Fool’s Day isn’t the one designated day of the year that I’m able to lie to you, right?  Saying it any other day wouldn’t make it true.”

           “If it were true,” he says slowly, “today would be the perfect day to say it without the risk of being taken seriously, right?”

           I shrug carefully.  “I suppose.”



           He looks me right in the eye.  “Did you mean it?”

           I hold his gaze.  “Why are you expecting the truth?”

           “Because I trust you.”

           “That’s right, I’d forgotten.”

           He waits expectantly.

           “It doesn’t matter what I say,” I sigh, “you won’t believe me.”  It’s the grave I’ve dug myself.


           I don’t answer, just meet his eyes.

           “Did you ever consider,” he murmurs, “even for a moment, the possibility that your letter would mean something to me?”

           I don’t speak, I can’t.

           “Or that maybe my note wasn’t a prank?”

           I gulp.  “The thought crossed my mind, but it was too ridiculous to entertain.”

           He shifts fractionally closer but I can already feel the energy start to crackle between us.  “It’s not that ridiculous.”

           “What are you saying?”

           Simon’s eyes are dark like indigo, his hair framed by the moon behind him.  “I think…”

           I can’t breathe as I wait for him to finish.


I don’t know if I can say it.  Writing it down is one thing, but saying it face-to-face, and this close…

           Baz’s eyes are silver, illuminated by the moon behind me.



“Do you know why I woke you from the nightmares?” he says suddenly, and I want to slap him for changing the subject.  (And then kiss his cheek.)  (And then kiss his mouth.)

           “Because I was keeping you from your beauty rest?”

           “Because you were scared, and… it hurt me to see you hurting like that.”

           He won’t look at me again, and I want to take his chin in my hand and make him meet my eye, but I stay still and wait.

           “When you had the nightmares,” he eventually continues, “you didn’t just say no a lot.”

           I already know where this is going.  “What else did I say?”

           “My name.  Simon.”

           Figures.  “I was afraid of that,” I nod.

           “Can I ask what you were dreaming about?”

           It takes a long time for me to answer.  “I had to kill you.”

           “And did you?”

           Just the thought brings tears to my eyes.

           “You don’t have to…”

           “Yes.  I did.” He’s silent as I take a ragged breath. “That’s why it’s my worst nightmare. I know I’ve been told all my life that I have to kill you, but if it ever really came to it, I want to think that I’d be brave enough to refuse.  But in my nightmares, I always give in.  Sometimes you kill me at the same time, and then at least I know I won’t have to carry on living in a world without you…”

“After I woke you,” he says a minute later, his voice getting quieter and quieter, “I hated myself for what I’d done to you.  I wanted to comfort you, to hold you until you fell asleep again, but I was too afraid.  When I walked away, it was like someone was ripping a piece out of me, and then I hated myself even more.  I thought the feeling would go away, but it didn’t.”  He looks me in the eye, and he looks terrified.  “It still hasn’t.”

He’s only inches away.  There’s tears in his eyes to match mine.  

“I think…” Simon moves even closer, “I think I meant what I wrote.”

My heart goes quiet, but I’ve never felt more alive.

“I know,” I whisper, “that I meant what I wrote.”

It’s taking everything in me right now not to fall against him.

I don’t miss his eyes as they flicker to my mouth and back up. When he speaks it’s less than a breath. “May I…”


He takes a handful of my shirt and pulls me down to him.


Baz tastes like citrus and wood smoke and I’m immediately lost in the scent.  His mouth is softer than I could have imagined and I want to be gentle, to move slowly, but I can’t stop myself from opening his mouth with mine.  I feel his sigh vibrate against my chin as I deepen the kiss and oh, it’s not enough.  I want to hear every sound he has, to explore every inch of him, to stay here forever discovering.  I know right now that I’ll never get enough.


Simon kisses me like he’s starving, like he can’t get enough, yet he’s gentle.  His mouth is slow and deep, and my hand is in his curls before I even know what I’m doing, angling his head and moving slow, like we have nothing but time.  The tears are spilling over from my eyes and I can feel the moisture of his own tears on his cheeks, but we’re both kissing through our grins, giddy and desperate for more.


Breaking away from him is like pulling the plug on life support, but he stays no more than a breath away.

“Are you shaking?” I whisper.

“It’s cold up here, Simon,” he murmurs back.  “Not everyone has an internal furnace like you apparently do.”

I grin and wrap my wings around the two of us.  “Call me that again.”

He presses a gentle kiss to my mouth.  “Simon,” he breathes, and I can’t stop myself from pulling him in again.

Baz keeps whispering my name between kisses, and I keep falling more and more in love with him.

it’s okay, that’s love 02

Originally posted by pawjimin

➾ water polo player!jimin x psychiatrist!reader
ft ot7
➾ warnings: mentions of blood, mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, ocd, split personality disorder etc), self harm, angst, fluff, smut
➾ word count: 9.5k
➾ please read part one first if you haven’t!

01 | 02

➾ disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and i do not claim to be a qualified mental health professional. this work is not intended to provide any medical advice of any sort, please consult a licensed physician instead.

➾ summary: you’ve always managed to keep your work and personal life strictly separated, but new housemates means that boundaries are crossed, defences are raised and feelings are hurt. maybe kim taehyung is right after all- but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever admit it. 

“I just don’t get it,” you slouch over the couch in the break room, not caring if your coat gets wrinkled underneath your weight. “I just don’t understand any of this.”

“I know right, how can someone lack that much compassion?” Taehyung wrestles with two packs of ramen noodles as he empties them into the pot of boiling water and replaces the lid. “Ugh I’m so craving a chicken burger from Burger King right now but I swear Irene sunbae is literally guarding that door.”

“What? What are you talking about?” The smell of piping hot instant ramen stirs your appetite and persuades you to get up from the couch and make your way to the table. 

Keep reading

Sexually Precocious Teenagers

Summary: Stiles is pretty sure his asexuality is a deal-breaker that will keep him from having a relationship with Derek. (Spoiler alert: it’s not.)

Notes: Just as a heads up, Scott and Stiles have a very close friendship in this fic. And despite the title, there is no smut. (On AO3)

Scott comes down the hallway, fresh from his post-workout shower, and freezes in the doorway of his room.

“Stiles, why are you naked in my bed?” he asks, his voice coming out a little higher than he’d intended.

“Dude, melodramatic much?” Stiles says with a grin, flipping back the sheet to reveal that he’s still wearing boxers.

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The Recruit (Chapter 2) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 2″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, & Reader

Warnings: Some violence, sort of, slow burn (does that need to be a warning?).

Author’s Note: I have been quietly sitting back and reading basically every bit of fan fiction for a few weeks now that I can find pertaining to Teen Wolf/Stiles/DOB/Mitch Rapp, and I finally decided to throw my hat into the ring. I get so much joy from everyone else’s work and I just really hope you can all get the same out of this.

Summary: Mitch’s fiancee, Katrina, was brutally murdered in a terrorist attack a year and a half ago. He had been hunting the perpetrators by himself for over a year, but finally came across the radar of Irene Kennedy, the Director of the CIA. She sends him to Stan Hurley to be properly trained at becoming a covert assassin on behalf of the American government. When he agreed to all of this, he never expected to meet Y/N.

Chapter Summary: Mitch begins his training with a lesson in tracking people. He ends up getting to know Y/N better and begins opening up himself.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Originally posted by obriens

He pulled a pair of black, tinted safety goggles off the table and raised them over his eyes. Everyone at the gun range paused, and watched Mitch take an AK-47 off the table behind him and begin checking and loading it, wanting to see what the new recruit had to offer in terms of marksmanship. 

You noticed a white cotton t-shirt sticking out slightly from under both ends of his dark gray, chunky sweater. You noted him wearing a darker pair of jeans than the ones he had on yesterday, and then you realized that you were more focused on how his hair still looked good under his protective headphones, than what he was about to do with the high powered weapon. You heard the automatic rifle go off in small spurts and watched as he hit dead on for his target and the four guy’s next to his targets. The men murmured around the gun range, and then went back to their own shooting.

You picked up your Desert Eagle .50 Caliber Handgun and aimed it at his target, from seven rows away. He didn’t notice where your gun was pointed, as he aimed a Glock at the head on his target sheet. Before he could press his finger against the trigger, his target sheet moved. He looked up and saw a new hole, square between the eyes. He looked behind him and saw Stan grinning and leaning against the equipment table. He leaned over the other way and saw you put down your gun and glasses on the table, and raise your eyebrows at him.

“Can’t ever let them get big heads, can you Y/N?” Stan said as you walked towards the exit. You shrugged. Stan patted you on the back as you walked out of target practice. Mitch went back to shooting until the exercise was over.

Keep reading

Combining some prompts after looking at the votes! 

Prompts: Peter getting sick after falling into the Hudson (Note: this prompt has been adjusted slightly for the sake of spoilers), Peter with pneumonia, and Peter sick at school, and Tony having to pick him up. 

Word Count: 2905

Peter’s web breaks as he’s mid swing over the Hudson River, and he has just enough time to mutter out a sharp “shit” before he’s plunging toward the water with no time to shoot another web. 

His body hits the water with a loud smack, and he’s sinking toward the bottom before the gears in his mind can turn toward the safety answer of “swim.” The water around him is cool and murky, and it has his mask plastered uncomfortably to his face, feeling almost as if a second, more damp, layer of skin. He hooks two fingers underneath it and slips it up and over, only to have the fabric push hard at his pressed lips until they part just wide enough for water to shoot into his mouth and down his throat. 

Keep reading

A Taste of Heaven

Character(s): Reader X Minhyuk, Dasom getting married to jooyoung (?) idk

Genre: fluff, romance, friendstolovers!au, smut

Warning(s): sweet talk?

Length: 6.8k

Summary: In which Lee Minhyuk causes you way more stress than you ever signed up for.

You first meet Lee Minhyuk in kindergarten, halfway through the year. He seems pretty nice upon first glance, smile a little too creepy but hey, it’s kindergarten. You figure he’s probably been sniffing too much Elmer’s glue or maybe he ate one of the plastic eggs from the housekeeping play section. All things aside, he’s still pretty nice. He has a rock collection and one of them is named Casserole which is coincidentally your favorite food and you have a pet leaf you’ve named Goat which makes Minhyuk giggle.

“Goat is a weird name,” he tells you between barely hidden snickers, fat fingers coming to cover his mouth as you both run to the slide on fumbling legs.

“Yeah, well, Casserole is a yummy food but rocks aren’t yummy. I would know. I tried eating one last year and mommy cried and took me to the doctor,” you inform him expertly as you climb the ladder up to the slide.

You beat him up the slide and a whoop leaves your mouth as you slide down, but Minhyuk’s smile is long gone when he lands on the wood chips behind you softly. His face scrunches up, reddening, and snot leaks from his nose as he blubbers something about ‘mean girls who are mean’ and runs away from you.

You don’t really care because he made fun of Goat’s name and what kind of person does that, honestly, but a little guilty feeling settles into your stomach when you see him sniffling during lunch, poking at his chicken nuggets.

So right after school ends, you go out front and pick him the prettiest rock from the playground, stumbling back on your little legs.

“Here,” you pant, dropping the rock on Minhyuk’s desk and bending over to hold your knees. “I got him for you. His name is Bleach because mommy yelled at me one time when i picked up a bottle and tried to drink it. Like how she got when I ate the rock.”

Minhyuk looks up at you, a little pout on his lips that slowly morphs into a beam that makes his eyes sparkle.

“Really? For me?” He asks, hands clasped together underneath his chin.

You nod, a little surge of relief flowing through you at the sight of his smile.

“Thanks! I’ll bring you a leaf and you can name it Bro because we can be bros now!”

You frown at him, shaking your head, “Bros is for brothers which are boys, but yuck, I’m not a boy.”

Minhyuk shakes his head vehemently, face pulled into a serious expression, “My mommy and daddy told me that those are gender erstro-stero-stereotypes.” He sticks his tongue out of his mouth as he enunciates the syllables.

“What’s that?” You ask, confusion marring your features.

“I don’t really know but they told me that it means that we can call each other whatever we want as long as it makes us happy,” he tells you with a thoughtful expression. “Oh! But not bad words! One time, my big brother, Kihyun, said a bad word and oooooh,” he does a little jig as he bounces on his toes. “My mommy got really mad at him.”

You nod solemnly at this, “My mommy said that “govnurnment” will find us if we say those words and that the sky might fall.”

Minhyuk gasps at this, one hand clutching his chest.

And thus begins your friendship with Lee Minhyuk.

It turns out he lives in the apartment down the hall from yours which means playdates every weekend which slowly turn into sleepovers. Your parents love him to the ends of the world and back and it’s a little infuriating.

In the third grade he sends you a note via some kid named Jooheon who has dimples so deep you could swim in them for days. 

The note reads, “I like u, do u like me, check yes or no (pls yes).”

You smack him on the playground and that’s the end of that.

In the seventh grade, Minhyuk fills out a little, still lanky, but now his legs are nicely proportioned to his torso and his smile is a little more bright and a little less creepy. Girls notice this too, but Minhyuk is still awkward around them, swerving three feet into the opposite direction when he spots a girl in proximity. You tease him endlessly about this, telling him he’s never going to find his love because he’ll be too busy running away from her.

Come the ninth grade, Minhyuk grows a little taller and suddenly becomes a little more cocky with the girls. This leaves a bitter taste in your mouth for some reason, and this taste only intensifies when he gets a girlfriend he spends most of his time with. She’s pretty, with a cute little nose and sharp, mono lidded eyes. Her smile is bright and cheery and matches Minhyuk’s in a way that makes your blood boil.

“Hi, I’m Seulgi!” She announces herself one rainy afternoon, Minhyuk’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist as she waves excitedly at you. “Minhyuk and I are dating and I know you two are best friends so I wanted introduce myself!”

Your eyes narrow at Minhyuk who looks somewhat nervous. “Dating?”

Minhyuk nods firmly at you, “Yeah, I asked her out today. No problem with that, right?”

Your heart twists a little uncomfortably in your chest and your stomach tightens. Nodding at Minhyuk and hastily sticking your water bottle into your bag, you shoot him a strained smile. “Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Everything is okay. In fact, everything is so okay I don’t remember what not okay is like. Ha. Ha.”

They break up a few months later but that weird feeling in your chest comes back every time you see her. Minhyuk doesn’t seem too heartbroken in all honesty and she ends up dating Jooheon a couple weeks after. He doesn’ even act all that surprised, truthfully.

You have a movie night at your house with ice cream and chicken nuggets because even ten years later, Minhyuk loves chicken nuggets. He leans into your shoulder and tells you it’s no big deal, because Seulgi “isn’t a mean person’. The night ends with you feeling even more confused because your heart still does the clenching thing when Minhyuk says her name but it also has started doing this weird skippy thing when he comes close to you and oh god when he hugs you goodnight you forget to breathe.

High school passes and you come to terms with the fact that Minhyuk has a nice smile that isn’t creepy and he has pretty hands and really pretty lips and a good, sweet personality and maybe, just maybe, you’ve somehow ended up liking Lee Minhyuk.

Maybe you like like him.

But Minhyuk is a little dense and never notices and you’re too terrified to tell him yourself because of that one time in the third grade you rejected him. So it just stays a secret. Except Minhyuk is the only one who can’t tell. And everyone else makes suggestive jokes and teases you about it. And Minhyuk still doesn’t know.

Getting over your best friend is hard and it’s even harder when it’s Minhyuk, especially when you both decide to go to the same college. So when he asks you to live together during that time, there’s not much you can say except yes because you’ve always been a little weak for Minhyuk.

Living with him is awful, you realize just a week later.

Now that there isn’t a whole apartment between the both of you, he just comes barrelling through your door at random times, screaming about who knows what. He also leaves his pants all over the place. Just his pants. They’re hanging off the lampshades sometimes or draping across the back of the sofa and one time you even find them dangling from the ceiling fan. Turn out, he just likes flinging his pants around the room because pants ‘constrict the creativity flow, which is essential for a lit major.’

It’s awful.

Sometimes he stumbles out of his room early in the morning, in boxers and a loose t-shirt and he mumbles a rough ‘good morning’ as he pours a cup of coffee. His voice is throaty, laced with tiredness and if you could physically bathe in it, you would. And sometimes he gets cold in his room as night so he pushes into yours with a blanket wrapped around his head and snuggles in next to you.

This is even more awful.

It’s a ride through hell.

Lee Minhyuk is your best friend of fifteen years and now, at the age of twenty, you refuse to develop any feelings for him.

This is easier said than done.

The situation isn’t helped when your older sister, Dasom, calls you to tell you that she’s getting married in a week, not two months.

“Minhyuk!” You call, following the smell of chicken nuggets to his room. He sits in the middle of his bed, blankets pooled at the foot of the bed while he dangles his head off the side, half a chicken nugget hanging out his mouth.

“Yes, cutie?” He replies, crooking his head as he stares at your upside-down form.

“Dasom’s getting married to Jooyoung in a week and mom wants you there. Your parents are coming, too,” you tell him, moving into his room.

“A week? I thought the wedding was in another two months!”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Right, well, I’m pretty sure something must have happened for the wedding to be pushed back. My mom called it ‘special circumstances’. My bet is that Dasom got pregnant.”

Minhyuk snorts, sitting up only to fall back and lay on his bed, “Yikes, sounds like this’ll be a fun wedding.”

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you move to sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulders. Another day of listening to your mother rant about how horrible Jooyoung is and your father’s irritated grumbles about Dasom’s future.

“Oh, come on,” Minhyuk says, jiggling his shoulder, “there’s no way it’ll be that bad. Weddings are supposed to be fun!”

You glare at him from where your head rests, eyes rolling up. “It won’t be. Jooyoung’s mom is rude and snobbish, and mom and dad think Jooyoung’s family isn’t good enough for ours.”

Minhyuk just nods sympathetically, grinning at you, “I think you should create a diversion.”

“A diversion?”

“Yeah, like you find something that’s so completely shocking neither family even has time to think about how much they hate each other.” Minhyuk nods to himself, as though commending himself on a plan well thought out.

You crinkle your nose, wracking your brain for an an idea when Minhyuk snaps his fingers, bringing his face close to yours with a proud smile.

“Pretend you’re dating me.”

It takes approximately five and a half seconds for the thought to sink into your head before you choke, hacking your way through profuse rejections and vehement denials.

“Oh, come on,” Minhyuk says, bouncing up and down a little, “it’s not like we have to stay together. This is purely for appearance’s sake.”

You nod agreeing with Minhyuk, because yes that makes total and absolute sense, but your heart also wrenches a little for some godforsaken reason.

You chalk it up to heartburn and for the rest of the day, you ignore the way your heart seems to swell whenever you’re around Minhyuk.

Minhyuk somehow forgets that weddings include formal wear, as in a suit, so six hours before the wedding you both shuffle out to the department store located one too many bus stops away. His justification is that university students have no reason to use suits and therefore “they are useless”.

Be that as it may, you refuse to show up at the wedding with him dressed in the suit he bought for high school graduation.

“So what color do I get?”

You sigh, rifling through the racks of suits, “Minhyuk just pick a simple suit.”

He seems to think that all suits are the same size because the first one he steps out of the dressing room in hangs embarrassingly over his frame. The sleeves fall over his lithe wrists, just the tips of his fingers poking out and the shoulders droop awkwardly. He looks like he’s mid-puberty.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. “Change of plans. I pick a suit and you wear it.”

Minhyuk nods as you pluck a black suit off one of the racks and pass it to him. “There are sizes, Minhyuk. That’s why I asked for your measurements.”

“That’s why I asked how to pick!”

You don’t even bother supplying him with a response, pushing him into one of the dressing rooms and turning to sit in one of the empty chairs near the big mirrors. Minhyuk grunts few times, complaining from inside the room about starchy fabrics and too tight collars as you laugh, inspecting your fingernails. A rack of ties hang beside you, colorful prints and dark, solid colors. You trace the tips of your finger over each tie, plucking out a soft pink one, satisfied with how well it matches with your dress.

The swish of the curtains swinging open is the first thing you register before you look up and oh-

Minhyuk stands, one hand pushed into his pocket, the other fiddling with the lapels of the suit jacket, one knee cocked. His brown hair is swept back from his face, tousled from what you assume are his fingers raking through it. He looks breathtaking and you gulp a little bit, voice caught in your throat for a moment.

“N-nice, you -you, you look nice.”

Minhyuk’s fingers graze over the fabric, his eyes locked on you, hints of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “You think so?”

You force back the impure thoughts budding in your mind and manage a stiff smile, sending him a wink. Minhyuk’s cheeks redden and he coughs into his fist, mumbling something about you being too cute for your own good. You’re not exactly sure why that makes you blush and fluster when you hear that but you spend the next ten minutes hacking up a lung while Minhyuk asks you if you’re okay.

You nod and it’s another day of ignoring the fact that Lee Minhyuk looks amazing in both sweatpants and a suit.

So when you get back home, you make a beeline for your bedroom, eyes refusing to grant Minhyuk any glances.

It’s stifling in your room, surrounded by the smell of Minhyuk’s cologne and mental flashes of his suit, the white collar of his dress shirt unbuttoned, fingers latching onto the tie to wriggle it loose.

You find it nearly impossible to rid yourself of the intrusive thoughts, flinging yourself into your bed. Solace comes in the form of your fingers sneaking down your jeans, pushing your panties aside as you rub at your folds, fingers flicking against your clit. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back, mouth opening in a silent moan, thoughts of Minhyuk running through your mind. His fingers pass fleetingly through, thoughts of how well those long fingers could work you open, pressing against all the right spots.

Your fingers twirl around the bundle of nerves, mind now delving into the ways his tongue could make you feel, swiping over your folds, pushing into you. You can picture him pressing you into the sheets, lips burning trails all over your body, leaving light hickeys on the unmarred skin, his voice raspier as he grunts into your ears. Minhyuk could fill you up so well, taking his time with making you feel good, leaving you writhing and satisfied. 

You imagine his face when he cums, mouth open and face twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy. It’s what finally has you unraveling around your own fingers, voice breathy as a whisper of his name slips through your lips.

You lie there in your bed, limp and spent for a good fifteen seconds before the weight of what you’ve done washes over you. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment of having just gotten off to the mere thoughts of your best friend, quickly wiping your fingers clean with the tissues on your bedside table.

A sudden loud rap comes from your door and Minhyuk’s voice wafts through, sugary and sweet. “Are you dressed yet? The wedding starts in about two hours.”

Your voice catches in your throat for a quick second, a garbled croak sounding from your lips first. “I-I mean almost!”

Minhyuk groans from the other side and you can almost picture the pout on his lips. “Well, hurry up!”

It takes you only a few minutes to slip on the dress, light pink and soft and airy, the most comfortable one you could find. You forsake the comfort of your feet, however, for high heels, teetering a little as you stand  from your chair.

Minhyuk’s hand is still shoved into his pocket when you step out, but this time his eyes are locked on the watch on his wrist as he stares at it intently, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor, little irritated clacks resonating. You clear your throat a little, eyes widening when you see that he’s cleaned up, swept the strands of his hair to the sides, the tie properly knotted around his neck, a small pink rose tucked into the pocket of his suit. Your breathing stutters a little and a silence follows, Minhyuk’s eyes widening as he looks at you, scanning your body up and down as he drags his tongue over his cracked lips in a quick swipe.

“H-hey, you look nice - like good- like really good, you look really good,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck shyly, the skin flaming a right red. Minhyuk clears his throat once, twice, holding out his elbow. “Shall we, m’lady?” He seems to be able to compose himself enough to step closer, instead, lacing your fingers together.

“It’s what real couples do,” he says when you glance at him inquisitively, but his cheeks are a telling pink as he looks away.

The moment your step into the church your eye lock on your mother, fanning herself with the wedding pamphlet in one hand, the other swishing a glass of red wine. Her face is twisted into an irritated expression, lips thin and wrinkled. Your father is slouched over the table, glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose as he traces the tip of his finger over the rim of his wineglass. He looks more glum than anything else, eyes occasionally flitting up to eye the white, lily-covered aisle and flower decorations with a heavy sigh.

“Minhyuk!” Your mother exclaims, face lighting up the second she sees him. She opens her arms wide, a smile splitting her frown, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Your father even seems happier, clapping Minhyuk on the back with enough force to nearly knock him over. “How’s college going, Minhyuk?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s at the top of his class, just like in high school!” Your mother gushes, hands clasped together in happiness. Minhyuk just smiles, wrapping an arm around your mother’s waist and planting  a kiss on the crown of her head. She giggles, leaning into his shoulder.

Your cross your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter.”

Your mother spares you a glance before turning back to Minhyuk, “Yes, sweetheart, I know. Believe it or not, I was there when you were born.”

You barely have enough time to splutter back an offended reply before Dasom comes barging in, eyes glinting with anger, her dress swinging back and forth dangerously.

“Where are my calla lilies?” She nearly screams, shoving Minhyuk aside.

He stumbles, nearly crashing into the table as she huffs, slamming her hand down onto the table. A sort of fury ignites in your chest as you latch one of your hands onto Minhyuk’s elbow, tugging him close. “Hands off my boyfriend.”

Minhyuk looks back at you, his face unreadable.

Dasom’s expression shifts from anger to utter confusion as she turns to look at you, mouth open. “What did you say?”

The anger inside of you dwindles, your rash actions catching up to you. “Uh-I mean-uh”

“We’re dating.” Minhyuk announces, moving his elbow out of your hand to instead interlace your fingers together. “I’m here to provide support for my girlfriend’s family.”

Dasom chokes.

Minhyuk’s whisks you out of the church after that, calling out a cheerful ‘be right back!’ over his shoulder. You can hear your parents fumbling for words, half-finished sentences and garbled sounds.

When you go back in moments later, this time equipped with knowledge from google (how to fake a relationship), your parents are more composed. You mother is seated in one of the high stools, your father right next to her. Her legs are crossed, fingers wrapped around the stem of the wineglass, swishing the red liquid as she eyes you with a cold, calculated look.

“So,” she begins, the second you both step closer, “when did this happen?”

Minhyuk speaks up, one hand pressed against the small of your back, “We’ve been dating for about a month, but we didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal,” your mother exclaims, the wine sloshing dangerously in the glass. She shifts her gaze to glare at you, “I can’t believe you kept the son-in-law of my dreams hidden from me all this time!”


She rolls her eyes, turning to look at your dad, “Do you see this? She kept this hidden for an entire month!”

Your father grunts a little, squaring his shoulders, “We all love Minhyuk sweetheart, why wouldn’t you just tell us?”

Minhyuk winks at your parents, greasy and playful, “I love you guys, too.”

“See,” your mother chimes, “there was absolutely no reason to keep him from us!”

You open your mouth to respond when the church doors fly open, a hot blast of air flying through the room.

Jooyoung’s mother stands there, sunglasses perched on her nose, designer bag swinging from the crook of her elbow. Minhyuk wraps an arm around your shoulders, rubbing the skin gently as he waves, voice cheerful.

“Hi hello!”

She tilts her head, peering at him over the top of her sunglasses before sniffing and strutting forwards.

“I’m the groom’s mother.”

An awkward silence follows.

“Ah, yes,” Minhyuk says, clearing his throat and smiling uncomfortably. You can practically see his inner struggle, desperately trying to impress. Minhyuk has always been like this, striving to make sure everyone likes him and please anyone he meets.

Your mother rolls her eyes, mumbling a quick greeting and darting away with your father as quickly as she can.

Another awkward silence follows.

“So,” Jooyoung’s mother  says, taking off her sunglasses and slipping them into her purse, turning to look at you “How are you?”

“I-I’m fine,” you croak, slightly intimidated. “Got a good job and moved into a new apartment and -”

“You’re so independent” she chimes, voice saccharine sweet. “It’s no wonder you haven’t found anyone yet!”

You choke a little, eyes widening and Minhyuk stiffens next to you.

“Actually,” he says, pressing himself a bit closer to you, “we’re dating.”

Your heart flutters a bit - just a bit- at his words, leaning into his warmth. Jooyoung’s mother regards him with a calculated look, eyes sweeping up and down his form.

Well,” she sighs, turning to look back at you, “if that’s the kind of man you wanted, you certainly got a good one.”

You’re not quite sure what to make of that but guests slowly begin filing in and Jooyoung moves to greet them all, shaking hands and casting smiles.

Jooyoung’s mother shuffles away, heels clacking loudly on the tiled floor as she hugs some of the people coming in.

“Wow, she seems really nice,” Minhyuk says dryly, mouth pulled into a wry smile.

Your mother appears next to you, lips pressed into a thin line. “She’s quite a piece of work isn’t she?”

Minhyuk’s eyes flash to her before he grins, planting a soft peck on your temple. “Don’t be sad, I’m here to make the perfect son-in-law for you!”

You don’t hear your mother’s reply because all the blood in your body is rushing to your face, the pounding of your heart beating too loudly in your ears. Lee Minhyuk’s lips are soft and feel like clouds pressed against you and his arm feels so incredibly secure, like they were meant to keep you safe, it’s hard to breathe now.


Your eyes snap back into focus as you feel Minhyuk’s elbow nudge you in the ribs softly, mumbling an intelligent “huh?”

You mother just sighs, pointing to the pews with a tired hand. Minhyuk guides you to your places, a warm and comforting presence. The wedding passes by in a blur; Dasom practically radiates beauty and Jooyoung clearly can’t stop smiling. They exchange vows and your eyes brim with tears as Dasom slips the ring onto his finger, overwhelmed with the sudden realization of your older sister moving onto the next chapter of her life. The tips of Minhyuk’s fingers brush underneath your eyes, sweeping the tears away. He wraps his hand around yours, rubbing comforting circles into the back of your hand with his thumb.

You unconsciously lean into the touch, reveling in the warmth his body provides against you, comforting and soothing. The smell wafting off of him is familiar, allowing you a sort of solace in this uncomfortable atmosphere.

Your mother shoots you a knowing glance, smiling surreptitiously and leans into your father’s side, whispering something.

The rest of the ceremony moves by just as quickly, the reception more or less bustling with people holding too many wine glasses.

Dasom and Jooyoung have their first dance and people slowly fall into a relaxed state, swaying to the soft music, arms wrapped around their partners.

“Hello, darlings,” Jooyoung’s mother says, sidling up next to you and eyeing your mother up and down. Her eyes convey irritation as she plasters a fake smile across her lips. “That shade does wonders for your wrinkles!” She says, gesturing towards your mother’s dress.

Your mother’s lips twitch as she brings the wine glass to her lips.

“My, that’s the eighth glass you’ve had since I’ve gotten here! I envy you and your daughter, not worried about what others may think!”

Her eyes narrowing, your mother clears her throat, bringing the glass down from her lips to ask, voice quiet, “And what exactly does that mean?”

Jooyoung’s mother sniffs, inspecting her fingernails, “Of course, I mean your obvious issue with alcohol, for lack of better word. Furthermore, I would never allow my child to cling to their partner in public in such a way, especially during someone else’s  wedding, but it’s wonderful that the both of you are so confident you don’t concern yourselves with anyone else.”

You feel yourself step back in shock, unprepared for the attack aimed your way. This time, your mother places the glass on the table, straightening her back and clasping her hands.

“I think,” she begins, voice eerily calm, “That it’s none of your concern what we do.”

Jooyoung’s mother crosses her arms, the leather of her purse dangerously hovering over her sharp diamond bracelet. “Well, of course it is. You’re family now.” She spits out the word like it’s venom, mouth wrinkling in distaste.

“Right,” Minhyuk interjects, coolly wrapping his arm around your waist again, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress. “Family. But auntie, is everything alright at home? Jooyoung told me about your … financial issues, and you know we’re always happy to help. After all, that’s what family is for.”

Jooyoung’s mother chokes a little, composure breaking as she stammers, “I-it’s fine. We have everything under complete control.” Her voice cracks a few times before she wobbles away, calling out for Jooyoung.

You and your mother stare at Minhyuk in awe as he plucks a mini quiche off a platter and pops it into his mouth, chewing happily.

“Financial troubles?” Your mother croaks, eyes wide. “Since when?”

“Not sure,” Minhyuk says around the food in his mouth, munching noisily. “That,” he swallows the last of the quiche, sticking up his index finger, “Was a shot in the dark.”

“A shot in the dark,” your mother repeats slowly, as if mulling over the words. “You didn’t know if it was true?”

“Nah,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “but she was clearly on edge all throughout the wedding and what kind of mom wears more expensive clothing than her son on his wedding day? Only a mom that felt insecure about her finances.”

A stunned silence follows.

“Well,” your mother says, standing from her chair, teetering a little bit, “I’m going to go get another drink, because I need it if I’m supposed to survive this wedding.”

She hobbles away, swaying a little and nearly crashing into one of the waiters as she searches for the open bar.

Minhyuk chuckles by your shoulder, puffs of air hitting the side of your neck, “Told you I’d be a good buffer.”

You turn to face him, mouth open and ready to fire back a reply but he’s staring down at you, eyes twinkling and lips curved into the sweetest smile and the words somehow get caught in your throat.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, offering his hand, and grazing the tip of his nose over yours.

Words aren’t needed as you slip your hand into his, nodding with a shy smile. Minhyuk’s hand feels secure and safe as he pulls you close, slipping them down to hold your waist.

“So,” he says, smiling as you wrap your hands around his shoulders, “seems like they bought the whole thing, huh?”

You frown, steps faltering, “What do you mean?”

“Our relationship.”


A sort of wrenching feeling builds in your chest, similar to how you felt when Seulgi announced she was dating him and at this point you’ve accepted your feelings for Minhyuk because, really, there’s no way out.

“But,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours, “You don’t seem all that happy.”

You square your shoulders, jaw setting. 

Right. Be an adult. Rip the bandaid off. Get it over with.

“Minhyuk,” you sigh, eyes locked on the collar of his shirt, “I-”

“A hypothetical,” he interrupts, this time slight panic laced into his eyes, “What if, hypothetically, I actually wanted to be your date for once and I just did this so that you’d give me a chance?”


“And, hypothetically, I like it when you take care of me so I purposefully depend on you?”


“And maybe, just hypothetically, what if I said I’ve liked you since the third grade? So,” he scratches the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “If I said that, would we keep pretending or could we actually start dating? Hypothetically.”

You blink.


This time Minhyuk groans in exasperation. “Oh my god, you don’t get it. I like you.”

“You what.”

“Like you.”

“Like you like me? I know you like me; we’ve been friends for years, Minhyuk.”

“No, like I like you like you.”

This new piece of information takes about three minutes for you to process during which almost eighty different emotions pass over Minhyuk’s face.

It finally hits you and your legs shake as you take a step back, “W-what?”

The world suddenly becomes all wavy and Minhyuk’s arm slips around your waist, catching you as your knees nearly buckle. “What do you think?”

Your arms slip back around his neck, searching for balance and he’s so close, so incredibly close, his lips ghosting over your own and before you realize it, your eyes have slid shut, lips parting.

Fuck it, you’ve waited for this for years.

You forget everything, the family stress, the people around you, the piles of work you have left at home, and focus solely on what you’ve thought about for years.

Minhyuk’s lips press against yours with the softest of touches and nothing you’ve imagined could have prepared you for this moment, lips tingling, fingers flying to latch onto his shoulders, drawing him closer. Minhyuk’s lips are made of fireworks and coming home, he’s the comfort you’ve always needed and the sunshine you so desperately crave. He tilts, his head, lips leaving your for a split second as he gulps in air, a whisper of your name slipping past his lips. You only grow more desperate for his touch, leaning into him, fingers scrabbling for purchase as they drag at his shoulders.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” He laughs when your lips part, foreheads still pressed against each other’s.

You can almost physically feel his warmth squeezing through the cracks of uncertainty in your heart as you nod, a smile spreading over your lips.


Minhyuk has a hard time keeping his hands to himself. You discover this on your hasty car ride back home, as you both quickly bid your parents goodbye, quick pecks on the cheek and surprised hugs thrown your way.

His hand rests on your bare knee as he drives, his shirt popped open a few button, tie loose and hanging around his neck.

“Minhyuk, move.”

“No. I like my hand there.”

Correction. He just doesn’t like keeping his hands to himself.

“Something wrong with it,” he pauses, almost contemplatively, before a slow grin spreads across his face, “baby?”


“Baby,” he says, this time the smirk on his face much too prominent.




He smiles, tilting his head, “So you like being called baby.”

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him, but he seems unaffected.

“You looked really pretty today, baby.”

A minute of silence goes by.

“So pretty, baby.”

“Never speak to me again, Lee Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk’s lips are pressed against yours the moment you both step into the apartment, fumbling to take off your shoes, you heels catching on the edge of the rug as you stumble.

His hands roam, pressing into your sides and tugging your body close as he stumbles into the living room.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispers, hands burning as they pull you into the bedroom, shifting to the back of your dress to fiddle with the zipper.

You sigh, voice catching in your throat as your body lands on the messy sheets, “You–you looked pretty good, too.”

He grins, lips curving against the column of your neck. “I noticed you liked the suit, baby.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Minhyuk just shoots you a cheeky grin, fiddling with the clasp of your bra, “I saw your face when I came out of that dressing room. Admit it, you think it’s hot.” He smiles when the bra finally unclasps, falling from your shoulder

You roll your eyes, locking your legs around his waist and drawing him closer. “I think,” you huff, rolling your hips up to meet his, seeking relief from the lust that’s building inside of you, “that you need to talk a little less.”

Minhyuk’s finger’s move up to pop another shirt button, smile widening when he hears you draw in a sharp intake of air. “You sure this isn’t making you wet, baby?”

“Minhyuk,” you whine, fingers making their way up to his shirt to unbutton it, irritated with how long he’s taking, “shut up already.”

He just giggles, his lithe fingers trapping both of your wrists and pressing a kiss to each before he leans back down, pressing your wrists against the sheets, to kiss you again. His hands move down your frame, ghosting over your nipples and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Minhyuk’s lips move to your neck, biting down on your collar bones and licking lightly up the side. Your fingers weave back into the strands of his hair, tugging him closer as he groans against your neck, rolling his hips down t meet yours.

“Thought about this for too long,” he pants, hands sliding down to tug at your panties, “wanted you for so long.”

Your words catch as a moan spills past your lips, pleasure coursing through your body as Minhyuk’s fingers trail up your folds, flicking your clit and sliding into you with ease. “I – ah – m-me too, Minhyuk, yes, me too.”

His fingers curl inside of you, pressing against your walls and dragging out the moans coursing past your lips that threaten to grow so loud you’ll receive noise complaints in the morning.

“What do you mean, baby?” He asks, breathless as he pumps his fingers into you, “You thought of me like this? Thought of me making you needy and desperate? Like the good girl you are?” His voice is laced with shock, eyes staring into yours with mild disbelief.

Your body squirms, hips lifting to try and rock back against his fingers. “Fuck yes, Minhyuk, so please please please –”

“Not so fast,” he interrupts you, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing pace. “What did you think of, baby?”

Please, Minhyuk,” you nearly sob as his fingers push into you again, reaching spots you never could and pressing them in all the right ways.

“No. Tell me what you thought about.”

Your body twitches underneath his as you surrender, too weak to try and argue. “Thought about your fingers, how they’d feel, and your lips and the way you’d fuck me so good, fuck, Minhyuk, I know you’d make me feel so good,” you mewl, fingers clawing thin red stripes into his bare shoulders as he shrugs his dress shirt off.

Minhyuk groans, eyes burning a darker shade as he brings his lips back down to yours, teeth clacking messily, too much tongue, but it feels so damn good.

“So,” he pants, “perfect,” his fingers pull out of you, “for”, he rolls on a condom, “me.”

Minhyuk likes taking his time, Like winding you up, making you more whiny and desperate for him. He pushes into you with a low groan, his pace slow and steady. Your toes curl and your eyes roll back as he brings his thumb down to rub at your clit, satisfied at the half-scream that spills from your lips.

His thrusts aren’t enough, though, just shy of exactly where you need him, so you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer and hissing a stuttered “faster”.

Minhyuk kisses you, harsh and desperate, and when he pulls away, he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, watching with satisfaction as he releases it and it pops back into its place. His eyes rake over your face appreciatively, watching the delirium that slowly takes over your body as you writhe against him, drawing him closer, begging for more.

“You’re just so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he groans, snapping his hips and pressing hot, openmouthed kisses against your jaw. “You’re so perfect.”

You can only moan in response, nails dragging up his shoulders and raking over the nape of his neck.

“And,” he hisses, angling his hips a little differently, “You’re even perfect when you’re like this, pretty and wet all over my cock.”

“Fu-fuck, Minhyuk fuck,” you sob, words coming out in little broken cries as he snaps into you with newfound force. “S-so good, yes, more.”

You can faintly hear the sound of the headboard slamming against the wall, but everything disappears and all you can focus on is Minhyuk’s lips and his hands and the way he fucks into you.

Your body convulses underneath his as a scream is ripped from your throat, Minhyuk’s name slipping past your lips and it’s so, so hard to focus when his sinful lips are dragging over your body, red blotches littering the already marked skin.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over your clit, “cum for me. Cum over my cock like the pretty little girl you are.”

It’s what finally has your back arching, jaw slack as a harsh scream slips past your lips, eyes rolling back. Minhyuk’s thrusts grow more erratic before he releases into you with a low ‘fuck’. There’s a moment of pure silence as he noses into your neck, steadying his breathing. He sighs, pressing soft, lazy kisses against your forehead as he relaxes, your legs falling from his shoulder, body already sore.

You feel your body go limp as he pulls out of you with a low hiss, rolling the condom off his length to throw it out. Minhyuk flings himself into the space next to you, one arm thrown over your waist, his legs immediately moving to tangle with yours.

“So,” he whispers, peeling back the strands of hair that have plastered themselves to your face, “I hear you like me.”

You snort, nuzzling into his chest, “Heard you like me, too.”

Minhyuk just hums, practically molding himself to you and your arms find their way around him being living with Lee Minhyuk is ride through hell but being with him is a taste of heaven.

A/N: hi helo this was weird 2 write but i realize that i rlly like writing for minhyuk bc hes such a gr8 person i now stan minhyuk buhbye also wats a casserole google wont give me an answer

Requested by:

[Anon] Please write a Minhyuk fluffy smut? I need more of this! It’s so hard to find 😭


Bad Reputation


A/N: This wasn’t requested, I’ve just had this idea in my head for so, so, so long and last night I started writing. I just feel like every one can relate to having put a label on them, idk. I may delete it again.

Word count: 4,286

Bad Reputation

The music was loud, actually giving me a rather unpleasant headache. I must admit, I didn’t really want to be at this party, but it was my first day back for months and I think my friends needed to see me make an effort.

Loads of people were here, half of them I didn’t even know, it had taken me an hour and a half to take pictures with people. I didn’t mind that, but I would just rather have been kicking it at home with Aaliyah watching Harry Potter or something.

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Saeran Fanfiction #9: To-do List

A/N: I’ve been meaning to do this since July lmaoooo and since I’m sick of studying (I may or may not have burnt myself out studying one day before my mock test for one of my modules) and I need to release some of this stress!!!!!!!!!!

Hope you enjoy! ^^ 

With your mouth full of water, it’s hard to keep yourself from laughing out loud without making a huge mess all over your files and papers stacked on your desk. With great effort you manage to swallow your water as fast as you can, though you end up choking in your haste. As you set the mug down on your desk and attempt to stop your coughing, you pick up the scrap of paper that had been left on your desk. 

There’s messy scrawling on it that certainly does not belong to you. You have your suspicions, but then again you’re not too sure, since the handwriting isn’t exactly familiar to you either. 

Well, you suppose that all you have to do is ask. 

After taking another sip of water to soothe your throat, you step out of your room and head towards the living room, where your boyfriend is. He looks quite engrossed in the documentary currently showing on television. Today’s is featuring the Aurora Borealis in Iceland. 

You can kind of guess where he’ll be suggesting to travel to next already.

But, first things first. 

“Hey, Saeran.” 

“Hmm.” He doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the screen. You roll your eyes at that. Typical.

“Did you leave this to-do list in my room?”

He furrows his brows, and for a moment you think he’s going to look your way but he still doesn’t. His head shifts towards you but his eyes remain glued to the television. 

“No, I didn’t go to your room. Why?”

“That’s strange, because the list here just says your name fifteen times.”

Now, he jerks his head towards you, incredulity plain on his disgruntled features. 


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anonymous asked:

Can you please do a blurb with Niall and his gf or girl he is seeing the morning after they were out and it's the first time anyone has found about them? (Kinda like Niall & Celine) and she's upset and how he reacts! Thank you xx



She’s not good enough for him.

What’s he see in her?  She’s not even that pretty.

I heard she’s a real bitch.  

She keeps trying to make them happen.  When will she accept that they aren’t going to happen?

Look at Niall’s face, he clearly doesn’t wanna be there.

Pfffft.  Don’t worry y’all.  This is clearly a PR stunt.  Niall’s new CD is coming out.  She’s nothing.

Thank God.  I never imagined Niall would choose someone like her.


I wish I’d never looked at Instagram this morning.  I don’t know what on earth possessed my sister to post a picture of Niall and I kissing on her Instagram last night.  It was her engagement party, why she wanted the spotlight on anyone else but her was beyond me.  But there it was in screaming color.  Niall and I holding onto each other, almost fused to each other while we shared a quick, private kiss on the dance floor.  

The picture was nice actually.  An intimate moment I probably would have put in a frame and kept by my bed for those nights when he was gone.  But now?  I wanted that picture to disappear.  

Word travels fast.  And in the One Direction fandom, it travels at twice the speed of light.  My sister posted the picture seven hours ago and there were already 3,281 comments on it.  I didn’t realize people could even type that fast.  Some of these girls wrote entire dissertations on why it is I was completely wrong for the boy I’d been dating for the past seven months.  

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slow fall home

A story of Cas and Dean and meeting in barns. (Also my very belated 12x23 coda).

Castiel stands outside a barn.

If asked, he could recite the exact latitude and longitude of where he stands. He could break every sigil etched on the walls inside. He could snap his fingers and watch the building fall down before him.

 He does none of that. He simply begins to walk.

 His landing wasn’t perfect; his vessel still feels… off. The barn door slams inward without his giving much thought to it, the lights crackle and burst around him without his notice. He’s only looking at the man at the end, the one with the raised gun in his hands and the raised handprint on his shoulder, hidden just beneath his t-shirt.

 Dean Winchester shoots him in the chest, and Castiel feels nothing.

 Dean Winchester stabs him through his vessel’s heart, and he simply pulls away the blade, dropping it on the ground.

 “Who are you?” Dean asks, and Castiel detects the note of fear there. He doesn’t care if this man is afraid. He answers with his name. Dean asks what he is, and he tells the truth, because what else is there to say? Isn’t it obvious?

 “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

 “Get the hell out of here,” Dean says. “There’s no such thing.”

 He’s put off somewhat by Dean’s disbelief, by his combative nature. This is a man rescued from the Pit on the orders of Heaven. He should be filled with faith, brimming to overflowing with gratitude to God above and the angel before him.

Castiel begins to think the “Yeah, thanks for that” which preceded the stabbing was not sincere.

But he doesn’t need a heartfelt thank you. He doesn’t need Dean to look at him in awe, though he wants it enough to show off his wings. What Castiel does need is for this man to listen to him, to accept that he has a purpose. A purpose from Heaven, a destiny to fulfill. He’s a soldier in the war to come.

Dean asks, “Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?” and Castiel begins to think they’re making progress.

“Good things do happen, Dean.” That too should be obvious. The man stands before Castiel whole and alive, when mere days before he was flayed and torn, rotted to the core, black smoke starting to froth at the edges of his soul, bloody blade in hand, the product of four decades in hell.

“Not in my experience,” Dean says, with a clear edge to his voice that Castiel recognizes. He’s been briefed on this characteristic of Dean Winchester, the self-hatred that lives deep within his bones, not born there, but nurtured by a difficult childhood, thriving under the heavy hand of his father and the heavy weight of a hunter’s life.

He believes he’s expendable.

Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be saved, and Castiel doesn’t bother to tell him that he’s not really here to save him. He’s here to move Dean from the flames of Hell to the battlefield on Earth, to facilitate Dean’s transition to warrior of the Lord.

This is a mission. Dean is a mission. If he’s turning out to be more difficult than Castiel thought, well, he’ll discover some way to persuade him to be more amenable. Bring up Dean’s father, maybe. Threaten to throw him back into the Pit, possibly. It doesn’t matter what the tactic is, so long as complete compliance is achieved eventually.

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks again.

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel responds. “Because we have work for you.”

Then he flies. He’ll come back to Dean when he needs him.  


Cas stands inside a barn.

When asked if he’s good, he says, “I guess so.” He can recall the burning acid in his stomach, the fear as his body’s organs turned to rot, the choking sensation of bile pouring out of his mouth. He can still see the terror in the Winchesters’ faces; the self-hatred, the belief of responsibility in Dean’s.

He tries not to think of that. Dean says, “Let’s go home,” and so he begins to walk.  

The healing came suddenly, but his body still feels… off. Dean pushes the barn door outward, and Cas slowly walks through it. Dean’s looking at him, a certain sadness in his eyes mingling with relief, and Cas doesn’t know what to say. He resists the urge to touch Dean’s shoulder. He’s not dying anymore.

He told Dean he loved him, in front of everyone, and Dean looked away.

Funny how love feels akin to a stab through the heart, just the way every cliché human love song claims.

“Are you —” Dean starts to ask him something, and Cas hears the lingering fear in his voice. Sam and Mary walk around them to the Impala and Cas waits in silence for Dean to finish his question, but the other man just sighs. Cas imagines the question to be something along the lines of can you drive yourself home?

“My grace is fine,” Cas says. He smiles weakly. “I’m still an angel. I’m all right.”

“Like hell,” Dean says, suddenly combative. “Don’t give me that crap. You almost died.”

Cas startles at the vehemence of this statement, the anger in Dean’s eyes. He’s never quite sure what to say to Dean, the right words to string together to avoid his ire. Cas is all right. He’s still standing, still useful.

Cas begins to think that perhaps Dean didn’t want Cas to confess his love while dying, to add another weight to Dean’s chest.

But he doesn’t need love in return, he tells himself. Cas doesn’t need Dean to tell him sweet things, to drive him home. It’s enough that he cares, enough that he asked Cas back to the bunker. Maybe he’ll allow Cas to stay for a few days, until his body stops trembling in ways he can’t seem to control, until he’s back on his feet. Back to being useful for the battles to come.

Dean says, “Cas. C’mon, man, talk to me,” and Cas wonders what Dean wants him to say.

“I can drive myself back, Dean, it’s fine.” Dean looks at him oddly, almost like he’s hurt. “Look, I’m whole. No more goo.” He tries to smile again, and Dean still refuses to smile back. “I’m healed.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean says, with a clear edge to his voice that Castiel recognizes. He still doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. He worried Dean, he knows, but he’s healed now. He can still be of use. He doesn’t need to be coddled like the child he never was.

He’s not useless.

Dean turns to walk back to the Impala, and Cas doesn’t bother to call out “You’re welcome to ride with me,” though he wants to. Cas’s mission is to watch over the Winchesters. He doesn’t want Dean to have to worry, to think he needs to be the one to watch over Cas. Cas is a warrior. He’s used to battle wounds.  

But this, watching Dean walk away, this feels like a particularly deep wound, a wound not caused by any lance. It’s turning out to be more difficult than Cas thought, to not expect Dean to say something. To not have it acknowledged that yes, Cas may love all of the Winchesters, but that first admission belonged to Dean and Dean alone.  

As he reaches his car, Dean turns and asks, “Are you following us back?”

“I don’t know,” Cas responds, feeling lost and adrift. “I… I have some work I need to do, looking for Kelly. You can call me the next time you have a case.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He gets in the car, and the Winchesters drive away. Cas stands outside the barn, wondering when he’ll be needed again.


Cas wakes in a barn.

He doesn’t know where he is. He sees the sigils on the walls, but they swim before his eyes. He waves a hand in front of his face, shocked to see his fingers intact and whole, flesh not yet withered off the bone.

He tries to sit up. He can’t. If he wanted to walk out of this place, he’s not sure he could.

His body shakes, his vision tilts. Cas feels so… off. He hears a door slamming, and he tries to turn his head. The lights in this barn blur together, but he can see a man moving toward him. Cas lies still on the floor and wonders if he should feel afraid.

Then the face of Dean Winchester forms out of the blurred lights, kneeling next to him, and Cas starts to cry, though he doesn’t quite understand why.

Dean reaches out to hold his face, breathlessly saying, “Cas, oh thank god,” and Cas leans into the touch, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’re alive,” Dean says, voice wavering, and Cas can hear the relief. He’s not sure what happened, why they’re here, and Dean asks him a question that only rings in his ears. He tries to speak, but his mouth feels dry and his words clog up his throat.

“I’m —“ he manages, thinking that alive sits on the tip of that sentence. He remembers Lucifer, remembers the blade sticking out of his chest, now.

“The hell spawn gave us a spell,” Dean says, still sounding choked. “He said it would bring you back, and I… God, I begged and begged him for it. It took so long, I didn’t think you would ever…”

He’s shocked to see Dean crying now as well, his usual smirking countenance replaced by a torrent of tears. Cas should be trying to comfort him, but his lungs are swelling as they take in air, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest, choked by this display of grief finally ended. His heart overflows with love for the man before him.

Cas feels like he’s beginning to see the real Dean, the Dean who would walk up to Lucifer’s son, the most powerful being on the planet, and ask for Cas’s life.

And he needs to touch Dean. He reaches out to run his hand through his friend’s hair, and Dean looks at him, smiling faintly through tears. Cas needs to know everything, what he’s missed, what the spell was that brought him back, but right now his only purpose is to make Dean Winchester smile again.

Dean asks with a shaky voice, “Do you recognize where we are?” and Cas moves his head stiffly, looking around. “He — Jack, he said you’d come back to the start.”

He smiles. It’s so obvious, now. “Good things do happen, Dean,” he recalls aloud as he takes in the barn’s gray walls, covered in wards, lights still busted out. Dean smiles, too, just barely, but it’s a beautiful sight, pure and perfect.

“I guess sometimes they do,” Dean says, something in his voice that Cas recognizes, a love that Dean may never be able to put words to, but Cas understands it now. Dean is more difficult to read than most, but he loves deeply, to his bones, and he only tries to bring back those he desperately needs in his life.

He’s not expendable. Not to Dean.  

Cas spent all this time not sure he deserved to be saved, and Dean saved him anyway. He runs his hand through Dean’s hair, and Dean leans in toward him, sighing quietly when their lips touch softly, reverently, completing a transition from antagonists to allies to friends to… now. And something more. Something new.

This is a mission. Dean is a mission. He turned out to mean everything to Cas — difficult, obstinate, frustrating, but also caring, courageous and extraordinary beyond words. Cas will discover how to love this man properly with the new life he’s been given. They’ll find a way to work past their hindrances. They’ll find a way to live together. It doesn’t matter how, just that Cas is sure in this moment he’s never wanted anything more than he wants Dean.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Dean says when he pulls away, hands still cradling Cas’s face. “I mean it this time, Cas.”

“I won’t,” Cas says softly. “Because you commanded it.”

And they’re there when they need each other.

Find me on AO3.

Darkiplier’s Manipulation is Rather Easy to Spot

I was rewatching “A Date With Markiplier” and going down the first route I did (which got the Chocolate Ending), and I noticed something. I’m not sure whether or not this was intentional, but I think it’s a nice detail.

Dark always acts more serious than Mark, and it’s actually a pretty big sign of Dark’s manipulation. Just listen to the dialogue that both Marks are saying when you have to shoot one of them at the end of the “FREEDOM” video.

Left (Mark): Shoot him! Shoot him now! You don’t have much time. He’s going to kill everybody! …What’re you talk–? Wh-Why are you even debating this?! Shoot him! Shoot him now! He’s Dark, I’m Mark! You have to trust me, not him! He’s a liar! He’s weird, he’s got weird eyes and all that stuff… Don’t trust him at all! Please, shoot him, now!

Right (Dark): Shoot him! Shoot him, now please! Shoot him right now, please. Shoot him. He needs to die. He is Dark, he’s a bad influence. He takes over everything that you ever loved! Please, shoot him right now! Don’t listen to him. He’s a liar. Please shoot him! He is a bad man, and does bad things to good people. You have to trust me…

Mark has said that Dark is a social manipulator, so Dark wants it to seem like he genuinely cares about you by trying to point out how “Dark” is bad and he needs to die, for your safety of course. Dark also seems a lot more… troubled about the situation, I guess you could say. He’s a pretty good actor, but listen to Mark. Even when trying to convince you to shoot someone, he finds it fit to mention that the other is “weird” and “has weird eyes, and all that stuff…” He also actually mentions you in a way other than saying, “Shoot him!”, which I believe shows he’s actually paying attention to you while Dark isn’t. All this seems rather awkward, compared to the relatively charismatic spiel Dark is giving about the other being a truly bad person, at least. It just seems overdone in analyzation. When you look into it, our awkward goofball is rather easy to spot between the pair.

It’s also interesting to note that in this, Mark seems more concerned about the fact Dark’s going to kill others and use you, while Dark is only concerned that you kill Mark so he can take control. When I did this the first time, I was only watching the movements and saw that Dark was on the left before you looked down, and that the Mark on the right (actually Dark) took off the caution tape, which supposedly “Mark” was wearing when he came in (bless Tyler he barely fit into that suit). Thus, I shot the wrong Mark and doomed myself to eternal damnation with the demon Darkiplier.

Also, as stated in one of the charity livestreams, Dark doesn’t have a shadow. The video annotations popped up before I could even fathom to check something like that that, so
 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ oops. Sorry, Mark.

I believe there’s enough stuff there for evidence, but under the cut I go through the actions of the Chocolate and Vanilla endings that show these behaviours as well, as well as a brief mention of Markiplier TV. (I didn’t want this post to appear too long). If you’re interested, I will see you under the cut!

Keep reading

Creepypasta #1243: Auggie The Clock Watcher

Length: Super long

There was very little to enjoy about working in the fast food industry, but nothing quite so bad as the customers. They were demanding, impatient, and firmly believed they were right even when it was obvious to everyone else that they were not. The worst were the parents who left their kids in the restaurant and expected us to babysit while they went shopping in the plaza next door, even after they’d been asked and then told not to.

Many of us were fairly young ourselves with no idea how to handle a rambunctious, messy child, so if anything ever happened to them, we’d be totally lost. That ever present concern just made us dislike them even more.

The only exception was Auggie. Although he was pushing middle aged, a head injury when he was young had left him with cognitive issues so that he behaved like a child, albeit a very polite, well mannered one. His mom did her best to make sure he had a caretaker during the day, but when they were unavailable, she’d drop him off with us. She worked at an upscale department store across the way and would check in every half hour, but our answer was always the same.

“Auggie’s fine.”

Unlike the others left in our (mostly unwilling) care, he never made any fuss or raised his voice and he kept himself occupied with books and toys that he carried in his dinosaur backpack when we were busy. During our downtimes, which were frequent in the later hours, he’d show us what he’d brought in that day and ask us about ourselves, all the while smiling shyly and keeping his eyes diverted to the floor.

When he wasn’t playing quietly or reading, I noticed that Auggie liked to watch the clock. Whenever it got close to an hour mark, he’d stop what he was doing and run his index finger excitedly across his bottom lip, after which he’d go back to his previous activity with a pleased little bob of his head.

It was an unusual, but endearing habit and I found myself watching him every time he watched the clock. The happiness that it brought him was kind of infectious and it always helped brighten my mood, even if I didn’t understand why he did it.

When he came to the counter one quiet afternoon to order his usual hamburger and fries, I asked him about it.

“You really like that clock, huh, Auggie?” I asked as I slid his tray over to him.

“Yes, Miss Ivy.” He said quietly.

“Do you have one like it at home?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “We got the ones with numbers.”

I figured he meant digital. “You like them too?”

He looked up enough to catch a brief glimpse of my face and, when he saw that I was smiling, his excitement started to take hold. “Yeah, they’re easier to read, but this one’s good.”

“What do you like about them?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! Idk if this idea is too complicated, but what if RFA and Saeran have met MC before in a bar or nightclub, and like, MC's friend is super shy and doesn't know how to approach people, so MC tries to help her finding who she thinks it would be agood suitor for her, but they end up interested in MC? Hope you like this idea, I'm sorry if it's too weird and hard to do, I love your writing!

So complicated and so adorable

Hope you like this! ^^

MC tries to set them up with her friend

Common: Your friend is trying to move on from a break up after dating someone for a long time, so she’s kinda rusty in this flirting thing, nobody in the place you took her caught her eye, but you’re pretty sure you found the perfect person for her. Well, you look so determined, she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you she’s not really interested in them. And… it’s pretty obvious that this person is way more into you, anyway…


  • He was at this club with some colleague actors when he felt a little nudge on his shoulder when he was at the bar
  • He turned to find you smiling at him sweetly. Oh… a fan, right?
  • “How can I help you, lady?” “Me? Oh no… it’s, uhm… my friend over there, she…”
  • “Oh, she wants a selfie with me? Maybe an autograph? Tell her not to be shy and come over!” you look at him, confused.
  • “An autograph? Why would she…?” the lights in the club hit his face perfectly, and you recognize him. “Holy shit! You’re Zen!” he is confused as well, but slightly amused at your flustered face.
  • “Yes, I am.” “Oh my God! I’m such a fan! I loved your last role! You’re so talented! I… have you ever considered playing a butler or something? I think it would really suit you!”
  • “I… haven’t, actually, but… thanks for your suggestion. Maybe one day I can make you dream come true!” he smiles in satisfaction seeing you blush. “So, how can I help two adorable ladies like you and your friend?”
  • “Oh… oh yeah, my friend, I… I’ll talk to her. Sorry to bother you, Zen… sir. It was really an honor!” you run out of there.
  • Zen can’t hold back a smile, what a sweet charming girl… why did you run like that? He would have liked to talk to you more and what other ideas you have for roles that suit him.
  • You go to your friend, your cheeks are heated and you feel like floating. “Girl, I just met Zen! He is so sweet, and nice, and handsome, and dreamy… he is perfect! He is perfect… for you.”
  • “No, for you. Get back there and ask for his phone.” “What? No way! He must think I’m lame and have a thing for butlers. I… I should be conformed on meeting him just like a fan…”
  • Well, your friend made sure to tease you on not getting conformed at all after you joined RFA.


  • Why? Why did he let his college buddies drag him to this frat party? So crowded and noisy, ugh…
  • Then he saw you, and he almost choked as he saw you looking at him. Definitely choked when you beckoned at him.
  • He went to you like a little puppy. “H-hi…” “Hi! Are you having fun?”
  • “Yeah, a little…” just now that he is talking to you, that is. “A little? Oh…” you pout, making his heart flutter.
  • “N-no! But it has nothing to do with you! I just… would prefer being home now, playing some LOLOL, you know…” “Oh, do you play LOLOL? Cool! What server?”
  • “Shooting star. Do you play it there too?” “No, but I would like to, I keep telling my guild buddies to go play there, but nobody wants to go there because of that Hacker God or something…” “Ah yeah… the Hacker God, he isn’t all that, if you want to know my opinion.”“Really? Do you know him?” “I do, we’re friends, actually. So uhm… tell your friends to go to the shooting star, maybe I can convince him to join us in some missions, he is a good player, and… I’m pretty good too.” He blushes, and you giggle.
  • “Yeah, sure. I’ll let my friend know, the… oh, my friend, yeah! Hey, uhm… my friend over there thinks you’re really cute, you know?” oh…? Good to know, but… what do you think of him? “So, uhm… I’ll bring her here so you two can get to know each other, okay?”
  • Oh… so you’re not interested in him, you were just trying to hook your friend up… well, he’s pretty sure she must be nice, since she’s your friend, but… she isn’t you.
  •  Yeah, there’s no way he can talk to your friend without bringing you up to the conversation, that would be really rude, right? So he just sneaks out before you realize he’s gone.
  • You look around, trying to find him. “Girl, I swear I met a really sweet, cute guy, and he plays LOLOL in the shooting star server and… his hair looks really cool. He would be perfect! For you…”
  • “Tsk. What a shame, huh? Did you at least catch his name?” “No. No, I didn’t…” you say, legitimately disappointed.
  • But you learned so much more than his name a few weeks later when you saw that selfie of his in the chat room…


  • She was trying to relax at this cafe, though she was pretty sure Jumin would call any minute assigning some absurd task.
  • She took her eyes out of her phone to turn at this person tapping her shoulder, oh… you were smiling, were you going to try selling something to her?
  • “Can I help you?” “Uhm, yes, maybe you can! So, answer me this, please: how do you deal with a break up?”
  •  “Uhm… you… try to move on? I suppose?” “Exactly! You move on, meeting new people, right? I knew I was talking to the right person!” you smile and she can’t help but scoffing. “Right person? I… I’m just assuming something my colleagues from work talk about it, I wouldn’t really know since… it’s been a while I don’t really date…”
  • “Oh… why is that?” “Work. I guess maybe you can say I’m dating a cat named Elizabeth the 3rd since she’s always at my place and taking over my life.”
  • “Yikes!” “Exactly, yikes…so I’m not sure if I can really help you here, lady.”
  • “Oh… actually, maybe you can, since my friend’s ex is kinda like Elizabeth the 3rd.” “Yikes!” you two chuckle.
  • “So, uhm…  I think you and my friend could get along really well, helping each other and all, she…” “She? I… I don’t really…” she gets really flustered when she looks at your curious eyes. “I’m not… you know, with women, and…”
  • “Oh… OH! I’m so sorry, lady! I have no idea why I just assumed you were… I… I’m really sorry! I… should get going now. I’m so sorry to bother you.” You run out of there in embarrassment.
  • She feels like running after you to tell you it’s fine, but her phone rings, it’s from work, so she has to leave.
  • You go to your friend, looking really flustered and… sad. “I… I just met a really nice girl, but she’s not into girls…” “It’s fine, we can talk more about that, if you want.”
  • You had no idea what your friend wanted to talk about, until you realized the girl in the chat room was the same from that cafe, and how frustrating it was that she doesn’t date girls… or does she?


  • He was at this bar having some wine with a few acquaintances.
  • It was all really boring, but something caught his attention, the waitress handed a glass of wine with a little note in a napkin.
  • Why so bored?” he looked around to find the sender, when he spotted you at the balcony, looking straight at him.
  • Usually, he would just ignore it, but you picked just the right wine for him, and… there was something really alluring about that note.
  • So the waitress handed you a martini with a napkin. “Business meetings, as you can imagine.”
  • Another glass of wine, another napkin. “I can’t. Tell me more about it.” Another martini, another note. “I’m afraid you’ll get bored as well.”
  • “So ditch this and go have some fun.” “What do you suggest?”
  • “Well, my friend sitting on the second bench to your right is single. Can I send a drink to her in your name?” oh… so this wasn’t about you, huh?
  • “No need to. I’ll send my regards to her myself.” He wondered if this sounded rude, he was relieved when he spotted you smiling and giving him the thumbs up.
  • Well, it was time to follow your idea and “ditch” this, but he couldn’t follow your suggestion. He couldn’t just approach your friend so out of the blue, he didn’t even exchange napkins messages with her…
  • “Oh… did he send you a drink?” you asked her when you went to her. “Two, actually.” You couldn’t hold a little smirk when you saw the note he wrote for her. “You can never get bored with a friend like yours. Hope you ladies have fun with this.”
  • When you showed up at his penthouse a few weeks later, you knew asking your friend to give you that napkin was a good idea.


  • He was on an undercover mission, working as a bartender in this party some guys from the mafia would definitely show up.
  • He spotted you waiting to be serviced. “Can I get you anything?” “You don’t have Dr.Pepper here, do you?”
  • “Unfortunately, we do not. But… can I get you my special recipe of ginger ale? ” “Sounds perfect!” and your smile made him almost drop the drink out of the glass.
  • “You look familiar, did you bartend at that club downtown?” he went undercover there once, but he was disguised as a female bartender… you have a good eye, huh? “You’re probably mistaking me with someone else.”
  • “Hum… this is really good! What did you put in here?” “It’s a secret, I’m sorry.” “Ohhh, secret man, huh?” “You have no idea!”
  • “So… what other drinks do you have a special recipe for?” “A few, but they’re mostly non-alcoholic.” “Will do.” He smiles seeing you’re so willing to taste what he risked himself on doing.
  • “A bartender who’s an expert in non-alcoholic drinks… that’s ironic.” “I prefer contradictory. I feel like I’m very contradictory in a lot of stuff.”
  • “Hum… my friend it’s just like that in a lot of ways, maybe you two would get along.” “Oh… I bet your friend isn’t contradictory, too much contraction make a person be… fake?”
  • “Or human.” Oh… how come you look even more attractive when you’re serious? “Anyway… let’s bring her here and see what she thinks.”
  • Though he would like to see you again, he didn’t have time, it was time to move on with his mission. And… well, he didn’t really deserve to talk to your friend… let alone with you.
  • “Ugh, I swear he was right here, the hottest and smartest bartender I ever knew. You would have liked him so much.” “More than you do? I doubt it.”
  • Well, now after you two met at Rika’s apartment, you realized he was no bartender, but he’s still the hottest and smartest guy you’ve ever seen.


  • He was at this bar looking for a possible target. Everybody here felt hopeless.
  • Especially this tipsy girl who sat next to him in the balcony and… looked straight at him and… smiled. Ugh… what is wrong with you?
  • “Okay, on a scale of 1 to 10, how lame is this band playing right now?” “11” you laughed, and he felt… surprised, he never made anyone laugh.
  • “The guitar player is my friend’s ex. Isn’t he pathetic? Look at him! He thinks he’s so punk and edgy, but my friend told me all about the hissy fit he put when a cockroach showed up in his apartment. He CALLED HER to go help him!” he nods, not sure on what to say.
  • “How old is he? 45?” he asks. “No! He’s not even 30!” “Oh… so what’s with the mullet?” you laugh again, and he chuckles.“And he’s such a prick! You have no fucking clue! Ugh… why do great people settle with garbage relationships for so long?” “You never know what someone is thinking, I guess.”
  • “Yeah… what are you thinking?” “Right now? Paradise.” “Wow… that’s deep, what’s in paradise?” “So much happiness and peace you feel like never walking away.” “Hum… sounds like a dream.” “You think so?” “Yeah…” interesting…
  • “What are you thinking?” he needs to know more about you. “Me? Hum… that my friend and you could really get along, it would be nice for her having a little taste of paradise after so much garbage.”
  • “What?” “Just wait here, I’ll bring her so you two can meet.” What? He doesn’t care about no friend of yours! He barely cares about you! Though you looked really interested in paradise before…his paradise…
  • So he already knew what to do. But you did too, so you brought your friend and let him alone with her, winking playfully, Shit!
  •  After a little while, your friend met you next to the bathroom. “Hey! What are you doing here? I thought you were already going to paradise with the cute little punk there.” Your friend scoffs. “Paradise what? I mean, forget it, he was interested in you, anyway.” “In-in me? Nah, he wasn’t!” “He was, he even asked me for your number. So… good luck with that, the guy was kinda weird.”
  • Oh… you were going to need so much more than luck to escape from the paradise he was planning for you when the right moment would come…