you are a genius and a madman at the same time

A mission with Yoongi

Genre: Smut

Tags: kinky sex / dominating Yoongi / orgasm denial / swearing/ sex talk

MAFIA AU

Pairing: Min Yoongi/Reader

Related fics (not necessary to read them in order to enjoy this story)

First part: Jungkook: When you catch him masturbating

Second part: Jungkook: When you grind his thigh

Third part:  Jungkook and Tae’s mischievous plan

Setting: A background story depicting the relationship of Min Yoongi and the sister of the head of a mafia organisation. Both of you are sent on a mission and forced to play out the roles of husband and wife.

Characters:

You: The sister of the boss of a mafia organisation. 

Min Yoongi: A genius hacker and a hit man. Due to some unfortunate events, your relationship with him can be best described as the mixture of love and hate. He’s a member of the same mafia organisation, which makes him your fellow co-worker. One day you’re both sent on a mission and forced to pretend to be happily married. 


Originally posted by hidden--demons

“Fucking shit-head,” you spit out while adjusting your dress.

It might be a bit too tight and it rolls up every now and then, exposing even more of your flesh. “Why him, of all people?” your hands gently running through the locks of beautiful long hair and then you freeze. Flashbacks from the past, the day when you first met Min Yoongi, creep into your head all over again. It’s like an endless cycle of trying to ignore his malicious presence that threatens your sanity and ability to think straight each and every day.

 “Fucking impossible,” you hiss, fixing up the dress for the umpteenth time, this time around your boobs area. It’s maybe not as much that he is a complete jerk and bastard. He really can be sweet, for example to your sister. Yes, he certainly can. Your sister is his boss and he looks up to her, also, they seem to be pretty fond of each other and it’s all perfectly fine. You can understand it all. She is the boss of a Mafia organisation and he’s just been doing his job, doing it pretty well, if you were to admit, resulting in their friendly bond. They hit it off pretty well, though. Something that you can’t really say about you and Yoongi. Some time ago, maybe a year or so… 

“Has it been such a long time already? Gosh,” you ponder out loud.

 But yes, indeed, it must have been a year since that day when you were given orders to kill one, particularly nasty and uncontrollable, associate of your sister’s organisation. Yeah, usual stuff. Find the guy, corner him when he least expects it, and then get rid of him, in a most cautious and quiet manner. Nobody wants to deal with problematic shit, for sure not your lovely sister. The thing is, on the way you encountered some bothersome issue, something that can be exactly labelled as problematic shit. The night when you stepped into the house of the soon-to-be-dead guy, you knew you weren’t alone in this lavishly decorated villa. Somebody else was there, not a member of the target’s family, maid, hooker, whatever, it was another hit-man. A very wily and clever one, to put it lightly. You weren’t exactly sure who was his target. At some point it crossed your mind that he could’ve been after you, but no, it wasn’t the case. The two of you finally confronted each other in the living room, two bullets killing the guy immediately. You aimed for his heart, while the black-clad stranger chose to drill a hole in his head. Disgusting…

 “Crazy mother fucker,” you still cringe at the memory. 

Anyway, the moment when the guy collapsed on the ground drawing his last breaths, you and that intruder stood motionless for a couple of seconds to assess one another’s intentions. You remember that at this point your mind was completely blank. Without much thinking, you pulled the trigger, but this sneaky little bastard must have anticipated your hasty decision cause he ducked down and then jumped in your direction, landing basically on you and immediately straddling you. His grip was strong. What really puzzled you back then was the fact that he didn’t kill you, although he really could have just taken out his gun and make a hole in your head, same as he did with this unfortunate guy. It would have been easy, taking into account your shitty mistake. Yeah… He really got you there. Something he’s been continuously reminding you about on every possible occasion. You were struggling for some time, trying to wriggle out of his grasp and somehow maybe still come out completely unscathed of this crappy situation. Not much time had passed, though, and then you heard the sounds of the police sirens. Both of you realising that the party was over, and that it was high time to clear out, ASAP. He let go of you and chuckled a little. You couldn’t see his face because of the balaclava, but without a single doubt he must have been smirking like a fucking madman. He sprang to his feet and run away using one of the back doors. You followed his lead and got the hell out of that place. He was nowhere to be seen, though. You simply lost his track. The mission was a complete fiasco. Sure, the guy was dead, but due to the mess that thwarted your plans you didn’t manage to fulfil the orders completely. You didn’t bring back with you the set of jewellery that had been your sister’s object of desire. Before kicking the bucket, the targeted guy committed one single, but what a grave mistake. The mistake that ultimately cost him his life. He robbed your sister of that fancy necklace and earrings, hoping to get away with it.

 “What a fucking imbecile,” you mutter to yourself, applying a red lipstick on your lips. 

More memories of the past events flowing into your head, and sadly, you have to admit that you really fucked it all up. The outcome was that you didn’t retrieve that necklace. Worse even, you were fucking out-fooled by some other hired killer. And later, it obviously turned out that it had been none other than Min Yoongi. You still remember the day when he appeared in your sister’s office carrying a little silk drawstring bag in his hand. He introduced himself as the man who… Oh my God… Your fist clench at the sheer reminiscence of his self-confident rant.

He said that he was “the man who is capable of carrying out the tasks that other people screw up.” 

He was standing there, looking deeply into your sister’s eyes. Then, he showed you the bag, ostentatiously waving it in front of your faces.

“Do you want to have what`s inside?” he asked. 

Your sister didn’t respond, keenly observing his actions.

“Do you?” he nagged, opening the bag in order to take out the stolen necklace. At this very moment your sister’s eyes were shining just as bright as this breathtaking piece of jewellery. 

“Let me work for you and I’ll give you this and many other things,” he offered, smiling cunningly.

And she agreed. Yes, she fucking agreed. As a consequence, this overconfident prick and annoying jerk, Min Yoongi, has become your co-worker. He has been a member of the gang for almost a year now, pissing you off whenever he just as much as appears in sight. Not to mention the moments when he opens that dirty mouth of his. To your misfortune, he’s one of the most trustworthy people here, and certainly does his job extraordinary well. He’s so full of himself that sometimes you just want to tear him to pieces and make that shitty smirk fade away once and for all, but you can’t. He’s supposed to be your partner, duh. 

“Over my dead body,” the thought flashes through your head, making you frown and cringe. 

You’re also painfully aware of the fact that Min Yoongi occupies your head all the fucking time. An unpleasant and self-loathing feeling creeps over your entire being. You can’t help thinking about him. It’s like the more you try to control yourself the more difficult it becomes. The truth is, you aren’t exactly a good girl. No, not at all. You’ve always teased guys and made them chase you, only to leave them hanging in the end, when you decided you’ve had enough of them. You simply love the feeling of being in power, seeing guys on their knees, ready to cater to all of your whims. Min Yoongi, though… He’s been persistently ignoring you and your presence, something that you’re not exactly used to. He behaves as if he didn’t give a single fuck about you, mocking you all the time and teasing whenever the occasion allows for some little chit-chat. You hate him so much. You despise every single thing about him, and yet… Yet, you keep thinking about him, and it’s all his fault. You know the exact source of your distress. He’s been giving you a roller-coaster ride, being a complete dumb-ass one day and then casually complimenting the way you look the other. Sometimes you’re not even sure if it’s a compliment. He’s been so sly and smug about everything and the way he approaches you that it’s fucking unbelievable. Another flashback troubles your pretty head. The night when he came to your room and kissed you. 

He fucking kissed you. He gripped you roughly to keep you still, and then he fucking kissed you. You were so speechless and utterly shocked you didn’t even know how to react. The kiss was oddly delicate, and should you say, affectionate even? He barely brushed his lips over yours and the grip on your shoulders suddenly became even tighter. He stopped for a moment and then softly licked your lower lip, asking for permission. You let him. You let him do that and shortly afterwards he was pressing you to the wall, kissing fondly and greedily. When both of you were short of breath, he let go, arms still wrapped around you. The look on your face must have been absolutely ridiculous because he laughed out loud, not being able to hold in his amusement.

“You can now close your mouth, silly. I’m not gonna kiss you anymore today,” he whispered tenderly, placing a finger on your lips.

The smug smirk on his face then… You’re going to remember it till the end of your days. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you are completely oblivious to Yoongi’s presence in the room. You jump, startled by the deep and rough tone of his voice that breaks the silence in the bathroom. 

Originally posted by beui

“My wife wouldn’t ever wear such indecent clothes,” he comments mockingly, eyeing up your figure from head to toes.

“Oh, really?” you question, looking at him and trying to hide your state of surprise. You continue, facing him, “Do I really have to say it out loud how much I care about your thoughts on my fashion choice?” 

He tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, “Personally, I think it is not much of a fashion choice if you wear clothes that barely cover your ass.” A smirk follows. You turn around to look at yourself in the mirror again, announcing, “No fucks given, Yoongi. Not even a single one.”

He teasingly keeps on bringing up the main idea behind your mission tonight, that is - you and Yoongi pretending to be a happily married couple, attending to a party organised by your gang’s foe so as to steal some data from his private laptop. You lure the guy to distract his attention, and in the meantime, Yoongi takes care of the laptop. Easy, in theory at least. 

He picks up the topic yet again, purposefully trying to anger you even more, “Please, don’t swear. It is not fit for a lady. Not to mention my wife.” He takes a couple of steps towards you, dangerously closing the distance between you. If he reached out with his hand now he would easily manage to scoop you into his arms. 

“Oh, my. You’re so in character tonight, Yoongi. Does the thought of being my husband excite you so much?” you retort, pretending to be busy with fixing up your hair. 

“Who knows? If I worked a bit on that foul mouth of yours then maybe you wouldn’t turn out to be half bad?” he wonders out loud, staring at your expression in the mirror. 

“For fuck`s sake, why does it have to be you of all people? Couldn’t I go on that mission with Jungkook, or Tae Tae?” you whine  while washing your hands, “Anybody, just not you, dammit.” You pull at the towel angrily, wanting to dry your hands. 

“Maybe we’re meant to be? Try to think about this that way,” he chuckles. “I’d rather die a virgin than be with a jerk like…,” you don’t finish your sentence because the moment you feel Yoongi’s hot breath on the nape of your neck your mouth goes dry. Your hands frantically grip on the washbasin when he abruptly tugs on the hem of your dress in an attempt to cover your ass. You would surely lose balance if not for Yoongi’s rough grip on your hips. Nails digging into your skin and then he hisses into your ear, “I told you to cover it up, didn’t I?” He breathes out, annoyed and then takes a step back. Your body shivers a little. He keeps on observing you attentively in the mirror and then he says, “I’m waiting in the car. We’re going to be late if you continue dolling up like that.” He gives you one last look and then turns around, aiming for the door. When you’re left alone in the bathroom you can feel your legs giving up. You slide down and end up sitting on the cold tiles.


The chauffeur opens up the door of the black Bentley as soon as he notices you going down the stairs. You get into the car, sitting right next to Yoongi on the back seat. 

“I’m sure you’re aware how much depends on our close cooperation tonight,” he clears his throat and then carries on talking, “I’ll need you to divert his attention for approximately 10 minutes… Yeah, I think it should suffice.” The driver starts the engine and your body slightly rocks to the back. Yoongi resumes talking, “Providing, of course, that the guy will be stupid enough to leave his office unattended. If there are thugs keeping an eye on his shit then we’re fucked. And this will be most probably the case… Sometimes I wonder if we’re paid enough here. Your sister’s orders are getting more and more ridiculous.” 

“Wait a minute, dear husband. Aren’t you the man who ‘is capable of carrying out the tasks that other people screw up’, hmm?” you question him, sarcastically. “I’m sure we’ll be all fine, right?” you turn your face to smile gently at him. He is visibly amused by your back talk, but he doesn’t ease up on you, “As long as you make sure not to do more harm than good then yeah, I’d say we’ll most probably be all fine, Pretty face.” That seemingly affectionate pet name he’s just used to address you makes your blood boil. Your press your thighs unconsciously, doing your best to hold your emotions at bay. You promise yourself to pay him back by the end of that evening. You’ll turn the tables tonight, no matter at what cost.

When you arrive at the mansion, it quickly turns out that the place is virtually filled to the brim with the owner’s muscle-men. Not a very promising perspective, unfortunately. You’re sipping your drink at the bar when you feel somebody grabbing at your elbow. It is Yoongi. He drags you to the nearest secluded place and pulls you closer to him. 

“I’ve checked the office. It seems we’re going to have a huge problem to get there,” he informs you, looking around to double check if you’re all alone.

“Seems like it’s the moment for plan B,” you respond nonchalantly. 

“What plan B, Baby doll?” he asks, his pupils getting bigger. 

“Just make sure nobody interrupts me,” you shake of his hands and walk past him, disregarding yet another questionable nickname. 

He watchfully eyes your figure and cautiously follows your lead, keeping his distance. To his surprise, you openly approach the owner and initiate a friendly small talk. It doesn’t last long before he can clearly see, even from afar, that the guy is simply drooling over you. The last thing he registers is how you and your target disappear behind the door of the guy’s office. He swallows hard, his stomach clenching in an unpleasant manner. “Mr Min, would you like a glass of champagne?” a waitress politely offers him a drink, but he blurts out furiously, “Get the hell out of my sight, woman.” He walks away, clenching his fists.


Less than two hours later both of you arrive home, your purse hiding today’s mission loot- a pen drive containing data about the guy’s shady business. A victory. A tremendous success, even. All thanks to you. Yoongi can fuck himself. You walk into your bedroom and immediately collapse on the bed, satisfied. Yoongi enters just after you, loudly slamming the door behind him. 

“How did you get that data? I won’t repeat myself,” his voice as cold as ice. 

“In fact, you did anyway,” you start counting on fingers, “like three or four times already?” God, finally. Finally, you’re the one in control, having him in the palm of your hand. You’re fucking overjoyed, eyes sparkling with excitement. Min fucking Yoongi got what he deserved and you’re certainly going to savour this moment. “Yoongi, why are you so tensed? What happened to your good mood, darling? Tell me, you know you can confide in your wife,” you tease, riling him up even more. Hands gently brushing away some locks of hair that kept on tickling your neck. You flash the most bubbly smile you’re capable of making, eyes gazing into his.

Originally posted by talk-me-down-troye

“What the fuck is there on your neck?” he hisses out, making you jump on the bed in alarm.

“My neck?” you ask, totally unaware of the hickey. The look on his face sends a cold shiver down your spine. He comes up to you in three large steps. Your body unconsciously moves backwards, but he catches your elbow and forces you to get off the bed. His grip is so tight and forceful that you whimper in pain.

His nails bite into your arm and the sudden jerk makes you plead him to stop “Yoongi, please!”

“Did you let that bastard touch you?” he asks, doing his best to control his shaky voice. A vein on his forearm swells up, slowly changing its colour into a more bluish shade. 

“Did he fuck you?” he spits out through clenched teeth. 

“No, no, he didn’t. Please let me go!” you cry out, doing what you can to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only squeezes you tighter, bringing you close to his torso. Your eyes meet for what seems to be like an eternity. He looks hurt. You cannot believe in all of that. You want to look away, but he cups your chin with the other hand, forcing you to look him directly in the eyes. Does he actually care about you?

He whispers dryly, “You’re now going to fucking tell me what happened in that stinking office and you’re going to give me even the smallest details. Do you understand, or do you want me to repeat?” 

You nod in response, deciding that perhaps now it’s not the time to carry on with the teasing. “Fine, you fucking psycho. I sweet-talked the guy and he took me to his office, hoping to get laid, I presume. When we were alone I teased him a little and…” you hesitate for a moment, thinking about the best way of saying things out loud, but Yoongi doesn’t appreciate this pause and rushes you to proceed with the answer, “And what?” he blurts out. 

“I can’t fucking believe it. Nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing. I let him kiss me once or twice and then I asked him for a drink. He nibbled at my neck one last time, probably leaving the hickey, and then got up with his ass to take care of the booze. For both of us. I was lucky, because he announced that he has to take a piss. I used my chance and I poured some shit into his drink. He gulped the entire thing at one go, so it didn’t take too long before he was sleeping on the couch like a fucking baby. What else do you wanna know? Eh? Is that detailed enough for you?” you’re almost breathless when you’re done with the story. Yoongi’s piercing gaze makes you feel anxious. What the fuck is wrong with him… You wish you could disappear from this place. His grip loosens a bit, but still, he’s so close that you can feel his hot breath on your cheek. He’s not that tensed anymore, as if a weight was lifted from his heart. 

“Is that supposed to convince me, Baby doll?” the tone of his voice slightly changes, “You’d have to try a little harder.” He smirks, mockingly. You suddenly miss the view from a couple of minutes ago. Insecure and jealous Yoongi is better than that cocky ass. Wait a minute… Is he really jealous? You are determined to check it now. 

Originally posted by jjks

“Actually, you can think what you want. Maybe he fucked me senseless on his fancy desk, maybe he didn’t. Who knows?” you smile playfully, “You have no way of telling.” Your words are like a red rag to a bull for Yoongi who must have run out of patience by now. He pushes you and then you land on the bed, completely bewildered. 

“What the fuck, Yoongi?” you snap at him, propping yourself on the elbows.

“If you are so unwilling to cooperate I, as your husband, feel compelled to examine the things personally,” he informs you while placing his knees on the bed. 

You want to pull both of your knees to your chest but he forcefully grasps your thighs in order to spread them. You blush, embarrassed and furious at the same time. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”, hands on his shoulders in an attempt to push him off you. 

“I know a very efficient way of checking your faithfulness, darling. Just don’t fucking move for a moment. Could you, Baby doll?” he questions, tenderly. 

You want to punch him, but he grasps your hand and pulls you in for a kiss. You forget to breathe for a moment, obviously caught off guard. Unlike the first time, he is very rough and pushes his tongue inside your mouth, without waiting for your consent. His tongue expertly swirls around yours and then he seductively nibbles on your lower lip. He purrs softly, vibrations making you shiver in response. He’s very passionate, the tip of his tongue playfully rolls over yours. You melt into the kiss, mentally cursing Yoongi. Your arms are awkwardly spread on the sheets. What are you supposed to do? Hug him back? You are torn. He can’t possibly get to know how much you are enjoying this. Oh lord, but you’ve been itching to have him do dirty things to you for so long that you can’t take it anymore. His kisses are gradually getting more sloppy and desperate. A hand experimentally sneaking under your dress to fondle with the soft flesh of your thigh. His hand is so cold that it makes you squeak. Yoongi smirks into the kiss. He caresses your inner thigh in a circular movement, light strokes barely touching your skin, yet you involuntarily spread your thighs even wider. He takes that as an invitation and confidently pushes his entire finger into your tight pussy. You groan in pleasure, hands now roaming his body. He muffles your desperate moan with the kiss, but pulls away shortly after. You look at him through half-lidded eyes, totally gone at this point. 

“Baby doll, you’re so tight I seriously doubt that ‘he fucked me senseless’ option” he whispers breathily, lips brushing your earlobe and then he tugs at it with his teeth eliciting a whimper from you. He hooks his finger inside you, moving it in and out of your pussy. Your stomach clenches each and very time he hits the back walls of your vagina. You’re still a bit too dry for such a violent penetration, but he doesn’t seem to care at all and keeps going with sharp, deep strokes. His long finger goes all up inside you and then he puts his thumb on the very tip of your clit, brushing it gently. This is the exact moment when you lose all self-control and jerk your hips, wantonly fucking yourself on his finger. Strangled moans escape your lips as he goes on with the rubbing on this extremely sensitive organ while fingering you. He is in so deep that you can feel this familiar pressure just underneath your belly button. It hurts but you want it to be this way. He’s so violent and unforgiving. You raise your head a little and then you meet his piercing dark eyes, clouded with lust and anger. You look away, sheepishly. Face blushing all shades of red as you close your eyes, not being able to bear that intense gaze. He notices your insecurity and fondly rests his forehead on yours. You’re a bit stunned for a moment, obviously surprised at the affectionate gesture. Right then, he inserts a second finger and you arch your hips to help him a little. He smiles softly, so unlike his usual eat-shitting grin. He fingers you so well that soon enough you can hear these wet, sloppy sounds of your slit getting fucked. You’re sure that by now his finger and hand must be covered with your juices. You’re short of breath, wriggling underneath him as you chase your orgasm, uncontrollably clenching around his finger. Just when you’re about to climax, Yoongi withdraws his finger and leaves your pussy clenching around thin air, hips jerking desperately into void. 

You try to grab him and force him to continue as he gets off the bed, but you can’t reach him. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you’re afraid he might actually hear it. In silence, he languidly moves in the direction of the door, which pushes you almost on the verge of tears. You call out his name, voice all shaky, “Yoon… Yoongi!” No response, though. You stand up from the bed, legs trembling as you go after him. You stumble and almost collapse, gripping his shoulders at the last moment and clinging to him in a needy way. You’re afraid to speak because of the lump that formed in your throat. You dig your nails into his back, swallowing a sob. Is he going to leave just like that? He reaches for the doorknob and locks the door. A shiver runs down your spine. 

“What are you doing, Baby doll?” he questions and exhales sharply. 

Then, he places his hands on yours, caressing them tenderly and turns around, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

He purrs softly into your ear “I had to lock the door, I’ve been waiting for too long for this to let anybody disturb us.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi. Seriously, fuck you!” you press your knotted fists into his chest, angry at yourself for losing your cool. 

He abruptly pushes you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head and sucking the skin of your neck into his mouth. He sucks and nibbles at the sensitive flesh, as if trying to cover the place of the unfortunate hickey with his own mark. Suddenly, he stops and carefully examines the outcome, frowning his eyebrows. 

He cups your cheek, forcing you to look at him, “You better listen now, Baby doll. It was the fucking last time you let anybody touch you, apart from me. Are we clear?” You swallow hard. 

“Are we clear?” he repeats enraged and irritated with your lack of response. You simply nod absent-mindedly, staring at his wet lips. He hikes up your dress, ass and pussy on display, and grasps your leg to hook it around his waist. He starts grinding against your wetted core. Your hips rocking in unison. He pants heavily, lips hungrily looking for yours. He sets up a steady rhythm and you do your best to roll your hips together with him. 

“Baby… Baby I need you naked, so badly,” he murmurs, his hands finding their way under your dress, stroking your back and rolling up the material even higher. Seconds later, he simply rips off your dress, taking in the view of your naked body. 

He grunts, satisfied, “It’s even better than I imagined, and believe me, I had high expectations.” Your ears burn with embarrassment at his blunt words. “Has he been imagining things with me?” you think to yourself, digesting what he has just told you. He takes a step back and you find it hard to stand on your own, without his body pressed to yours. He ogles your perfect figure, slowly unbuttoning the white shirt. You haven’t noticed it before, but now the wall feels so unpleasantly cold that you really wish he was closer again, petting your skin and warming you up. With shaky hands you reach for the buttons. He smiles. 

“I wanted to fuck you so roughly you’d never even think about looking at another guy but if you continue being so cute I doubt I’ll be able to do that, Baby,” he whispers in a low voice, leaving the buttons for you and hastily unbuckling his leather belt. 

“Rough or gentle, as long as you make me cum I don’t really care,” you flat-out state your eagerness which makes him chuckle again. 

Finally, you take off his shirt, admiring his torso and perfect stomach and then you help him get rid of the trousers. You gaze down, eyes glued to his boxers that are drenched with pre-cum. You reach for the waistband, not being able to hold back anymore, freeing his cock from the irritating material. His breath hitches when he feels the cold air on his rock-hard cock. 

“Oh fuck Yoongi,” you instinctively press your thighs together when you lay eyes on his erected penis. 

“Yes, baby doll?” he hums softly, pushing you against the wall again and squeezing your ass with all his force. You bite back a moan, unexpectedly wrapping your palm around his shaft. He loves this and encourages you to go on, gently stroking your hair, “Baby doll, you know… Ahh,” he stutters when you grab his balls with the other hand, massaging them lightly while still jerking him off. He takes a deep breath and continues in a strangled voice, “Do you have any idea, how much I’ve always wanted you to do it for me?” The sinful whisper makes your head feel dizzy. His penis is so slick that your hand easily goes up and down his entire length. Then, you start twirling your finger around the head of his penis. At first slowly and sensually but then you go faster and faster and you can literally feel him throbbing. His knees buckle.

 “You have to stop, now,” he orders, weakly trying to push your hands away.

“Do you really want me to stop? I thought you wanted it oh so badly,” you tease, biting on his collarbones. 

He is so riled up and needy at this point that he violently turns you around and forces you to bend down with your ass high up in the air, hands resting on the wall for support. 

“Sure, but there is something I wanted even more… Can you guess what it is, Baby doll?” he mutters, positioning himself and placing one hand on your hip. 

You can feel as he brushes your clit with the tip of his erection and you moan so loud, pushing your ass back into his erected member. He digs his nails into your hip and you writhe underneath him because of the stinging sensation that makes your body shudder. You lift your ass wantonly and accidentally graze his dick with your soaking wet cunt. 

“Can you fucking stay still, fuck…,” he pleads through clenched teeth. 

“Can you fucking get inside already?!” you start grinding him with your ass to get him going and then he shoves his cock inside you, freezing for a moment to calm down his throbbing member. 

Your tight entrance swallows his entire length and his body goes all tense. You cry out his name, begging for more. He takes a couple of deep breaths and then begins moving in a steady rhythm. After a while, he slides all out and rams back in, barely being able to contain a throaty moan building up inside him. He repeats the rough movement a couple of times, making you feel light-headed. Once again there is that burning sensation inside your belly, and then suddenly, the grip on your hips becomes even more desperate, bruising them and causing you a bit of pain. 

“Ahh… How can you be so tight? Dammit,” he questions in a weak voice.

 His dick relentlessly pounding into you, hitting the right spot each and every time. The sounds of his hips slamming into your heat and your lewd moans fill the room, making you lose yourself completely. He rotates his hips a little and then rams back in, and you almost hit the wall with your head. 

He growls low in his throat, “Baby doll, I’m gonna cum soon, and you’re going to cum with me.” 

Your body twitches uncontrollably, you would come anyway… It’s not like he has to make any special effort. Your legs are not far from giving out and your vision is blurry. The only thing that you need now is to feel his cum filling your pussy. 

Suddenly, he pleads, “Y/N, please look at me. Please, I need to see your face,” the grip around your waist makes your skin burn, you can already tell how fucking bruised you will be tomorrow. 

You look behind, gazing into his unbelievably handsome face. A drop of sweat pours down his forehead, his cheeks are flushed and lips swollen. “Son of a bitch,” you curse him mentally but you can’t help staring at him. 

He smiles fondly and suddenly begs once again, “Baby doll, give me your hand, I want to touch you, ahh.” 

“Yoongi, mhm…,” you squeak, reaching to his extended arm. 

He holds your hand tightly and with a couple of rough thrusts your pussy starts clenching around his dick, the waves of pleasure run through your body. Yoongi moans a mixture of curse words and your name when he rides out his orgasm, cumming into you. He loses his pace, being totally lost and pounds into you erratically, never letting go of your hand. When both of you come down from your high, he gently pulls out his now limp cock from your cunt and embraces you, both of you sinking to your knees. He sits down on the floor and lets you collapse on him, positioning you between his thighs. He strokes your back helping you to relax after this roller-coaster of emotions. His cum drips down your leg and your body shudders. You’re so tired your eyes involuntarily close on their own. 

The last thing you hear before drifting off in his arms is his soft whisper, “Baby doll, you’re only mine.”

Hero

Originally posted by ranrightintomyheart


Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Words: 2k + oops.

Warnings: none. Reader is kinda ruthless. Though I like that lol 

A/U: I based myself on this prompt by @lazy-writing-prompts .Reader is a smart scientist that got kidnapped by HYDRA. He’s meant to save her but things don’t go as planned. Hope you enjoy and leave feedback.


The pounding in your head grew gradually stronger, so much that in seconds it was hard not to ignore them and you reluctantly opened your eyes. You tried to move your hands, forgetting for a moment that they were tied up to arms of the chair.

A drop of sweat fell down your forehead, much to your dismay, you were still on the same place you had been brought on days ago when HYDRA had captured you.

“You’re up,” said the the grey-haired man, he looked to be in his sixties, or seventies. He had told you his name but you were drugged when he did so you couldn’t recall it now. “How’s the head?”

“Pounding.”

“It’s normal, I believe,” he said turning back to read information on a laptop.

You huffed, “Glad to hear you sound so sure,” you said, “when is this going to be over?”

“Not soon, I’m afraid,” he said looking back at you while writing down information on a notebook, “Your vitals look good, consistent. Strong enough to resist the injection,” he said looking down, “the injection, on the other hand,  it’s not as stable yet.”

“Can’t get it right just yet, huh?” You smirked, “Good.”

“I could use the the help,” he gave a weak smile, “It just need some tweaks, very minor things.”

“Not a chance asshole,” you said losing the smirk. That man was mental. Not only did he voluntarily work for HYDRA, but he had given out the idea to get you kidnapped, he had heard about your great scientific qualities and thought that you would be a perfect candidate to get the “power-enhancing” injection.

His theory was that instead of giving powers like they did to Captain America, he would enhance those qualities that already existed. A good runner would be super-fast, a bodybuilding guy would have the strength of the Hulk, and a smart person could become so much more intelligent than any other genius known to men. That’s where you came in.

The first try, with the bodybuilding guy, failed big time. The man’s body distorted to enormous size, painfully, until the man’s bones couldn’t take it and he died. The madman couldn’t understand why that happened. He modified it multiple times to the same result. No matter how much he tried he wasn’t capable of getting right. Then, he thought of it. If he managed to enhanced someone’s intelligence they might be able to figure it out. So he got that gifted girl he taught back in University and got her to help. When she refused to, he kidnapped her. And decided to modify the quantities of the injection to make sure that when given to her, she would live long enough to figure out the actual right proportions for someone to survive the injection. So far, all of his tests didn’t make it more than a minute and a half before dying, and in that time they were in too much pain to speak.

“You understand that you will be injected eventually, right?” he said, angrier this time, “You are not going anywhere.”

You rolled your eyes, “‘Freighting guy’ doesn’t suit you, so don’t threaten me. You have more of a ‘pathetic madman’ vibe going on.” You spat with a fake smile.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he said, grabbing a needle, “If you’re not going to cooperate it’s lights out for you. Again.” he took long steps towards you, positioning the needle on your bruised underarm.

That’s when an explosion-like sound rang out, one of the windows was broken down, pieces of glass and  wood were splattered around the room. Yet you couldn’t see anyone. You and the doctor looked around, but it seemed like you two were alone. Until you felt a breeze and the man was flown back crashing against  the table where his computer, notepads, and whatnot laid.

“What the hell…?”  You muttered, just as a man stopped opposite you. Tall, slender, white hair, handsome, with his hand in his hips.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm watching Doctor Who "dinosaurs in space" rn and all I can think of is that Lestrade is now an archaeologist. Also, earlier while watching another episode, it occured to me that Moffat likes the "it's all in their head plot twist". It's not impossible (or totally probable) that he used it once again in TFP.

Okay. So. I’m kind of freaking out right now, because your ask has just triggered my memory and I think I’ve stumbled across something incredibly important!

Now, if you haven’t seen Doctor Who, bear with me because I seriously think that this is a massive clue as to what’s been going on in season four.

We already know that Moffat’s written Sherlock into Doctor Who before.

I’ve considered a dream-sequence type thing as well. Not because of “Dinosaurs in Space”, though, but because of the episode “Amy’s Choice”.

Just to get this out of the way, I’m not sure whether TST/TLD are entirely constructed or not. It’s quite possible that they are partially real, partially fake. I highly suspect that TD-12 is the culprit in this case.

To anyone who hasn’t watched Doctor Who, but is following along with the conspiracy, I highly recommend watching “Amy’s Choice” stand alone because it’s got some crazy Sherlock parallels and will also give you a bit of an idea of Moffat’s particular brand of rug pull.

The basic premise of the episode is that it focuses around reality being contingent upon a single choice.

In this case, the Doctor’s companion, Amy, has to choose between either staying with her spouse Rory, or “the madman” aka., the Doctor. Remind you of someone?

The antagonist / bad guy of the day “The Dream Lord” traps the Doctor and Amy within a shared dream where they wake up in another reality in which Amy chose her husband Rory over the Doctor. They are both happily married, Amy is pregnant, and neither the Doctor nor Amy realise that they are dreaming at first.

Oh yeah. And The Dream Lord? He’s played by Toby Jones. How about those parallels?

Over the course of the episode the Dream Lord makes the Doctor and Amy wake up over and over again in both the reality in which Amy chose Rory, and the reality in which Amy chose the Doctor.

In the reality in which Amy chose Rory they are being chased down by aliens, and in the reality in which Amy chose the Doctor they are in the TARDIS about to be frozen to death by a nearby astrological phenomenon. A bit of a catch 22, then.

But the catch is that if you die in the dream, you wake up in reality.

Amy has to then choose which reality she thinks is real or a dream, in order to kill herself and finally wake up. 

I think this merging of dream and reality has been occurring on and off for Sherlock since his hospitalisation in His Last Vow.

Remember all the weird discrepancies and surrealist elements within season four? We get the same thing happening in “Amy’s Choice”, when the Doctor is trying to figure out whether they’re dreaming or not:

“The Doctor: Examine everything. Look for all the details that don’t ring true.
Rory Williams: OK we’re in a spaceship that’s bigger on the inside than the outside.
Amy Pond: With a bow tie-wearing alien.
Rory Williams: Maybe “what rings true” isn’t so simple.
The Doctor: Valid point.”

Meaning the glowing skull / lamp hell / OOC character behaviour / reused lines of dialogue all point towards constructed memories.

Moving along, where things get really incriminating is when you consider that the big reveal at the end of the episode: The Dream Lord is actually the physical manifestation of the Doctor’s darkest fears and insecurities.

“The Doctor: Drop it! Drop all that. I know who you are.
Dream Lord: Of course you don’t.
The Doctor: Of course I do. I’ve no idea how you can be here, but there’s only one person in the Universe that hates me as much as you do.”

“Sherlock Holmes: The point I’m trying to make is that I am… the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend…”

Just like the Doctor, Sherlock’s biggest weakness, central to the type of character he is, is loneliness.

The Doctor is so afraid of being alone that he conjures up a monster that traps he and Amy in a reality contingent upon her leaving him.

So to sum up the parallels, we’ve got …
- The Doctor // Sherlock
- Amy’s choice // John’s choice (post HLV)
- Amy’s Pregnancy // Mary’s Pregnancy — The Schrodinger’s Baby dilemma
- The Dream Lord // Culverton Smith // (John) // Sherlock
- Additionally Billy Kincaid (mentioned in TSoT) mirroring Culverton Smith as well 
- Possibly The Dream Lord // Eurus // Sherlock

Relevant quotes/references:

Amy // John

Amy is referred to in Doctor Who as “the Girl Who Waited”. She meets the Doctor when she’s young, and he promises to come back and save her, but due to the TARDIS malfunctioning accidentally disappears and only comes back years into the future when she’s already grown up. (Paralleling Reichenbach.)

This theme of the Doctor leaving Amy behind because it’s in his nature/that’s just the sort of man he is really links into John and Sherlock’s dynamic. John thinks that Sherlock is always abandoning him both literally (TRF) and emotionally (THoB, ASiB, etc.,) because he’s a “sociopathic genius”, it’s just who he is, when really, unlike the Doctor, Sherlock is only being forced away from John due to Moriarty.

“Dream Lord: Poor Amy. He always leaves you, doesn’t he? Alone in the dark. Never apologises.
Amy: He doesn’t have to.
Dream Lord: That’s good. Because he never will. And now he’s left you with me. Spooky old not-to-be-trusted me. Anything could happen.
Amy: Who are you and what do you want? The Doctor knows you, but he’s not telling me who you are. And he always does. Takes him a while sometimes but he tells me. So you’re something different.
Dream Lord: Oh, is that who you think you are? The one he trusts?
Amy: Actually, yes.

“Amy: I love Rory and I never told him. And now he’s gone.

“John: Just text her, phone her, do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me, Sherlock, it’s gone before you know it. Before you know it!

In Doctor Who, in order to make the right choice Amy must choose Rory over the Doctor, the man she loves over the man she is infatuated with.

In this case, Sherlock, although he parallels the Doctor, also parallels Rory.

Originally posted by perttyodd

Sherlock // the Doctor

What does the Doctor say the first time he, Amy, and Rory are together again?

“The Doctor: Now. We all know there’s an elephant in the room.”

And what is he referring to? Amy think’s it’s her pregnancy, but the Doctor makes a joke and says that he’s talking about Rory’s terrible choice of hairstyle. Of course, that’s not what he’s actually talking about. The real elephant in the room is the fact that Amy is standing between the two men she loves and has to choose between.

Originally posted by johnlockshire

Weather Metaphors: “The Oncoming Storm” vs. “The East Wind”

Within Doctor Who we have the extended metaphor of the Doctor being referred to as “the Oncoming Storm” which can be seen as paralleling the “East Wind” in Sherlock, which is very likely referring to himself, namely his emotions.

“The Doctor: Someone—something—is overriding my controls!
Dream Lord (Toby Jones): Well that took a while. Honestly, I’d heard such good things. Last of the Time Lords. The Oncoming Storm. Him in the bowtie.”

The East Wind is coming, Sherlock. It’s coming to get you.“ 

And in mythology … “Eurus is God of the East Wind. He was thought to bring warmth and rain, and his symbol was an inverted vase, spilling water. His Roman counterpart was Vulturnus.” [x]

From The Blind Banker:

“Sherlock: Someone else has been here. Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did.
John: You think maybe you could let me in this time? Can you not keep doing this, please?
Sherlock: I’m not the first.”

Plus Sherlock drinking from the vase in TLD:

Conclusions

”Amy’s Choice” provides a conceptual basis for what is likely going on in Season Four. 

Where Toby Jones represents the darkness within The Doctor as The Dream Lord, it is possible that Culverton Smith at times represents the darkness within Sherlock. At the very least this also links into how other characters such as Faith/”E”/Eurus/Mary can sometimes be seen as representations of characters’ psyches.

Amy’s baby, aka., Mary’s baby, is likely existent in one reality and non-existent in another. Season four shows us a reality where Rosamund does exist so we know certain scenes are not real, just like how Amy’s pregnancy is not real.

Amy’s choice between the Doctor and Rory parallels John’s choice between Sherlock and Mary. In S4 Sherlock’s worst fears to do with loneliness are being projected into reality, just like the Doctor’s, likely because of TD-12, which parallels The Dream Lord’s “psychic pollen”.

Within “Amy’s Choice” Amy and the Doctor are presented with three separate realities. There’s the real world, the fake real world on the TARDIS where Amy chose the Doctor, and the fake world in the village where Amy chose Rory. Due to this I think it’s quite likely that there are multiple layers of unreality we are seeing in season four, just like when Sherlock wakes up into fake reality in TAB and goes to dig up Emelia Ricoletti’s body.

This makes even more sense considering the fact that TAB can be seen as a key for understanding season four. Dreams within dreams within dreams.


@worriesconstantly @jenna221b @teapotsubtext @drugsbust @my-relaxation @timey-wimey-consulting-dragon @misanthropic-acedia @theveryunnecessaryfeelings

avenire  asked:

I'll ask you one! How would react Yoosung and Seven if their S/O had a chronic illness and depression? (I actually have those so I have to dream lol)

Author’s N/A: I hope you’re doing fine irl, and thanks for the ask! 


[Yoosung]

  • He may be new in his job as a veterinarian but he damn knows a pet’s health and behavior well.
  • Because he studied biology for a while before his major, he can tell a person’s health and behavior with just one freaking look in his good eye.
  • And obviously, he quickly learns that there’s something biologically strange about his S/O.
  • Those wheezy noises in their breathing did not look normal at all.
  • He did not buy their words as those wheezing are merely panting from a long jogging session. They don’t even like running!
  • Not to mention, they start wearing long sleeves shirt, even in the middle of intense heat. That is also not normal unless you want to be fried to ashes then be his guest.
  • Yet he keeps his mouth shut for he wants to hear it from themselves. Please trust this sweet bean.
  • But nope, that day never came, and he’s left hanging.
  • As days turns to weeks, he sees their condition worsened to the point of them nearly dying if not for him being present at the time and acting fast to prolong their life before getting them to the nearest hospital.
  • Superman Yoosung speedy driving his car while bitch-talking at drivers.
  • “Out of my way, you carefree buffoons or I will flatten those damn expensive tires!”
  • Practically clings to them for dear life as the doctor and nurses rush them to the ER room until the nurses literally pull them apart and scolds him to get his shit together.
  • As Yoosung waits anxiously in the ER, he has a vague clue to his S/O’s condition: chronic illness and, maybe depression?
  • This poor pup does not want his hunch to be on point, but the truth is shoved to his face when the doctor has told him of their condition.
  • He’s right, and all he could is do nothing but wait in this side while praying for their safety and for them to be alive so he can also give them a piece of his mind. Poor helpless Yoosung.
  • This isn’t not fair at all, did they not trust him? Is he really that useless for them to rely on him despite all what he’s proved to them so far?
  • This sunshine ain’t sobbing in a corner while plotting murder against S/O’s doctors if they fail to cure them.
  • CRY. MURDER. CRY. CRY. CRY. MURDER.
  • When the doctor comes out to tell him the good news, he just faints. It’s too much!
  • When he did wake up, he practically runs in the speed of light but didn’t enter without tripping on the slippery marble floor, and landing on the floor face first. Wait, is that a pair of his sneakers in S/O’s face?
  • And here behold S/O covered in bandages and more bandages. Yoosung starts to get sick of seeing bandages at this point.
  • Literally cries a puddle of tears in their white patient shirt, head-butt their already bandaged head, hugging them to death, and Yoosung makes them promise a thousand times, not to ever hide this from him again.  
  • As touching as this exact moment is, the doctor considers taking this puffy-eyed kid to the psychiatrist as well. There are, after all, a couple in need of mental supervision. But this doctor fails to do so because he values his life more, thank you very much!
  • From then on, Yoosung makes the term Stalker into a whole new meaning with a steadily recovering S/O.  

[707]

  • If Yoosung has it bad, trust me…Saeyoung takes it 9000 times far worse. Much more than the selfies that Zen takes once per 20 seconds.
  • He might have find out too slow because S/O has made it seem like having a common sickness and too fast because of a certain device he created.
  • Although he trolls everyone even S/O nearly 24/7, this genius hacker has a heart made of gold hidden well in binary codes.
  • Right after the cat robot he made, he creates not only a GPS device which is now installed in S/O’s phone but a health detector attached to their watch which tells him their heartbeat, breathing, and other stuff. This is a secret only between him and you, don’t tell S/O.
  • Wait…why did their heart beat more than 100 times per minute? Why did their breathing rate were more than 25 times per minute? How the hell were their RBC count lesser than 5 million? Panicking 707 is not a good sign.
  • Time waits for no one so this dude has been researching about his S/O’s condition, thus leaving a pile of work behind and worse, a furious Vanderwood behind him with a taser. Hey, turn around 707 before your life ends here and now.
  • He’s provided with more information and this dude feared for the worst when the virtual world came up with a solid result: Chronic illness and depression. He ain’t happy with it.
  • Obviously did not bother S/O for they need space and he needs a solid proof at the time but he will not stand by and let them die from their condition.
  • Unlike Yoosung, he will not beat around the bush and say it straight to their face to the point they get into an argument. Hacker God wins tho.
  • And like Yoosung, he will bitch-talk at every driver in his way. However, this troll ain’t afraid to burn anyone with a flamethrower. Why do you harbor such weapons, dude?!
  • Paces around the waiting room like a madman. His loud pacing has driven several friends/relatives of other patients mad.
  • He still doesn’t chill and stay put. His rl world is literally crumbling as he waits in uncertainty.
  • The results are out, and the doctor tries to submit S/O into the hospital, but this angry bird 707 will not have any of his crap.
  • So he’s left with medication prescriptions and instructions which he seriously follows. Glares at the doctor once he sees the side-effects of certain medicines. Forgetfulness, really?! If S/O forgets him, he will get this man fired.
  • Follows S/O everywhere 24/7 even in their sleep, he’s literally attached to them like a leech.
  • “Doctor 707 needs you to drink this and this, also this one.” S/O gives him the look, are you for real? You don’t drink them all in the same timings!
  • Whenever S/O to do something harmful, they find every potential item locked. Always think ahead is the quote of the day
  • Since S/O’s medications and appointments are required for payment, he cuts back from buying cars for now. S/O is his first priority.
  • Helps S/O to get better from their condition (although that very same condition may be permanent), him guided by several suspicious-looking medical related books.
  • In case S/O dies despite all the medication they’ve been given, he’ll follow behind without a doubt..
These Violent Delights (Black Hat x Dr. Flug)

Sometimes he delighted in creating labyrinths and traps for his sweet scientist. On days when boredom took over, Black Hat would summon his fun by making elaborate illusions to torment Flug and confuse him like hell. Oftentimes it involved small tricks of opening random dimensional portals. For instance, one time Flug naively opened the door leading to his lab…only to step right into a fiery dimension full of grumpy demons and ghosts that just lost a horse racing bet.

Another time when Flug attempted to open the fridge, he ended up opening the entrance to a night club full of monsters (and somehow he woke up three days later in New York with tattoos of ancient symbols all over his back and an empty bottle of vodka nearby. Good times, good times.)

And of course, there was the time when Flug wished to merely go to bed and sleep, but he somehow awoke in the middle of a Metallica concert, right on top of James Hetfield’s head. The press went crazy after that one. Black Hat’s laughter could be heard well into the next two dimensions during that.

But those were mere pranks that Black Hat was slowly getting tired of. He wished to take the game up a notch. After all, Flug was becoming more wary and careful, and therefore elusive and good at avoding new potential traps. Summoning a small crystal ball, Black Hat observed what Flug was currently doing. Oddly enough, he seemed pretty happy with himself, humming a merry tune. Black Hat was confused, and growing curious over this. Indeed Flug seemed very, very happy. The eldritch frowned.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little Flug…how I wonder what makes you so smug…“

Keep reading

Okay. - Lin-Manuel Miranda

  Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Warnings: One or two cuss words I think?? Mentions of child cancer.

Character Count: 13,685

Summary: Chosen AU where you share each other’s thoughts. Daveed asks you to read for Eliza in Hamilton- Hamilton is still in its workshop stages.

—–

 You hummed along, tapping a pencil against the wooden picnic table you were sitting at to the beat of the song. The soft lights in the park just barely illuminated the area around you.

Do you like it?

Your chosen’s voice rang through your ears, just louder than the music. You smiled softly, it was the voice you had heard since childhood. Everyone had this ability, if you wanted to, you could open the channel with your chosen and talk- no, think, to them.

    To be specific, the channel was always open unless you willingly closed it, which you did often. But when you finally relaxed after a long day, your channel always seemed to slip open without you realizing. Your chosen always seemed to have his channel open, ready to talk to you or listen to you at all hours of the day.

Figuratively of course, though, this man, whoever he was, pulled all-nighters all the time. But he was kind, and funny, and your soulmate. Those facts made up for his racing mind that would sometimes slam into you at three in the morning, waking you up instantly.

    You and your chosen shared dreams, when he did sleep, but you never clearly got a look at his face.

It’s great, but helpless doesn’t rhyme in the way you’re trying to make it, why don’t you try using, I don’t know, defenseless?

 He closed the channel for a minute and you frowned, glancing around the park you sighed, wondering why he was so quiet for once in his life. It was unsettling to you when he closed his connection, technically speaking it was a part of you being closed off, but you realized how often you closed your own channel and then you felt guilty seeing as he probably felt like this all the time, but you couldn’t help it. Your work- they politely suggested that you close off your channel during office hours, seeing as a soulmate is a distraction.

It’s perfect!

You let out a small laugh as he started the song again, then rolled your eyes and you checked the time, your break was over.

I have to go, sorry, my break’s over.

He shot back a quick goodbye, making you smile at how absorbed in his work he was, you then closed the connection with a small sigh.

One day you would meet him, and you would finally know his name. All these years of hearing him talk to you, think to you, confide in you, and you didn’t even know his name.

         It was a fate everyone had. You hear your chosen, you share each other’s dreams, yet you can’t see their face or know their name until you met them. Every time their name is uttered a low hum prevents you from hearing, and it’s infuriating. People say meeting your chosen is such a magical experience, and you frowned, not knowing how long you would have to wait to have that experience.

   Your chosen wasn’t technically a soulmate, it was someone the universe had chosen for you for a specific reason. They might be chosen for love, for friendship, or just for company. You knew plenty of people who loathed their chosen, some who even refused to open the channel. You even had a homosexual friend who had a woman as a chosen, really it just depended on what you needed in life. You had decided your chosen was for company, something the both of you needed.

    Letting yet another sigh escape your lips, you stuffed your pencil and sketchbook into the small light blue bag you carried everywhere.

 Light blue. It was a sign of calm, a reminder of the ocean, which you had a passion for, it is associated with depth and stability. Stability was a thing you needed in your life, and so blue was undoubtedly your favorite color.

  You smiled to yourself when you realized you were humming his song under your breath. You couldn’t be blamed though, the man was a genius with music. You silenced your thoughts and opened the connection for just a moment to hear him still tinkering with the words of his song, then closed it once more, your smile widening.

   “Y/N!”

Turning to see who on earth would be screaming your name like a madman in the middle of New York at 10:00pm, you were met with your friend Daveed jogging up to you. His hair bouncing along with his steps, paired with his wide goofy grin made you laugh lightly.

   “Y/N! It’s so great to see you. How long’s it been? Two- three days?”

You rolled your eyes, shooting back a quick,

      “It’s been about two weeks, Daveed.”

He scratched the back of his neck, his smile softening.

     “Sorry, just been really busy. I’ve been working on a project- you’re not gonna believe this!”

You rolled your eyes playfully, motioning for him to continue.

 “Okay, this guy’s name is Lin-Manuel Miranda, he’s making a musical about Alexander Hamilton.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you asked,

   “So, this-”

 “Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

   “So, this Lin-Manuel Miranda is making a musical about some dude barely anyone knows about in history?”

Daveed nodded, letting out an airy laugh, then continuing,

“Yeah, I know I said the same thing when I was asked to join the project. That’s why I’m here actually, it’s still in workshop stages, and we need someone to read- well, sing for Elizabeth Schuyler.”

You arched an eyebrow.

   “Okay, and you’re talking to me because…?”

He huffed out a breath.

 “Do I have to spell it out? I’m asking you to read for Eliza.”

Shifting your weight, you checked the time, then scratched your cheek.

 “Okay, but why me?”

Daveed crossed his arms, shaking his head.

    “Come on, Y/N. Don’t act oblivious, I’ve heard you sing before!”

You mimicked Daveed, crossing your arms defensively,

 “Daveed, you heard me sing one time in college, and you were drunk off your ass. I really have to go, I’m gonna be late for work.”

He grabbed your shoulder, making you jump backwards, in surprise.

   “Please, I’m begging you Y/N. Just do this for me, please?”

You sighed, letting a small smile slip seamlessly back onto your lips.

  “I’ll think about it.”

Offering him a soft smile and a goodbye hug, you got to work barely a minute late, then surrounding yourself in the atmosphere.

  Working at a small cafe wasn’t too bad, but being a waitress meant rude comments, inappropriate touching from men that were far too old for you, and more rude comments. There were moments that saved your day though, like a nice elderly man asking why such a kind young woman would stay at a job like this, or a small shy child looking so proud of himself when he told you his order.

Thinks like that made your day better.

After a few hours, you were clearing off your last table, minutes away from going home.

   “Y/N.”

You turned from the table, letting your attention fall to your coworker, Elian, she was a short middle aged single mom, sporting a bob cut, minimal makeup, small hoop earrings, and a soft personality. She had a sad, painful background, and it nearly made you want to cry every time you thought about it. Elian had a three-year-old son who had just recently relapsed into chemotherapy. Her husband had left her, claiming it was too much for him to handle.

  “What’s up, Elian?”

You brushed some hair that fell out of your ponytail behind your ear, then straightening out your apron.

 “I really hate to ask you this, but my son- he-”

      Her voice faltered, and you could see the tears in her eyes. Quickly you rushed to her side,

  “It’s okay, I’ll take your shift, go.”

She nodded, hiccupping once or twice, then rushing off. You sighed, plopping down gracefully in one of the booths, taking Elian’s shift meant 6 more hours were added to your own.

That meant absolutely zero sleep any time soon.

           Zero sleep was the least you could do for Elian, that woman deserved the world in her hands, and what she got was- You sighed again, shaking your head, and getting up. It was almost 1 am, which meant the college students would be coming in soon.

 They were easy to deal with, most of the college students coming at night were attempting all-nighters while trying to finish a project, so really all you had to do was remember to refill their coffee.

        It wasn’t too bad, and on the bright side, you stopped serving food past 12:00, so you would be left to your own thoughts.

 After about an hour of serving a 20-year-old looking boy, frantically typing something on his laptop, he paid and left, thanking you for the ‘fab’ coffee.

     You were left to yourself, this place was quite the hole in the wall, so you didn’t really expect anyone else to come in, especially if they were looking for food.

      Plugging in your phone to the main speakers, you smiled, singing along to ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’

I got to take a little time,

You took a soft breath,

A little time to think things over…

      Pausing with the music, you closed your eyes, and letting it take you, imagining you were center stage at your concert.

I better read between the lines,

In case I need it when I’m older.

   Your voice was a whisper, barely heard over the music,

Now this mountain I must climb

    You placed a hand to your heart,

Feels like a world upon my shoulders

And through the clouds I see love shine,

It keeps me warm as life grows colder…

    You clutched your chest, your voice rising, echoing through the restaurant,

In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,

I don’t know if I can face it again, can’t stop now, I’ve traveled too far to change this lonely life.

I want to know what love is

I want you to show me

I want to feel what love is

I know you can show me

   You let out another soft breath, rolling your shoulders, trying to relax your muscles.

I’m gonna take a little time,

A little time to look around me

    You gestured to yourself, smiling sadly, slowly getting into character with the song,

I’ve got nowhere left to hide,

It looks like love has finally found me.

    You clutched your shirt, belting out the next lyrics,

In my life,

There’s been heartache and pain.

I don’t know if I can face it again,

Can’t stop now, I’ve traveled too far

To change this lonely life.

   Loosening your grip on your shirt, you took another quick breath,

I want to know what love is,

I want you to show me

   You reached out your hand slightly as if begging someone to take it,

I want to feel what love is

     You let your hand drop,

I know you can show me…

    You continued to sing to the rest of the song, putting your heart into it, seeing as it was one of your favorites.

Letting out a soft breath you smiled in content, opening your eyes again, and quickly getting back to cleaning the register area and dramatically singing along with your music.

     You let the beat of Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’ take you into your own dance, which naturally led to singing, and getting really into it. You twirled around, throwing your head back, running your hands through your hair, then down your sides, belting out the lines, and swaying your hips.

 You opened your eyes again, the words dying in your throat as you flinched away from the dark figure standing far too close to you. Screaming, you immediately threw a metal cup at the person before he stepped into the light, revealing Daveed, rubbing where the cup hit him in the face.

         “Oh, my god I’m so sorry! Why didn’t the bell ring when you opened the door?”

   You clutched your chest, trying to slow your breathing, then noticing the shorter Hispanic looking man standing next to Daveed. He had longer hair, just barely shoulder length, his eyes dark, analyzing you in a way that made you blush. You looked away before making eye contact with him,

      “What the hell were you doing Daveed?”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling as he quickly said,

     “I told Lin about you, and he said he wanted to meet you- it was the perfect opportunity, you had just started to sing I want to know what love is, and you were- damn you were belting!”

You cut him off with a sharp glare and hissed,

 “You could have told me you were coming!”

He responded with a shrug,

    “If I told you, we both know you’d make a lame excuse not to sing.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration,

 “Why didn’t you make me aware of your presence before I- before I started dancing?”

His dorky smile turned mischievous and, damn was he walking sex when he wanted to be.

    “Why would I ever do such a thing, Y/N? The way you were shaking those hips…”

He licked his lips, leaning onto the counter separating you from him. You blushed, slapping him on the side of the head, then huffing, and going to prepare his usual order.

  “You’re a real dick, Daveed, I hope you know that.”

You could hear his light chuckle before he responded,

  “Yeah, but you can’t deny that you want a piece of this, Y/N.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you were tempted to throw his coffee at him.

   “Lin-Manuel, isn’t it? Do you want some coffee? It’s on the house for having to watch that mess a few minutes ago…”

His laugh was musical and familiar.

  “No thanks, but really, would you consider singing for Eliza? Your voice is, it’s amazing…”

You gave a light chuckle,

    “Yeah, I’ll consider-”

You turned to give Daveed his coffee, but stopped short when you met Lin’s eyes. You didn’t even notice you had dropped his coffee as the dreams you had shared flooded over you, finally his face cleared and you saw him.

   Lin.

And you knew he was not chosen to be your friend, or just your company, you knew that you would fall in love with Lin-Manuel Miranda. Hell, you could probably rightfully say you were already in love with him.

   “Y/N? Oh, my god. You guys are chosen, aren’t you? Now have to be Eliza, Y/N.”

You tore your eyes from Lin just long enough to meet Daveed’s, a knowing smirk had taken over his face, and you let out an airy laugh. Looking back to Lin, he had never stopped staring at you, a wide smile graced his lips once you breathed out,

    “Okay.”


@courfeyracs-swordcane

Sorry, I'm not sorry. » Unspecified!Reader X Ceo!Dan Howell

Pairing // Unspecified!Reader X Ceo!Dan Howell

Request // yes; Anonymous Said: Dan X Reader: Dan is the CEO and you get promoted to being his secretary and you have a massive crush on him. // This reminds me a bit like fifty shades of gray Whoops. I kinda watched it and the second X3

Warnings // Dan cuz he makes me hot

P.O.V // First

»Masterlist!« ;)

;

“As of today you will work under
direct orders for the Ceo.”

Easier said than done.

{ 1 hour later }

I walked out of the elevator, making sure to look presentable. It was not everyday a secretary moved up in their job like this. And more surprising, it was a personal request made by himself, a real shocker. And from what everybody had to say about him, his was very inquisitive. After all this company distributed transportation to other companies and worked through a couple transactions here and there, all very legal and with a high success rate.

I notice his office a few doors down, bigger than the others but naturally defined and manageable, also in the middle of the room what else was there to spot? There was a tinted glass door that lead into it, breaking off from the door were some designs for decoration and a little plaque that says Ceo next to his name: Daniel Howell. And when I make my way towards it my mind flits to worse case scenarios, 1 ( He’s an ass 2 ( he is unintelligent 3 ( he’s a pervert in his forties/fifties, the last one was a very real and scary idea.

The door is locked when I try to open it, my head spins before working up enough courage to knock three times, “Yes?”, a subtle voice calls out after the first knock. I decide wether or not to idle or just to present myself. I choose the second choice.

“Uh, it’s your new secretary y/n.” I can hear a sigh before he opens the door and extends a hand outward, I take it half expecting him to shake my hand but instead when I reach for his hand he latches onto my wrist, bringing me forward in one swift motion and closing the door behind me.

The room is very dark, the shades are drawn and every material is either black or a dark shade of something, when I turn towards him I notice a grin followed by two very mysterious dimples. I almost forget that we’re touching and I begin to feel queasy, after a few seconds he uses the hand attached to me to point over to a seat sitting in front of his black and white desk. ‘Well he’s smooth I’ll give him that much.’ I take a seat all the while taking in his features.

He’s definitely not in his forties let alone thirties, mid twenties I’d guess and he has piercing brown eyes that almost make me faint. His curls that sit atop his head surprise me, I wouldn’t expect such a thing from the Ceo himself. “You’re staring,” he has a neutral expression now, he’s sat in his chair with hands overlapping each other on his plain desk.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be, nothing wrong with a little intense analysis,” his words come around clearly and easy, he must be a very studious person I presume.

There’s a calm silence followed after his voice and it somehow feels natural. “I’ve seen your brilliance in action and decided you’d do much better with a greater pay and people with stupendous intellect”, I could tell he was dissing my former co-workers and I had no reason to argue with what he said was true, they were pretty pretentious people and very ignorant about economic accomplishments. Some were brute and some were even too exuberant to say the least.

I couldn’t shake the feeling of the charisma radiating off of him and onto me. I bit my lip trying to hide a smile, he took notice carefully to use as a future advantage. “You should smile, you might look just a bit more than beauteous.
I think a smile might give you leverage over someone pertaining to a business deal. You know it’s nice to have a secret weapon by my side,” a sinister grin now played on his lips and I couldn’t help but look away.

“Y/n if you break eye contact this early someone might take it as a arrogant act, bad for the business, you can understand that to a extent can’t you?”

He made me feel played but at the same time urgent to discuss more than this, he blinked at the right moment and his breathe hitched when he presented a long paragraph. He stood tall and was a very riveting man. An attraction will you call it, well a calling, a impulse and my heart gave way.

“Darling, you get my neurons moving more than my thoughts,” a compliment I thought, possibly his way of getting to know someone, he gives a wink and stands walking around his very bare desk to myself. Although he was compelling he brought on a certain aroma that set the structure for a day, perhaps a long one filled with mental challenges that would ensue until the last fun filled moment.

It was then I realized I had held in my breath and dispersed it immediately as though it was a part of me. He was behind me and I could not tell where specifically but as soon as he spoke again I found out, “You’re unique. A possible love interest?” His voiced wavered in my ear, maybe it was rhetorical or not even a question but I tried my best to preform a decent answer.

“Perhaps.”

He stowed away back to his seat using no gestures. Although he was professional he couldn’t hide his amused yet composed posture. “Would it be wrong of me to express my gratitude towards you?” More questioning.

“I think you should point out my office more so”, I was racked with little to no nerves now, confidence seeping into my voice by the second. My little performance gave him pleasure and a expression that almost implied he was impressed. ‘Well done’ I thought, but then he caught me off guard leaving me awestruck. “Your little show isn’t over dear, it’s only just begun. Vulnerability isn’t good love, I suggest as a business woman you stake out your pray far more exceptionally, but I’ll let you slide, your talent makes up for it.”

I swallowed what little I had of saliva and stood up. His eyes trailed mine and then his smile turned into a frown. “Stay a minute?” I was weighing the options in my head, and I came to a conclusion: No. Obviously he wanted a different outcome and he persisted until he received it.

It all happened so sudden. Him rounding his desk to express his admiration for me as he would put it. I had my hand on the door knob before he moved in front of it with a casual motion. “It wasn’t a question and you didn’t give me a well enough answer. I suggest you let me do the talking”, I was beaten. He was a genius after all, a idol for one and all, he had been the number one bachelor of the year following his success. More like a madman.

I did as he instructed sitting down in the same seat as before, his muscular hands gripped the back of my shoulders, “You follow my direct orders is that right?” His voice was playful yet I felt tense. “Yes”, I responded a little too hastily which allowed him a open time slot to bend down to my ear once more, “Then, give me a kiss darling.”

;

Omg i think this should be a series because I can’t leave it off at that. Can I? >:) also sorry if u had to look things up a few times in the ole google dictionary, I’m a very studious person myself so I learn words by the day.

Picture Perfect - Chapter 16

And we’re back for another installment.  I’m so sorry (always) about the time between updates, but between the Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon (@olicityhiatusficathon), Camp Nanowrimo, and my Real Life being complete crap, I swear I got it to you as soon as I could!

Enough about me and on to the main event!!  Tags are below the Read More. Don’t forget to let me know if you want tags in future updates and sneak peeks!

Read the full chapter on:

AO3 or FF.net


Excerpt:

Oliver was at war with himself.  More accurately, his emotions were at war in his head.  He was simultaneously furious and terrified all at once, both emotions clashing to figure which one would win in the end.

How could she have kept this from him?  How could Diggle have let her keep this from him?  And it had been going on for months now.  Months.  Oh, God.  Anything could have happened to her.  Stalkers escalated.   And she’d had a stalker for months, one that apparently everyone knew about, including Bruce Wayne.  

That stung.  Felicity had trusted Bruce Wayne with her safety instead of him, her resident vigilante.  What did Bruce have, really?  A big bank account?  So did Oliver.  But Oliver also had mad ninja skills, as they were lovingly dubbed by Felicity, and she had to know that he would put every single skill in his quiver to use to protect her.  She was family.  More than.  And just like he’d put everything on the line to help his mom, he’d do the same for her.

He looked back down at the calendar and his stomach dropped, the anger fading into terror once more.  A stalker was after Felicity.  His Girl Wednesday.  Felicity, Diggle, and Bruce obviously knew nothing about him or he wouldn’t have been able to get this close to her.   Diggle would’ve taken care of him the second he had a lead on the guy, without question our hesitation.  Which meant Felicity and all of her genius hadn’t been able to track him down, despite the fact that he’d been delivering her things.  He’d been in her apartment.

“You’re not going home.”

Felicity spluttered at his proclamation.  He would have found it adorable in any other situation, but right now he was too wound up, too focused on the safety of the woman he knew he couldn’t live without, to appreciate how cute she could be when she was shocked.

The fact that she now had a stalker who was clever enough to evade Felicity Smoak’s tried-and-true location tactics was likely Oliver’s fault, and the only thing he could think about was how badly he needed to fix it.  People with the kind of skills required to successfully keep themselves off of Felicity’s capable radar didn’t just go after unassuming IT girls.  No, it was much more likely that someone had discovered her association with the Hood and had set out to hurt her to get to him.  It was his greatest fear come to life before his eyes.   This was why he’d told her he couldn’t be with someone he could really care about, which she absolutely was.  He was a man with a mission which could create so many enemies, so many potential threats to her if anyone were to find out about their relationship.

It killed him that she was already in danger.  But he could save her from this one.

“Yes.  I am.”

But only if she’d let him, apparently.  Okay, he needed to try a different tack with her.

“How secure is your home?  When were your locks changed last?  The windows?”  He’d been so lax with her security.  How could he even claim to care for her?  He’d known something was going on, and sure, he’d trusted her to take care of her own security.  Computer genius, remember?  But apparently, that had been a terrible decision.  He should’ve taken her safety as his top priority.  He hadn’t, and now here they were.

Before Felicity opened her mouth to respond, Bruce cut in, reminding Oliver that he and Diggle will still in the room.  Well, at least he could count on John being on his side in all of this!

“The building’s security has been updated.  We have cameras and everything,” Bruce assured everyone in the room.

Oliver scoffed.  “And obviously those have worked so well.”

“Probably just as well as Queen Consolidated security.  Or did you miss the part where this psycho has been in here, too?”  Bruce shot back.

As livid as he was, he couldn’t really argue that point.  Wayne was right, the stalker had been up here, too.  “Diggle, I want the Executive Floor sealed.  No one gets up here without our say so.  And I want a security sweep done at Felicity’s apartment.  Anything we can update, we will.”

Felicity’s hand on his forearm was the only thing that pulled him back from his full-on panic mode.  Softly, but forcefully, she spoke, “Okay.  You need to calm down.”

He was in awe of her.  She had every right to continue her freakout. There was a madman messing with her head, threatening her, and she’d rightfully lost her cool.  But the second Oliver lost his, she screwed her head back on straight to pull him out of his spiral.  He should be the one comforting her, not the other way around.  But, he couldn’t help it.  The thought of something happening to her had him panicked with the need to ensure her safety.  If there was anything he could do, anything he could buy, anyone he could maim to keep her out of harm’s way, he’d do it without hesitation.  Felicity Smoak had become Oliver Queen’s oxygen; there was no him without her.

“I’m going home.  I’ll be fine there.” She palmed his cheek, her fingers lightly scratching in his stubble before she yanked her hand back, like her limb had acted without her authority.  He immediately leaned toward her, missing the connection between them, however brief it had been, but her next words stopped him dead.  “Obviously, nothing is happening until Thanksgiving anyway, so logically it’s perfectly fine for me to go home.”

It bothered him, how flippant she made that remark.  Like it was okay that some psycho wanted to hurt her.  Like she expected him to leave her alone until Thanksgiving now that he’d given her a deadline.  And worst of all, it sounded like she thought it was inevitable, that he’d already won, that Thanksgiving was her deadline, literally, and that she’d accepted it.

Everything in him rebelled.  “No.  Your safety is not to be taken lightly.  I need you to be safe, Felicity.  Please, you have to come home with me,” he pleaded with her to let him keep her near him and safe, to not stop fighting.

“I’ll be perfectly safe, Oliver.  But I’m not letting this guy force me to stop living my life,” she stated with conviction.  

“Fine,” he acquiesced.  “But if you won’t come to the manor, please let me make sure you’re safe.”

She grabbed his hand and the relief he felt at having her back in connection with him is palpable.  “Oliver, I will be safe.  I promise.   Bruce lives across the hall,” she gave him a small glare at his audible scoff before she continued. “The security system is off the charts since he bought the building.  It’s fine.”

“That’s not enough for me.”  It wasn’t.  It obviously hadn’t worked yet, and he’d be damned if he was leaving her protection up to some half-cocked pain-in-the-ass who had only known her a few months.  There was another option, but she wasn’t going to like it.  “If you insist on going home, I’m coming with you.”

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open.  “That is not how I wanted to take you home with me.”

Oliver ignored the verbal faux pas and the amused smirks shared between Bruce and John, focusing solely on the most important thing: getting Felicity to agree to let him stay with her.  “I’ll sleep on your couch.  Just, please, let me come stay with you until we get this guy.”  It wouldn’t be fun.  He’d seen her couch and it was likely only ¾ of him would fit, but it would be worth it for him to only be twenty or so feet away from her at night.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Your choice is a full security sweep, a new security system installed, along with new doors and windows, or you can let me stay with you.  I will sleep on your fire escape if I have to.”  

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.  I relent, under protest.  You can come sleep with me.”

He was fully prepared to let that one go, too, but apparently, she wasn’t.  “Oh God!  I meant inside my place.”  Then she choked.  “Not my place, but my place.  My apartment! YES! Apartment is the word that goes there.”

He couldn’t describe how it made him feel that her inappropriate babbles were still intact.  She couldn’t be too far gone with worry if she was still making sexual innuendos about him, and that was worth more to him than anything else right then.  Although, he hoped that she didn’t see the eyebrow waggles that Bruce sent Diggle’s way.


Tags:

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anonymous asked:

I don't know if this has been asked before, but what do you think will happen if Egg's marriage plans for his children had worked? As in Duncan marrying Lady Baratheon, Jaehaerys with Celia, Shaera with Luthor, and Daeron to Olenna? And probably Rhaelle with an Arryn/Stark/Lannister/Martell instead of Lyonel. For one I think the whole Summerhal tragedy might be avoidable since Egg would have enough political alliances to make his reforms somehow work, instead of trying to do it via dragons.

Well, I wrote this about it, but here are some other ideas:

i. 

Father is such  a clever man.

Rhaelle has always known this - Duncan and Jaehaerys would deny it, bitter as they are, and Shaera and Daeron might be rueful, or reluctant, but Rhaelle knows. It was she, after all, who sat on Mother’s knee and listened as her lord father explain why House Baratheon, why House Tully, why not House Lannister. 

Mother once told Rhaelle that Father was too good for the throne, but Rhaelle sometimes thinks that the throne is not good enough for Father, which is something else altogether.

She tells Rickard this, as she urges him to use the influence he has with his father and their bannermen to push forward Father’s reforms - he is intelligent, her stoic husband, but naive in a way that she finds utterly charming, finds a refreshing change from all the men who came courting at court. He does not understand that Father’s reforms, though unpopular, will benefit them all.

Rhaelle knows, though. She has dreamed it, and her dreams come true.

Keep reading

Fight Song ~ Part 11 ~ Get Out!

Originally posted by too-pretty-to-be-single

Warnings: Abuse, Confrontation, Language, Panic Attack, Resentment, kidnapping, animal abuse, Mentions of Rape and child abuse.

Pairings: Tony X Reader X Marie; Steve X reader X Bucky

Word Count: 1875

Parts:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reader’s POV

My body was shaking as I pulled from Pepper’s grasp to stare at the person behind her.

“Hi sweetheart,” The woman says and my eyes widen as I gulp down a breath of air.

“M-m-mom?” I stutter as I stare wide eyed at her. She simply nods at me with a soft smile on her lips. All sorts of emotions were running through my mind but the only thing that escaped my lips was rage. “Get out!” I growl at her making her face fill with a mixture of sadness and regret.

“(Name)?” I hear Tony say from behind me and I turn my rage bubbling inside me.

“What did you do?!” I yell out as I glare at him.

“Before you get all,” He waves his hands in front of him before he continues, “Angry. You need to listen to what she has to say.”

“The hell I do!” I yell out as I turn back to my mother and say, “I told you to get out.”

“(Name), I’m sorry for what I did.” She replies her hands fidgeting with her small bag.

“You’re sorry?” I scoff as I roll my eyes. “Do you know what I’ve been through because of you?” I yell out completely unaware that I now had an audience. “I’m sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“(Name) you need to calm down.” I hear Steve say from behind me and I slowly turn toward him.

“Please tell me you didn’t know she was coming.”

“Tony called us this morning.” He replies and I grit my teeth as I slowly nod. My heart was racing in my chest; I bite my lip before I turn from him back to her. “Come on leave them alone for a bit.” He says making everyone leave the foyer and head into different parts of the house save for me, my mother, and Tony.

“Peanut-” He starts but I instantly interrupt him.

“Shut up! Just shut up! I can’t-I-I can’t breathe,” I say as I grip tightly to my chest as it tightens. My mother starts to move toward me and I instantly flinch away. “D-Don’t touch me!” I yell out and she freezes. Tony is instantly at my side pulling my face toward him.

“Listen to me (Name), it’s alright. You can do this.” He says but I shake my head as say through clenched teeth, “No I can’t.”

“Yes, you can peanut. Just think about all you’ve been through,” he says pulling my head into his chest and gently smoothing my hair down continues, “You are a beautifully strong woman who needs to face her past.”

“But I can’t!” I cry out again as tears threaten to fill my eyes.

“Yes you can, I’m here peanut; I’ve got you.” He says and the tears start to pour. He was here. He was here to help me. He wanted to help me. I grip tightly to his shirt before taking a deep breath and pulling away turn back to my mother.

“Say what you have to say, and if I don’t like it, you have to leave.” I say as I clutch tightly to Tony’s hand.

She nods slightly before she clutches tightly to her bag and says, “That day all those years ago, no matter what I was going through I should never have given you up. It has killed me every day since. After I dropped you off I found that no matter what I did I couldn’t kill the pain it left in me. I was wrong, oh so wrong, to leave you with him. I have no idea what you have been through and I know that nothing I can say will ever make up for it; but I truly am sorry. I mean that.” I look her up and down to see that she was dressed nicely in an expensive outfit and even her bag was a Prada.

“Looks like you did pretty well without me.” I say bluntly as I stare deep into her eyes trying to convey all my hate to her.

“I married a wonderful man a few years after I left you. We went back to get you together but by then you were gone and I couldn’t find you anywhere, please believe me when I say that I looked. I looked so hard I never stopped looking.”

“Then how come you didn’t find me until now?”

“Tony,” She says as she glances over at her old lover. “He found me.”

“You did?” I ask as I slowly turn to him.

“I can find anyone. I’m a genius.”

“Alright smartass,” I say as I roll my eyes.

“There are no words to describe how sorry I am (Name). I know you can never forgive me but I at least wanted to see you and tell you that I’m sorry and that I still love you.”

“You’re right I can’t forgive you.” I say as I turn from Tony to her. “I was a child and you sold me to your drug dealer.”

“Wait what?” Tony says and I turn to see a look of confusion and anger filling his eyes.

“Oh she didn’t tell you?” I ask as I look from him back to my mother. “She sold me to her drug dealer so she could get high.”

“What the hell Marie, why didn’t you come to me? I would have helped you?”

“Seriously Tony? You were a man-whore at the time. There was no way you were going to believe that I had a baby and it was yours.” She replies bluntly making me raise an eyebrow.

Well she’s not wrong.

“Still you could’ve tried to get me to listen.”

“Alright that’s enough.” I interject as I pull from Tony’s grasp and taking a deep breath continue, “Alright, you both wanna know what I went through because you both were too stupid to think?” I turn toward my mother and say, “Because of you I was almost raped at the age of eight. The only way I could survive was by putting a bullet through his head. After that I was sent from foster home to foster home where I had to constantly worry about whether or not they were gonna beat or rape me. You wanna know the worst part? The worst part is that when I shot Devlin it didn’t bother me. I liked it. I liked killing people.”

“(Name) I-” she starts but I hold my hand up to stop her.

“I am a seriously fucked up person who has hallucinations that feel so real I have a hard time believing they’re not. So you say you’re sorry, well I’m sorry but that’s just not good enough.” I walk past her toward the front door and reaching for the doorknob I pause and turning back to them say, “I also almost died last night. I’m so fucked up that I wanted to die, to be free of all the pain and memories.” Tony’s eyes widen as he realizes that he almost lost his daughter and my mother just stares at me in shock. “Oh and I made out with Cap and Bucky,” I walk out the door slamming it behind me. I pause on the porch my chest heaving before I make a beeline for the woods. I needed to be anywhere other than there.

Pushing past the tree line I just keep walking not even bothering to look back. My head was full of voices arguing with each other making my heart race uncontrollably in my chest. What had they been thinking bringing my mother here? How had they even found her and what politician was she married too? My mind races suddenly making me fall to my knees as I try to slow my uncontrollable breathing. I hear a noise from beside me and I turn toward it to see Baldr creeping toward me his ears pinned back in anger as he growls at something on the other side of me.

I quickly turn from him to the other side of me and see a man in what looked like a failed attempt at my father’s Ironman suit. Instead of the usual hot rod red and gold colors it was chrome and blood red. The eyes were rounder and the instead of the slit mouth his suit looked like it barely had one at all. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” I ask as I slowly crawl away from him and over to Baldr.

“Aw, I’m upset you don’t recognize me (Name).” He says and for some reason his voice sounds familiar.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask not taking my eyes off of him. I feel Baldr kneel down to get in between me and the wannabe ironman and I feel my breathing start to return to normal. I watch eyes narrowed as his faceplate opens up to reveal a man about my age with dark raven hair and icy blue eyes. He seemed familiar, who was he?

“Come on (Name), MIT senior year? Also the year your father killed mine.” He says and my eyes widen in sudden realization.

“Zeke?”

“In the flesh,” He says using his arms to motion down the rest of his body from his chest to his feet. “Well in the armor, if you want to get technical.”

“How did you get a hold of my father’s tech?” I ask as I force myself to stand up straight.

“What like its hard?” He says chuckling making me grit my teeth and narrow my eyes angrily.

“You don’t have the right to wear that armor.” I say sternly as I clench my fists and Baldr growls angrily.

“Don’t I though?” He says tilting his head sarcastically. “After all it is the same technology that murdered my father.”

“Obadiah was a madman Zeke; you know that better than anyone else.”

“DO NOT SPEAK ABOUT MY FATHER!” He yells out angrily making me jump in surprise. “Your father murdered him in cold blood!”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” I yell back at him my eyes wild with rage. “Your ‘Father’ tried to have mine assassinated in that desert just so he could have some shitty company. If anything he got what he deserved!” Suddenly he surges toward me his hand wrapping tightly around my throat and lifting me up into the air. I kick and thrash to try and get free when I suddenly hear a yelp and look down to see Baldr lying on the ground a few feet away not moving. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I cry out as I punch and kick at the metal suit.

“He was in my way.” Zeke chuckles and I feel rage surge through my body. Taking a deep breath I let out a blood curdling scream to somehow alert someone that I was in danger; but before I am able to see if anyone comes black spots fill my eyes and then as the world goes black I hear Zeke chuckle triumphantly.

Tony’s POV

“Did you hear that?” Tony says as he holds his hands up to quiet everyone. “Something’s wrong.” Tony instantly runs from the house and out the door where he instantly climbs into his Mach 90 and say, “FRIDAY I need you to locate (Name).”

“Right away sir,” She replies and Tony can feel his heart start to race. Something was wrong and he could feel it. Call it parent intuition or whatever but he just felt deep down in his gut that (Name) was in trouble.

“Tony what’s going on?” He hears a familiar voice ask and turns to see Steve standing a few feet away with the rest of the team walking up behind him.

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

“What, is it (Name)?” Steve asks his eyes filling with concern.

“Yeah, I’m having FRIDAY run a scan for her.”

“Sir I’ve found her.” FRIDAY’s female voice chimes out and he nods as he replies, “Good where is she?”

“It seems she is being held captive by a man in an suit much like yours sir.”

“That’s not possible,” Tony says as he narrows his eyes.

“I’m sorry sir but my calculations are not wrong.”

“Okay then let’s go,” Tony says and right as he is about to launch himself into the sky Steve grabs his arms and says, “Tony what’s going on?”

“Peanut’s in trouble.” Without another word Tony launches himself into the sky and quickly makes his way after the now retreating mysterious suit.

“Don’t worry Tony; we’ve got your back.” Natasha says into his comms and Tony clenches his jaw.

His stomach was in knots. Who had his tech? Why would they be after (Name)? Were they using her to get to him? If so they’d regret it dearly. He had missed out on so much in her life. He had been unable to protect her from the trials of her childhood but there was no way he was going to fail to protect her now. No matter what this mysterious people wanted he would given ten times that just to get her back. She was his child, his peanut. He loved her, even if she didn’t feel the same about him, he still loved her. No one was going to stand in between him and his daughter.

“Hang on peanut, daddy’s coming.”

Will Continue In - Angry Girl’s Cause The Most Damage 

Naruto Fic Ideas

Naruto version! Credit if used, please, and let me know so I can read them. ;)


Genma returns from an undercover mission to find out that someone has had an attack of stupid and given Gai a genin team. While he’s had experience translating from Gai to something more universally understood, it’s a headache and a half doing so while keeping Gai from killing the kids, the kids from killing Gai, and his sanity intact. Something’s going to have to give, and Genma’s pretty sure it’s not going to be Gai. Or his team, for that matter.


Uzumaki Mito is not the kind of woman to stand back and let the world change around her. She’s a whirlpool, a hurricane, a wildfire. If anyone is going to change the world, it’s going to be her.


Ibiki has spent a lifetime making himself the scariest motherfucker in any given room. This would be a lot more satisfying if his two most frustrating subordinates would ever deign to notice. (Or, Genma and Anko are the best torture-and-assassination bros ever, Ibiki hates them both, and nothing can make up for all the paperwork he has to do. No, not even the sex. Well, maybe the sex.) Ibiki/Genma


A man can never step in a river twice, because it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man. Going back in time resets everything that happens, every roll of the dice and every decision made thereafter. But sometimes there’s no better choice, and only one possible path to follow. (AU where time travel leaves everything [gender, chance, decisions, etc.] up in the air.)


When Minato summons the Shinigami, he expects a fearsome and faceless god of death. What he gets is a grumpy, overworked redhead with no patience for this bargaining shit. (Bleach xover)


Mokuton isn’t so much the power of wood as it is the power of life. The first time Obito really understands is when he steps into Konoha’s forest and feels the world sing.  


While on a mission, Obito gets dosed with truth serum. Kakashi assumes it’s going to be a hilarious experience. Spoiler: it’s not.


Even the most devoted soldiers waver and have doubts. Far away from everywhere, a grieving traitor meets a weary ANBU. Sometimes, a single meeting is enough to change the fate of an entire world—maybe even for the better. KakaObi


A hero, a villain, a monster, and a martyr walk into a bar.

The barman asks, “What can I get you, son?”


There’s a fairly steep learning curve to cohabitation, and Kakashi’s boyfriend seems to have picked up some very odd habits over the years. Luckily, Obito is cute enough to make up for a lot.

~ “What the hell are you doing to that banana?”


Once upon a time, a monster fell in love with a hero. (Fairytales only end when the monster’s dead; maybe it’s a good thing this isn’t a fairytale after all.) Utakata/Zabuza


Somehow, when Jiraiya shows up on his doorstep with an infant Naruto in tow, Orochimaru finds himself going from ruthless missing-nin to head of a home for outcast children and one half of a weirdly functional domestic partnership. 


For the record, this is not how his grand defection from Konoha was supposed to go.

(Or, Orochimaru stumbles into a weirdly solid and domestic relationship, somehow becomes a parental figure to a gaggle of outcast children, and accidentally builds a functional shinobi village. Jiraiya…helps. More or less.)


[I love you.] It starts as a lie, Jiraiya’s final, desperate attempt to keep Orochimaru from slipping any further into the darkness. Neither one of them expects where it eventually leads.


With the Fourth Shinobi War raging, Team 7 goes back in time to set things. But not that Team 7. (In which age has no bearing on badassery, the Sannin should never be underestimated, and sometimes happy endings really are worth all the grief that preceded them.)


Orochimaru is kidnapped by persons unknown for nefarious purposes. Clearly, someone did not think this through. (Or, the one where Orochimaru is a damsel, Tsunade is his knight in shining armor, Jiraiya is her trusty squire, and this story is not an AU. Mostly.)


In which Orochimaru acts like the genius he is, goes undercover to spy on the Akatsuki, and somehow ends up in a stable, functional relationship with his greatest rival.


Anko has just learned that sexual frustration makes people crabby. This, obviously, is why Orochimaru-sensei is such a grump, and it’s clearly up to her and her dependable-if-annoyingly-straight-laced sidekick Kabuto to fix it. (Orochimaru would like to know just what the hell he did to deserve this, thank you.)


Sixteen years old, battered and blind, Shisui pulls himself out of the river only to find himself in an entirely unfamiliar world. But Itachi is exactly the same as he’s always been, no matter how many years have passed. It’s not actually the comfort it should be. Still, regardless of his genius, Itachi has always been a bit of an idiot, too, and Shisui is accustomed to dealing with him. This will be no different.


Shisui is loyal to his village above all. So when he learns there’s a madman attempting to manipulate all of them, he takes action. There’s a reason people consider Kotoamatsukami the greatest manifestation of the Sharingan, and Shisui is going to do everything he can to live up to that.


It’s common sense not to create a weapon without creating a counter. If Senju Tobirama has one thing going for him, it’s common sense, and Edo Tensei is just another weapon. The Nidaime isn’t about to let his resurrection go to waste, either—especially when Madara shows up, also alive and young again. It brings back old memories, old regrets, but that’s what second chances are for, right? Mada/Tobi


In a last-ditch attempt to force his brother and best friend to get along, Hashirama sends Tobirama and Madara on an epic quest across the Elemental Countries, and in the process rewrites history. (Or, Hashirama wanted them to be friends, but he didn’t mean it like that.)


Madara doesn’t mean to fall in love with a ghost, but somehow it happens regardless. (After Tobirama’s sacrifice in the name of peace, his spirit lingers. Madara can’t escape it, and doesn’t know whether he would even if he could.)


In which Madara is a very angry barista, Tobirama is the infuriatingly attractive customer who fails to order what Madara’s finely tuned Coffee Sense insists he should, and everything is, as always, entirely Hashirama’s fault.


Tobirama is 110% not his brother. He does not have inappropriate feelings for his enemy, he is not torn between friendship and duty, he is not an optimistic fool, and he isn’t about to let anything get in the way of securing his clan’s future—especially not an Uchiha.

And then he and Izuna get stuck in a cell together.


The end of the Great War left the Konoha Empire badly weakened and reeling from so many losses, those who survived trying desperately to move on and rebuild. Among these is Lord Madara Uchiha, right hand of Emperor Hashirama. However, Madara’s mourning is cut short when he’s ordered to find Hashirama’s reclusive younger brother, a mechanical genius whose inventions won them the war—and killed Izuna. But Madara has no time for grudges, because he’s not the only one seeking the prince. It’s a treacherous race through dangerous territories to discover his whereabouts, and the only one Madara can trust is a lamed stranger with far too many secrets.


The end of the Great War left the Konoha Empire weakened and vulnerable. In a desperate bid for resources, Emperor Minato sends his right hand, Lord Kakashi Hatake, to find an enigmatic inventor known only as the Mechanist, whose weapons won them the war. Kakashi is still grieving for his slain best friend, but there’s no time for mourning, because he’s not the only one seeking the Mechanist. It’s a treacherous race through dangerous territories to discover his whereabouts, and the only one Kakashi can trust is the mysterious Tobi, a masked stranger with far too many secrets.


Obito Uchiha is a traitor to the king, a failed revolutionary only saved from execution by his family name and his ties to the deadly Dragon Moors. To assure his loyalty, King Minato has arranged a marriage to the kingdom’s Champion, a fearsome man without mercy or morals, but Obito is hardly about to become some blood-knight’s biddable husband. Kakashi Hatake is far different than the rumors paint him, though, and Obito realizes that this might very well be his best chance for happiness. But there’s something brewing in the shadows, and no matter how content Obito is with his new life, he won’t be able to escape his past forever.


Every generation, the Horsepeople of the Apocalypse (gender bias is so second century) are reincarnated into mortal bodies to wait for the End of Days. Mostly, this consists of running around being enormous douchnozzels (see: rebellions, famines, plagues, telemarketers), but some of them are utterly done with this idiocy. War (Obito, please; he’s retired) is living a quiet life, entirely ignorant of who his colleagues are this time around, and he’d like it to stay that way, thanks. But some jerk in a pale green car keeps showing up wherever he goes, and Obito is just about ready to go Incarnation of Conflict on his ass. No matter how hot he is.


After his family’s failed rebellion, Sasuke is banished from the capital and sent to live in the frozen northern mountains with a relative he’s never met. His cousin Obito is a powerful sorcerer, but lives in an eerie castle with only his servants and a white wolf as his companions. However, Sasuke quickly realizes that not everything is as it seems. Obito vanishes with the setting sun, and a white-haired stranger with a black falcon takes his place until dawn. It’s a mystery Sasuke can’t let lie, but as the days grow shorter a dark magic grows stronger, and though one coup has been put down the kingdom is still in danger. (Ladyhawke!AU)


At the insistence of his wards and other pushy people, Sir Kakashi goes on a heroic journey to slay a menacing dragon and rescue a beautiful princess. However, the princess is more interested in acquiring rare medical texts from forgotten cities than being valiantly rescued, and the dragon is distinctly adorable. To say the least. Kakashi finds himself dragged into book quests, organizing libraries, strip poker with a dragon, and too many hits to the head.


After their confrontation with Hanzō, the Sannin return to Konoha with three orphans in tow, and Nagato promptly adopts the Snake Sage. Orochimaru isn’t entirely certain what he did to deserve this, but he is sure that it’s all Jiraiya’s fault. JiraOro


Ten years after the final battle at the Valley of the End, Naruto is Rokudaime Hokage and the world’s hero, but lives with the guilt of having killed his best friend. Then one day a handful of long-dead shinobi fall through a dimensional doorway, refugees from a shattered world that’s an almost perfect mirror of Naruto’s own—right down to their Rokudaime: one Uchiha Sasuke, Kyuubi jinchuuriki.

-Danzo was Sandaime, went to war with other nations—massacre was Uzumaki clan plotting uprising to free Uzushio. Kushina did it to save Naruto (Itachi parallel)

-Obito/Kakashi switch at Kannabi Bridge—Obito got Team 7, Kakashi led Akatsuki.

-Hashirama/Madara switch—Madara founded Konoha, Hashirama wanted to remake the world after Tobirama’s death.

-Alt!Naruto wanted to free Uzushio/Uzumaki clan, went with Tsunade (Orochimaru/Tsunade switch), tried to become Ten-Tails jinchuuriki for power (change the world/child of prophecy etc.), alt!Sasuke killed him—threw the world out of balance without the bijuu = natural disasters.


Due to a clerical error, Anko ends up with a genin team. Given that the very idea of separating the enraptured Naruto, Ino, and Shino from their psychotic sensei causes spontaneous explosions, Sarutobi goes along with it, and is astonished to find that everything actually turns out for the better.


Sasuke is a top classical violinist with a full scholarship to the best music school in the country. Naruto spends his nights DJing to make the rent, and his afternoons on street corners playing violin-based hip-hop. They’re from completely different worlds—until the day they’re both hired to create a soundtrack for an avant-garde production of Cinderella. Maybe the play’s leads aren’t the only ones who will find their happy ending.


Orochimaru is, once again, up to no good. This time, however, it actually works. Sort of. Maybe. (Genderflip!Naruto)

~ “What’s the big deal? I don’t get it,” Naruto says, his brows furrowing. The expression on his face is the one he always wears when he’s trying to figure out which social convention he’s stomped on this time, and whether it’s important enough that he should care. Kakashi has mentally subtitled this look ‘you silly sane people and your normal-world rules, geez.’ “So we’ve got boobs. It’s not like it changes anything, right?”


It’s not as if being a pretty girl means you can’t be a kickass kunoichi as well. Ino will prove it, even if she has to drag herself through blood and fire to do so. 

(Or, Yamanaka Ino, born into a world where Uzumaki Kushina was the Yondaime, takes no shit and no prisoners. Every little girl needs a role model, after all.)


Sci-fi!AU — “You still don’t get it, do you, Hokage-sama? Kiba isn’t just my son; he’s my most successful experiment.”

~Kiba has lived his entire life on a space colony and genetics preserve, content to care for his clan’s animals even though he’s never quite fit in with his family. However, when the leader of Earth recruits his mother for help battling a monstrous, malicious virus, he finds himself thrown headfirst into a world of dangerous plots, cutthroat politics, and people who aren’t nearly as easy to understand as animals. Shikamaru/Kiba

minuiko  asked:

jason giftshopping for nico but he has literally no idea what nico would like so he privately asks every one of the Seven for their opinions (meanwhile Nico's been convening with Reyna for the same reasons)

This one turned out longer than expected, but it was fun to write!<3 MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

Nico’s nose wrinkled with distaste, as though his chicken strip had turned into jello in his mouth. He already sent back three out of four dishes at the diner before settling on the kids menu and deeming the chicken strips with a side of macaroni worthy of his taste buds. Soaking his chicken strip in ranch, he let Jason’s words process a moment longer. “Christmas presents?”

 

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nova-bane-the-fallen-angel  asked:

Hi! I recently got into boku no hero academia and I saw your post with head cannons for Todoroki and Midoriya? I was just wondering if you had any more BC they are really really cute! 😊

AHHHH welcome to the club my friendo !! I HAVE A LOT OF HEADCANONS LOL @saigennaku also fuels this shit a lot it’s wild u__u I love talking about this stuff, send me any hc’s or situations you have too !! 

  • We’ve talked a bit about Deku meeting Shouto’s mother. And it would be a little bit surreal, y’know? Like, at one of Deku’s many, many trips to the hospital for busting himself up, he ends up sitting in the courtyard with this quiet woman and chatting a little bit. She’s looking at old pictures, so he asks what they’re of. “My family,” she says, with a smile, tired smile. 
  • These little rendezvous become pretty regular over his hospital stay - he’s a good listener, what a kiddo, and asks about her children. How smart her kids are, how steadfast her daughter is and how very, very sweet her youngest boy is. 
  • He doesn’t make the connection until Shouto finds them both, having come to visit his mother (and then, subsequently Deku) and was told she’d been sitting in the courtyard with a young man.
  • Suddenly, Shouto is feeling very, very shy. Of course, Shouto doesn’t tell her the nature of their relationship. They’re classmates, close friends. Deku nods along and smiles. 
  • The reverse is just as sweet. Shouto visits Deku one weekend, bringing a little box of sweets as a gift. Deku’s mother fawns over him endlessly, a lot of “Izuku, you didn’t tell me you had such a handsome friend!” and keeps interrupting their time together to bring in snacks or tea. She’s not particularly nosy, mostly overjoyed that Deku’s made such good friends. 
  • When Deku begs his mom to stop coming in and out, geez they’re trying to study, she just blurts a “But you haven’t had a friend over since Katsuki-kun came that time in elementary school!”
  • Shouto just blinks. Deku’s as red as when Uraraka compliments him, hurriedly trying to rush his mother out.
  • Speaking of studying!
  • We know Deku takes notes like a madman, but Shouto’s a doodler. Nothing specific, just lines across the corners of his page or extra dots where he’s tapped his pencil over and over. It helps him listen.
  • Also, Shouto’s writing is impeccable. Especially next to Deku’s chicken scratch. 
  • When it’s just the two of them, Shouto likes to kiss Deku’s cheek a lot. It’s cute to kiss his freckles and watch him blush. u__u
  • The first time Deku tried to initiate a kiss he missed and they bumped noses really hard. He got so embarrassed, but it’s the first time he sees Shouto laugh so hard. (For anyone else, it’s a small laugh, but its music to Deku’s ears.)

SPEAKING OF MUSIC this isn’t a kacchako post (but kacchako bleeds into everything I do ever) but Cyn and I have been talking about the IDOL AU more !! So here’s some Shoudeku Idol au shit. 

  • (As a quick digest, Deku’s a songwriter currently working with Uraraka, who’s an idol - Shouto is a solo singer & musical genius of high popularity!)
  • The first time he has to write a song for Shouto, Deku is so wildly overtaken with anxiety that he doesn’t sleep for two days. It has to be perfect! It has to be amazing, breathtaking! If not it’s not worthy of a singer like the Todoroki Shouto!
  • When overseeing the songs he’s written, Shouto filters through them without a word, reading them over, humming some notes. Deku’s ready to be tossed out the window, papers thrown in his face, what were you thinking, you idiot, these aren’t good enough for someone like him-
  • “This one,” Shouto says, setting the paper down, and Deku’s… stunned? Its probably the simplest melody in the bunch, a near tune-less love song. 
  • Shouto won’t budge on it. That’s the one he chooses.
  • It stuns him every time, their musical back-and-forth. Usually they start on the piano: Deku will play what he’s written, how he’s intended it. Shouto will follow, repeating it back in his own flavour. The notes are the same, but Shouto’s sound is so different from his. They do this a few times, trying to emulate each other and add more to the song until its complete. And honestly, it’s the most fun Deku’s ever had in his songwriting career. 
  • For the first time in a long time, Deku’s confident about his lyrics and song for Shouto. But hearing Shouto sing it, perform it, something permeates through him. It’s obnoxious to think Shouto’s singing to him only, but .. maybe his eyes did linger on him a little longer in the crowd. 
  • Maybe.
  • (Definitely.)
Request- Jasper Jordan

Can you do embarrass me for jasper? Where he embarrasses you by accident and you get really flustered and he tries to apologize And btw: you are so lovely to everyone and it just makes me smile!

Thank you so much! :)

Warning: Bad language.


It had become something of a tradition for the delinquents to get back to together every Friday night.

Being in Camp Jaha meant adults, kids and family members; but for the original 102 who had been alone on Earth until their arrival, it meant that they sort of lost their little group and could now branch out and find new people to talk to. The Arkers coming down didn’t break the bond that the kids had, though, and somehow the remaining teenagers all managed to come together on Friday nights around the campfire.

Usually, they talked and gossiped, Bellamy would make one or two announcements or tell one or two of the adult’s secrets- he was the only one of them who was allowed to go to board meetings and was trusted to keep secrets from the 100 (he didn’t). Sometimes people sang or played drums, but mostly, they loved to get drunk and play stupid, idiotic games that they couldn’t play in front of the adults.

“I dare you to go steal Wick’s toolbox.”

“Fuck no! He’ll kill me, Raven!” Jasper quickly refuses, eyes wide in panic as Reyes grins at him, knowing full well that Jasper would never get away with it.

“Well, you know the forfeit, go get the toolbox or strip and do three laps of the camp. Make a choice.” Raven replies, smirking at him. The rest of the group starts to laugh, knowing that Jasper really only has one choice that’ll leave him with a little dignity.

Slowly standing up, giving Raven one last scowl before he goes, Jasper starts sprinting toward Wick’s workshop. The group burst out laughing as he runs inside, his arms above his head, yelling fiercely as he runs in like a madman.

“Poor kid.” Lincoln mumbles beside Octavia.

“He’s dead.” Bellamy agrees, giving Lincoln a tight grin.

It only takes a few moments for Jasper to run back out, holding Wick’s heavy toolbox in his arms as he runs back to Raven, putting down the box and hiding behind her.

“Well done, Jasp!” You laugh, watching as he nervously sits down, thankful that Wick wasn’t running out after him.

“Was he even in there?” Raven asks.

“Yeah, but he was asleep, so I had to tip-toe out with it.” Jasper replies, making the group laugh. Tiredly, you lean your head against Monty’s shoulder and watch as Jasper’s eyes slide over and stare at the both of you. His eyes focus in on you for a second before he looks away.

“Alright, Jasper, you’ve earned your turn.” Bellamy grumbles low in his throat, the alcohol making his voice deeper. The words make Jasper cheer up instantly, his mind rushing with ideas already.

“Y/n.” He calls your name and you look up at him in surprise. “Truth or dare?”

Jasper loved this game. Jasper’s dares were always tough and the truths were always genius. He’d never picked you before because he played this game hard and you really didn’t expect it when he singled you out this time.

“Uh…” You mumble, trying to think of which to pick. “Truth?” Jasper grins eviliy at you and it makes you want to hide behind Monty.

“Name the people you are attracted to and why.”

Fuck.

Your heart starts to beat so fast that you can feel it in your throat. Mouth open wide, you stare at Jasper, stunned. Instantly you begin to get flustered, beginning to splutter out ‘uh’s and um’s’ as you try to think of something to say.

“And no lying, we’ll be able to tell if you do and you’ll have to do the forfeit.” Jasper grins, waiting for you to admit that you feel something for Monty. He could just tell that something was going on between you two- he could tell because he was insanely jealous, but hey, at least this way he’ll find out for sure.

“I…” You utter, looking to Monty. Monty nods and you gulp, knowing that you were going to have to tell the truth. “I’m only a-attracted to one person.” You confess, stumbling over your nerves as your cheeks start to redden. “I like you, Jasper.” You admit, whispering quietly. The whole group heard, and the penny dropped.

Jasper’s face pales, his heart thumping like crazy as his stomach drops. Instantly he feels thrilled and terrible at the same time. He never meant to embarrass you like this, he just wanted you to admit that you were in a secret relationship with Monty! He never knew this would happen!

Your cheeks flame red as you feel everyone’s eyes on you. Jasper just watches you in shock, not saying anything. Embarrassed, you quickly clear your throat and stand up, walking away from the group to go back to your tent to deal with your embarrassment and rejection alone.

Mere seconds pass before he rushes in, his eyes open wide. You turn to him, biting your lip in nervousness.

“I’m so sorry.” Jasper apologises, making you wince. It wasn’t clear whether he was sorry for embarrassing you or rejecting you in front of everyone. “I really didn’t know you were going to say that.”

“Forget about it, Jasper. I just want to get over it, okay? Let’s pretend like it didn’t happen.” You mumble, ashamed at yourself for feeling so upset about him not reacting the way you would’ve wanted. Jasper keeps staring at you, unmoving. “Jasper?”

“I don’t wanna pretend like it didn’t happen.” He states.

“Oh no, please don’t! Seriously, please don’t make fun of me, I just want-”

Jasper grabs your face in his hands and smashes your lips together. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be and when he opens his mouth for you to lick inside, he tastes like blueberries. After a minute or two, Jasper pulls back quickly and looks at you a little nervously.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you out there.” He mutters anxiously, scratching the back of his head. “I was a real jerk. I didn’t mean to be mean or anything, I thought you and Monty were like, secretly together or something and I wanted you to admit it.”

“No! I like you!” You laugh, watching as a light blush dusts his cheeks. “Part of the dare was to say why I like you, right?” Jasper nods slightly. “Then, let me tell you, I like every single thing about you. Everything. Even when you embarrass the hell outta me.” You grin, causing a smile to twitch its way onto Jasper’s lips as he moves forward, engulfing you in a hug.

“I like every little thing about you too.” He whispers against your forehead, giving you a few small kisses. “Let’s go back out. I’ll do something stupid to embarrass myself.”

“JASPER FUCKING JORDAN! WHERE IS MY FUCKING TOOLBOX?!”

Jasper’s face pales comically.

“No need to embarrass yourself. Wick beating you up will be funny enough to make it up to me.”

Title: How I Banged Your Brother 3/?
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Stanley Pines, Rick Sanchez/Stanford Pines.
Notes:  This update is literally longer than the entire fic so far. Hence why it took so long to update. That and I’m lazy. Anyways, your love keeps me going reality is a lie  buy gold BYE! 

Ao3 Link

The Past

A deep breath was taken the moment Karl rolled from on top of him. The room smelled of sweat, sex and a stale mold that permeated the whole of the apartment for better or worse. One that the landlord said couldn’t be helped after handing him a grocery store flyer for some air fresheners on sale.The smell didn’t bother Stan enough to take him up on the offer and from the way Karl was lying there with a dopey grin on his face, he would say that it wasn’t much concern for him either. Which was good, Stan tried to make himself believe as he ran his hands through sweaty hair.

Patting his thigh in a friendly sort of way, Karl started to get up-first sitting on the edge of the bed and then forcing himself to his feet after a weird little chuckle. Stan chose to continue lying there as he watched the other man start to search for his clothes.

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8

- Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me, 25th May 1987 - 

I like to define this album as a more glamorous version of The Head On The Door: the only Cure double album, it contains harsh guitar deliriums like The Kiss (they should use this as opener for their concerts more often!), melanchonic cries like A Thousand Hours, One More Time, pop madness like Why Can’t I Be You? and so on… still the album mantains some sort of omogeneity that makes it easy to enjoy. I love how almost in every song the melodies are voluptuous and rich, they reflect the deep red colour of the cover (that for those who don’t know pictures Robert’s gorgeous lips). In some of the songs (The Snakepit, Like Cockatoos) Robert’s voice is echoed, but while in Seventeen Seconds or Faith this effect gave a sense of solemnity, here what I feel is mostly lust and mistery. Another example of how The Cure always manages to reinvent themselves! Those were great times for the band, I’ve seen a lot of documentation about The Kissing Tour and everything made me suppose that they were enjoying themselves a lot. Also is in this period that Robert proposes to Mary! there are really too many songs and genres on this one, so I’ll focus only on the most relevant ones, that I would personally suggest you if you were about to listen to the album for the first time. First of all, Just Like Heaven, by far one of my most favourites Cure pop songs, and actually one of Robert’s too! He defined it the perfect pop song, and I think it’s true because it is an absolute gem. The lyrics are very simple yet dreamy, and together with the super famous guitar riff and the melody they could easily represent the definition of adolescential love, spontaneous and passionate. I love it… also, the video features Mary, so you HAVE to watch it (x).
Hot Hot Hot is another little song that I would recommend, especially for moments of great exaltation… if you don’t feel the urge to dance like a madman while listening to this song you have a serious problem! ;P and same for Why Can’t I Be You…
Other two songs that I want to say something about are Shiver And Shake and A Thousand Hours. Usually I see them left aside, but I like them a lot, I’m always fascinated by how true and passionate Robert’s voice sounds. I’ve read that he worked really hard on them (it seems that he recorded Shiver And Shake after an argument with someone… maybe Lol? At that time he was almost about to leave the band, so who knows…)
If Only Tonight We Could Sleep is one of the many examples of Boris’ genius, and I love how Robert sings “if only tonight we could sliiide…” it really gives the idea of sliding. In the whole album you can easily hear that his voice has improved a lot since when they started, it’s “softer” and develops in many different intonations. I like Like Cockatoos for that reason too. 
The last track, Fight, is also the last I’d like to recommend, because I think the fact that Robert wrote this after all what he had been through in the early 80s is very inspiring. But generally speaking, all the songs contribute to make this a very powerful and playful album, in some ways even romantic. The font they use in this period is probably my favourite Cure font ever, it’s perfect for the album. Also, I dare you to listen to Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me and then keep defining The Cure a goth band! 

(If you want to open a discussion over it, feel free to send an ask ;))

Creepypasta #267: Part And Parcel

“Peter? Peter Emory? Can you hear me?”

 Peter awoke from a strange dream, feeling sluggish and disconnected from reality. Once his eyes began to operate he tried to make sense of his surroundings but failed miserably. It was hard to focus—everything was milky and distorted, as if he was underwater, and he seemed unable to blink away the haze.

 Suddenly, a grotesquely bulbous face floated into view.

 “Ah,” said the face, “I see your eyes moving. You’re awake at last. Listen, Peter, I am Doctor Andrew Gould, and I have some exciting news. Well, shocking news, for you, but I think you’ll eventually reap the rewards.”

 Peter tried to reply, to ask what the hell was going on, but nothing happened. His mouth was unresponsive. Nevertheless, Dr. Gould nodded as if he understood Peter’s concerns, which had the surreal effect of making the doctor’s forehead balloon like a reflection in a carnival mirror.

 “I think you may remember, Peter, that you had an accident? You were riding your motorcycle very fast, much too fast for these backwoods. I’m afraid you were in quite a few pieces when I found you, just down the road from my house. And then further down the road. And a bit more, even further. Heh.”

 What was he talking about? Peter hadn’t been…

 Oh.

 A quick succession of flashing images came to mind, like a video with missing frames. He remembered the pothole that had appeared in the road before he could react. He remembered the bike being wrenched out from under him, and the pavement flying up at his face. He remembered wondering if it would hurt.

 He remembered that it had.

 “Yes, well,” Dr. Gould continued, “by a happy coincidence I was close at hand. And luckily for you, I’ve been looking for a proper test subject. You were practically delivered right into my lap, in a most dramatic fashion, as if Providence was truly at work. I could hardly have asked for a more perfect opportunity to demonstrate my accomplishments. Oh, yes, fortune smiled on us both. And with your help, they will have to listen to me now. They must! There will be no denying the evidence. You, Peter, are undeniable.”

 The more the doctor talked, the more Peter felt a growing sense of dread. All he wanted to know was the extent of his injuries, but at the moment he could only listen to this person who seemed far too pleased that Peter had nearly been killed.

 “You see, my lad, after years of work, I think I have done it. This, er, goo that you are enveloped in? It has saved your life. Resurrected you, very nearly. You have no idea yet how lucky you are that I came along when I did, and that I’ve recently made so many advancements with my, ah, goo. I must find a better term for it. Something with ‘quantum’ or ‘nano’ in it, maybe. It’s exciting stuff, but due to its incredibly unique properties you may at first feel a bit… disorientated.”

 Dr. Gould held a jar in front of Peter. He tapped it, making Peter wince inwardly.

 “For instance,” Dr. Gould said, “you may experience unsettling sensations since your ears and auditory processing centers are in here. Meanwhile, your eyes are… well, your eyes are in there, as you can tell. In another jar. The rest of you is here and there, nearby. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know I found most of you. All the essentials, anyway.”

 Dr. Gould kept talking. And talking. Peter wanted to scream, but Dr. Gould would not stop, relentlessly explaining himself to his mute and impotent patient. It seemed his miraculous goo kept the various parts and pieces of Peter alive, and though separated by some distance and completely unconnected, many parts worked as if still united.

 It sounded to Peter like mumbo jumbo, or the scientific equivalent to magic. Still, it was evident that his eyes were indeed here, the majority of his brain was over there, and his ears were currently on the move, in Dr. Gould’s hand. The old man carried Peter’s ears around as if dictating into a microphone, and to say it was “disorientating” for Peter to no longer be at the centre of what his senses were experiencing was an understatement. A colossal understatement. Peter felt that in this case, “disorientating” required many more modifiers in front of it, long strings of additional words such as “terribly,” and “horrifically.”

 Despite Dr. Gould’s assertions, Peter did not grow any more comfortable with this living nightmare in the weeks that followed. He still had no voice and had found no other means to communicate, which left him trapped and powerless. He might have been able to blink “yes” or “no,” but with his eyelids apparently located elsewhere (or perhaps missing altogether), even blinking was impossible.

 The doctor did not appear to be interested in establishing back-and-forth communication anyway. Peter was subjected to one arcane experiment after another, while also being forced to endure the non-stop monologues coming from this madman who finally had a captive audience to whom he could explain his acts of genius.

 When, at long last, the doctor appeared to be satisfied by the results of all his tests, Peter found himself being packed at random into dozens of shipping boxes, all bound for a prestigious university. “Proof of theory,” Dr. Gould called this step, with obvious relish. He saved the jar that contained his patient’s ears for last, and as he carefully went about boxing and sealing the rest, he explained how Peter would soon be the most famous medical wonder in history. With more help and funding, the world would watch as Peter’s full resurrection was completed.

 “We will be rich,” Dr. Gould assured him, “and everyone will forever remember the names of Andrew Gould and Peter Emory. And you will be whole again, of course! Your present state has laid the groundwork and shown me the way, and very soon we will be able to regrow you exactly as you were. Or you can make new selections. Yes, consider that during your coming journey—as a reward for your patience I will tailor your body however you wish. Would you like to be taller? Would you prefer fair hair to brown? A chiselled jawline? You have but to request your idea of physical perfection, and I will make it so!”

 For now, Peter could only endure; he had no other choice. Dr. Gould picked up the jar that held Peter’s eyes, gave him a wink that made Peter yearn to have the same ability once more, and sealed him into yet another box.

 The trip almost turned out to be more unnerving than the days Peter had spent listening to the doctor. He heard loud noises, and some of his disjointed parts felt the rumbling vibrations of take-offs, handoffs, and deliveries. More than once his stomach dropped as the planes he’d been loaded onto accelerated, which was a familiar sensation except that his stomach also felt like it was ten feet away. More maddening were the changes in pressure that gave him an insatiable urge to scratch his big toe, a simple task that was currently impossible and which only got worse the more he tried not to think about it.

 He had no idea how long the trip lasted, but after what felt like an eternity of discomfort and darkness he heard a new voice. The voice of a young woman.

 “Euurgh! What is this, ears? And a liver? Look, there’s a kidney in this one. You get disturbing mail, Professor.”

 “Oh, lord,” said an older voice. “Don’t tell me, they’re from Andrew Gould, aren’t they?”

 “Looks like it. Who’s he?”

 “A one-man circus. Sorry, I usually warn new assistants. He’s been annoying the whole medical sciences department for years, claiming he was on the verge of the biggest breakthrough ever. Practical immortality, that sort of thing.”

 Muffled laughter was followed by playful sarcasm. “Oh, come on, Professor. We must use the scientific method and examine his proof! Otherwise, how do you know he hasn’t found immortality?”

 “Because a heart attack proved him wrong,” came the grunted reply. “They found his body right off campus last week. I heard he was trying to gargle some nasty smelling goop when he died.”

 “Oh. Jesus, now I feel like a jerk.”

 “Yes, well… he was irritating, but I don’t think it was intentional. I must admit I’ll miss his rambling letters and emails full of pseudoscience. They were great for forwarding.”

 “What do you want to do with these packages?”

 “Incinerator.”

 “Damn, that’s a lot of trips downstairs. Why’d he have to send so many?”

 “Who knows? Hard to figure a nutcase. Don’t even bother, just toss them.”

 Finally, thought Peter.

 Though his eyes were still in the dark, his ears soon heard the approaching roar of the incinerator. He welcomed it. The blank void of nonexistence would at last be his, so much better than the freak show he’d been turned into against his will.

 The university’s incinerator must have been a heavy-duty machine. In fast, sharp flashes he felt himself go, piece by piece, into death. He envisioned the boxes turning to ash, the glass jars splitting and cracking, and the milky goo boiling away in a sizzling hiss as his remaining limbs and organs shrivelled up like blackening bacon. Though the process took longer than his motorcycle crash, this time the fact that he wanted it meant it hurt far less.

 Calmly, he waited for the end.

 But the end refused to come. It was only much later that Peter came to believe he understood what had happened, and why the flames had not granted him the release he craved.

 Somewhere, in an unknown location, he imagined there was a carefully packaged box that had gotten separated from its mates. Perhaps it was sealed with warning tape and sitting in the “Lost, Damaged, & Undeliverable” section of a giant shipping warehouse. Within that box was a jar, and within that jar was a brain, totally deprived of all sensory input. The almost magical connection between this brain and the rest of its body had extended further than even Dr. Gould had anticipated, and now the brain was all that remained of Peter Emory.

 He wondered how long it would take before someone got around to investigating such a box. How long until he was finally incinerated? Or would his brain jar be donated, to end up sitting on a shelf and gathering dust? How long would it take life-sustaining goo to evaporate from an airtight seal? How insane was he going to be by the time he finally succeeded in dying?

 Alone, with only his own thoughts for company, Peter had a feeling he was in for quite a wait before any of these questions were answered.

Credits to: IPostAtMidnight

Hamlet review: “Not what we were expecting from Benedict Cumberbatch - but only he could pull it off”

Jonathan Holmes was there at the opening of the Barbican’s much anticipated production

By Jonathan Holmes
Thursday 6 August 2015 at 09:26AM

Benedict Cumberbatch playing Hamlet is so obvious, it feels like it happened already. One of the most talented and popular actors of this generation doing THE role in theatre. Every painter paints himself and eventually every actor plays Hamlet, so the thinking goes.

But more than that, the character seems like such a natural fit: the intellectual Dane played by the actor who has made a career out of geniuses. Hamlet has always been a geek posterboy – awkward but passionate, intelligent but crippled by self-doubt – and Cumberbatch is the go-to example of the power of modern fandoms. In the media, the online hordes of Cumberfans have become lazy shorthand for nerds and obsessives, so much so that some predicted the opening night would be disrupted by shrieking.

(Of course this was utter nonsense – the audience were receptive and respectful, exactly as we predicted.)

Nevertheless, it is tempting to view Cumberbatch’s Hamlet as representing the triumph of nerd culture. We now live in the age of Comic-Con, when 10 year olds and 30 year olds play with the same action figures. Adults no longer have to put away their childish things. Thus Cumberbatch’s version of the prince isn’t an adolescent struggling to become a man to avenge his father. Instead, he moves in the opposite direction, reverting to childhood – playing toy soldiers and digging through the dressing up box to feign madness. His ‘antic disposition’ is a form of arrested development. For this version of Hamlet, the play is not the thing, but playtime.

The entire production is staged in a palatial drawing room – watching the actor clamber on the furniture (those spindly legs are an engineering marvel) recalls the infantilised Edwardians, who ran around their stately homes playing Sardines before getting cut down in the war. Cumber-let is not the student prince or arch intellectual or even Sherlock’s motormouth – instead he has the precocious intelligence of a child.

The result is that this is the funniest version of the tragedy you will ever see. You might expect the cheek-boned wonder to bring the pathos, but his real strength is finding laughs in unexpected places, gambolling about the stage with a comic energy. On opening night, the one outbreak of spontaneous applause was for Hamlet’s first surreal appearance as a madman – which is often irritating in other productions – rather than more quoted sections like ‘To be or not to be’.

On that note, actors sometimes claim to hate the big lines – they are so well known the entire scene revolves around them. The audience holds its breath like the actor is approaching a high jump. One solution is to underplay them, but director Lindsey Turner takes a different tack, rearranging the text so the soliloquys strike you from unexpected directions.

(We all giggled when some fans issued ‘spoiler warnings’ about the 400-year-old play, but they actually are quite appropriate.)

Initially this decision looks like a disaster. To be or not to be is deployed immediately after the curtain rises, from a standing start. Cumberbatch has to do the acting equivalent of a drag race, accelerating to a level of desolation that feels completely unearned.

It rings hollow and gets the play off on a worrying note. But then you realise that is the point. Cumberbatch is known for playing hyper-intelligent characters, but the real genius of this performance is how he lets the audience see the limits of Hamlet’s personality. His suicidal monologue comes across as childish histrionics, a huff. Cumberbatch is threading a difficult line here. Children – like the travelling players that so impress Hamlet with their fake crying – feel things strongly but not deeply.

Later when Hamlet has truly suffered, Cumberbatch shows the true extent of his depression, and you remember his skill. It’s a brave actor who knows when to act badly. It’s one of a number of subtle points the play makes about our nostalgic urge for childhood, and the essential selfishness at the heart of it.

When David Tennant – another geek icon – played the role back in 2008, it was as a handsome gap year layabout. Hamlet’s confrontation with his mother had an erotic charge, taking place in the bed she shared with Hamlet’s father and uncle, reeking of “the sweaty stench of your dirty sheets.” For all of his good looks, Cumberbatch’s version couldn’t be less sexy, taking place in something that looks like a Punch and Judy show.

Instinctively this makes more sense. Most children grow out of their Oedipal issues by puberty – we can believe Cumberbatch’s overgrown child ranting about his mother’s new boyfriend more than we can believe Tennant’s stubbled backpacker putting the moves on his mum.

But also, without the hint that Hamlet’s sexual attraction is reciprocated, the full extent of his misogyny is revealed. This is an arrogant, immature, sexually naïve, emotionally stunted egotist who believes he has the right to tell a woman how to act and who she can sleep with, even resorting to physical coercion to get his way. His relationship with Ophelia is chilling – by turns calling her a slut and frigid until she is driven to her death, all in the name of his own selfish, juvenile desires.

With an army of arrogant, immature, sexually naïve, emotionally stunted egotists currently waging a war against women on social media, this is an important point to make to this Internet literate audience.

It just one of a number of subtle complications in this surprisingly challenging production. By all accounts Hamlet at the Barbican is a blockbuster, its star is hashtag famous and at one point a confetti cannon detonates, but it is not mere fodder for the crowds. It’s weird and deliberately off-putting in places, and if Cumberbatch never fully disappears into the role, it’s to use his fame to wrong-foot the audience. It makes one of the most familiar stories in history surprising and unpredictable, and even if it’s not always successful, it is anything but obvious. At the centre of it all, barely pausing for breath, is a man used to making us empathise with otherwise unlikeable people.

This is not the Hamlet we were expecting from Benedict Cumberbatch, but only Cumberbatch could pull it off.

—  Radio Times
Save Me

Sam imagine requested by twward! This has been edited for reposting to add description and increase the quality of my beginner’s writing. Hope you like it!

It was too dark for your liking, you were too blind, your eyes flickering about the lightless expanse, unable to focus on a pinprick of salvation, searching fruitlessly for a glimpse of anything that may alert you of safety or danger or whatever might be lurking in the shadow. Whatever it was, you knew it had no trouble sorting you out. Everything about this room screamed “trap,” but it was the only way into the nest… thus, you had ignored your petrified instincts and blazed onward into the sightlessness. Sam was somewhere beside you, unseen as everything else, the only giveaway of his presence the steady exhales rustling stray hairs as the air slipped from his lungs, his breathing shallow in your ear, breaking the otherwise impenetrable silence with a nearly audbile whisper. Your palm was slick around the wooden handle of your machete, blade poised like a viper ready to strike, but nothing, not even your preparation or your stance, could have prepared either of you for what happened next.

You heard a grunt to your left, where you had assumed Sam was walking beside you. Noting the absence of Sam’s breath, your mind narrowed, one-track thinking leaving one possible explanation for his sudden disappearance, another, quicker breath blowing the acrid stench of iron and decay across your cheek.

Not Sam.

You panicked, taking a blind swing at the air, machete whizzing as you swung, followed by the slippery sound of broken flesh against metal, the resistance caught against your blade causing your heart to falter within your chest, ears ringing like someone had fired a pistol inches from your head, static erupting along the outermost corners of your vision. Something heavy hit the floor with a sickeningly wet thud, a crunch pulsating through the air on impact… two of something heavy, your mind noting the crumpling of clothing as a body struck the concrete. Your blood ran cold, veins splintering as ice coursed where blood once traveled, your hands shaking with the severity of your fear. What the Hell had you just done? Swinging blindly where your partner had stood because… what? Oh God… that body on the ground… you swallowed the bile that burned skyward in your throat, forcing the acid back into your stomach. You bent at the waist, steadying yourself on your knees as you struggled to control the urge to vomit. As you heaved, tight lipped, a hand closed around your forearm. You swung once more, reflexes reacting before your mind could, another hand putting an end to your attack.

A familiar voice whispered, “Thank God you don’t think things through,” followed by a hiss, which could only be accompanied by Sam wincing, his hands dropping from your arms, the sound of fabric rustling implying that he was applying pressure to an injury. You reached into the darkness, fingertips seeking his form, tripping over the head of the vampire you had savagely (as well as stupidly) decapitated, your hands spreading along his body when you brushed against his shirt. “We should leave, come back later with Dean,” Sam suggested, his voice a low breath in your ear, not wanting to attract any more attention, as you were both about as visually sound as you would be blindfolded. You could’ve sworn you felt a warmth against your skin, soft lips brushing the top of your ear, but it must’ve been your imagination. You’d have better luck with the vanquished monster laying in pieces at your feet stealing a kiss than Sam Winchester.

After putting your machetes into your duffel, ignoring the maintenance of the crusting blades for the time being, ruby blood shining sinisterly in the dying evening sunbeams, Sam’s warm hands encircled both of your wrists, pulling you into his chest. After a moment to recover, the shock of his embrace locking you in an unfeeling state of numbness, you melted into his body, arms wrapping around his back, clutching him closer to you, thankful he had survived your impromptu execution. A handful of minutes passed in bliss, his peaceful breath warming your scalp, hands rubbing circles into over the ridges of your spine, With a steadying inhale, he tugged you by the hand towards the entrance of the car, your own palm managing to slap the arsenal closed as you were marched to the passenger seat.

The car ride was very… intricate, to say the least, the air tangibly thick with tension, an intimidating silence daring you to break the quiet, a feat you knew you’d be unable to achieve. Your heart was pounding against your ribs like a madman fighting his way free from a prison cell, your hands clamming with a nervous sweat, neither you nor Sam uttering a word as your bodies jolted with the uneven pavement. The cozy leather upholstery of the Impala offered little comfort in such an awkward time, the sounds of your shifting denim against the seats occasionally filling the space that speech ought to have ruled. You could feel your face burning a brighter crimson than the Wendy’s girl’s pigtails, ducking your face toward the window, occupying your time by staring at the restaurant chains and dying neons as opposed to dwelling on the silence. Your temperature increased even more, which you didn’t know was possible without passing out, as Sam pulled the car from the open road and onto a grassy bank, a good ten miles from the crap motel you were staying at. The car idled, engine wheezing in confusion. Frustrated with the noise, Sam flipped the engine into slumber after five minutes of the rumbling. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for a speech, the floodgates opening before you. You hardly had time to brace yourself for the onslaught.

“Y/n, you saved my life back there. I don’t know why or how you managed to do it, but I’m grateful you did. When the vamp grabbed me, I wasn’t thinking of fighting. Your face…“ he paused, hazel eyes flickering to yours, his hands pausing mid-gesture in the air, his shoulders relaxing as he continued, "Your face popped into my mind. I couldn’t help thinking of you. I was afraid of losing you over the fear of losing my own life. I haven’t thought like that since… since forever, so there has to be some significance to it all. I don’t know how long this has been developing, but I I sure as Hell know now that there’s something here, at least for me. Please tell me we’re on the same page.” His eyebrows were pinched, eyes molten, pleading wordlessly, his mouth set in an anxious line, his jaw clenching. When you had the sense about yourself to nod, you did so almost lazily, your shock numbing your reaction, portraying a confident demeanor you knew was shell-shocked.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Was your genius response to his heartfelt expression. Sam exhaled, his entire body deflating in relief, laughing breathlessly, his head tipping back against his seat. You joined in his laughter, your giggling mingling with his deeper, throatier chuckle in the cramped cabin air, his infectious laughter winning over your paralyzed, stoic composure.

“Well then, I guess it’s dinner then.” Sam spoke with a bright smile, winking once in your direction before his eyes focused on the road ahead, the engine starting up, wheel spinning beneath his able hands. You easily rooted out a twenty-four hour diner, settling in for the cheapest items on the menu, pancakes, opting out of dessert for something much sweeter and entirely free of charge; a kiss from Sam. No ice cream sundae, no matter how decadent, could make you tingle like that.

cs fic: drown me in love

As part of my “I can’t believe there are people who follow me!” prompt ask, the uber talented seastarved requested that I write a drabble based on Matt Nathanson’s “Come on Get Higher.”

I realize that this is strange and abstract and probably not at all what you had in mind, but this is where my mind is tonight  - thanks a lot, Colin O’Liferuiner and your I don’t know what Hook was thinking about (and where the lyrics took me, I suppose.) Hope you like it, Chinx!

drown me in love

Voice

There are times when he’s sleeping in the Enchanted Forest, in the depths of the woods, when he thinks he hears her. A throaty sound that echoes somewhere in the recesses of his mind, his memory.

And in those desperate moments (when he feels like the madman he believes he truly is) he compares the noises and vibrations and syllables to the catalog of words he has come to classify as Emma’s – those that she has stolen from the lips of others and inadvertently claimed as her own.

Good. Handle. Understanding. Hope.

They’re not the same. Every noise he’s heard in this year, this first in a lifetime of heartache (he should be accustomed to), are quiet and flat. They’re whispers and suggestions compared to the body-thrumming, earth moving language of his Swan. 

It’s been only weeks and already he feels deaf.

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