#/ i hope its okay to continue in a thread ;;v;;

[shadowdaddies]

is it okay if I request a lot?

Can you do a smut where it's just like lots of wingplay? With the same Summer Court female and Az? You wrote my last ask so beautifully it was amazing to wake up to, especially because you answered so fast!!!

honey it's okay if you request a LOT a lot, lol sometimes it takes me a little longer to get through my requests but I'm ALWAYS excited to see your ideas💜 and I love Az and the summer court reader, they're so sweet

A/N: this is a continuation of Part 1 but can be read separately

Wings of Desire (Pt. II)

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, wing play, minors dni, not proofread sry

You lurched awake in the bed, covered in sweat as you quickly took stock of your surroundings. Only once you had confirmed it was just the same nightmare as always did you allow yourself to breathe. A shiver ran down your spine as cold caressed your cheek, a shadow dancing along the wall before slipping through the door. 

You shook your head, realizing that you must be imagining things after that horrific dream. Before you could get swept up in the memories you had recalled in your sleep, you looked around the space, grounding yourself in the present. A small smile graced your lips as you remembered where you were. 

It was cozy in the High Lord’s cabin. Despite the unfamiliar chill of winter, the house was as warm and comfortable as ever. The space next to you on the mattress was empty, however - different from how you had fallen asleep next to a certain shadowsinger. As if summoned by your thoughts, Azriel knocked softly on the door to your room. “May I come in?” his low voice sounded through the door. 

A small laugh escaped you at the ridiculous question. “I fell asleep with you in here. Of course you can come in.” Only a moment passed, but it felt like a century before Azriel slowly entered the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Realization dawned on you as you cocked an amused brow at the spymaster. “Would the shadow you left behind have anything to do with your concern?” You admired the blush that reddened his cheeks as your theory was confirmed.

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to stay in here with you while you slept, but that shadow insisted on staying behind with you.” He spoke as if the shadow were an unruly child, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of the feared Night Court spymaster having trouble controlling his shadows.

“I much preferred it when you were in here with me, if you would like to stay in here,” you whispered, looking at Azriel with hopeful eyes. Another one of those rare smiles flashed across his face for a moment, before he schooled his features into an indifferent facade. 

“Of course,” Azriel murmured, moving to settle into his old spot under the sheets next to you. His shadows danced as the male settled into the sheets, and you watched enraptured by their personality. They seemed to be more telling than their master when it came to emotions. One shadow - likely the one who had stayed with you through your nightmare - darted out to brush your cheek, twirling through your hair as you let out a loud laugh at its playful nature.

As if your laugh got their attention, more shadows followed suit. They all moved towards you, like puppies eager for your attention. They played with your hair and clothes, until they brushed the inside of your wings, eliciting a loud moan from you. 

Azriel shot up in bed, frantic as he studied your face. “Are you okay? They aren’t bothering you, are they?” It was your turn to blush now, embarrassed by the scent of your arousal, which the shadowsinger had clearly picked up on, if his darkening eyes were any indication. He was frozen above you, eyes searching yours for an answer to his unasked question.

You reached up, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of Azriel’s neck as you gently guided him towards you, your own eyes searching for any hesitation. Instead, Azriel eagerly leaned into your hold, lips brushing lightly against yours in a soft kiss. Shadows danced across your wings once more, this time eliciting a moan as you arched into Azriel. 

The energy between you changed drastically - turning from a chaste kiss to fervent need for more. Teeth and tongues clashed as Azriel climbed on top of you, both of you grinding against each other in a frenzy. You had never felt the need for someone like this, desperate to consume and be consumed as you ran your own hand down the outside of Azriel’s wing.

He growled into your mouth at the touch, and you smirked into the kiss - a silent challenge which he understood. Azriel quickly lifted your nightgown, leaving you bare and him only in his pants as he kissed his way down your body. He read you like a book, taking note of your reaction to every touch, knowing where to move next as you writhed under his hold.

The same shadows that had been teasingly brushing your wings now skated over your bare body, teasing your breasts and clit as Azriel licked a stripe up your core. Gripping your thighs, Az held you open as he ate you out hungrily, enjoying how you moaned praises at his touch. A scarred finger pushed into you, curling against your walls as Azriel sucked on your clit, his shadows oscillating against your wings. The overstimulation sent you over the edge with a scream, vision fading in and out as Azriel worked you through your orgasm.

The moment the smirking spymaster came back into focus above you, you shoved his pants down with your feet, ready to take control of the situation. When you tried to flip Azriel over to ride him, shadows wrapped around your waist, pinning you against the bed. Azriel smirked, shaking his head as he leaned down to suck on your neck. 

“Let me pleasure you for tonight, love,” he murmured, his deep rasping voice sending a shock of pleasure through you. Hazel eyes watched yours as Azriel pulled your leg over his shoulder, lining up at your entrance. A rough laugh left his lips as you wiggled your hips in encouragement, eager to be filled by him. 

Azriel pushed into you, making you feel more full than ever with his size. The both of you moaned at the feeling when he settled inside of you, waiting a moment to adjust before he began thrusting. Finding the spot that earned the most reaction from you, Azriel held you in place as he pounded relentlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs as he worked you. 

You clenched around him as you neared a second orgasm, and desperate to have him come with you, you reached your hands out to his wings. Fingers slid along the dark veins, satisfaction filling you as Azriel came inside you with a roar. Shadows were unleashed, again overstimulating your clit and wings as the both of you came together. 

Azriel fell to his elbows, hovering over you as he left kisses all over your face. Giggling under his sweet touch, you lightly pushed the shadowsinger back to look at him, shocked by the feeling that rushed through you as you looked in his eyes. “Mate,” you whispered.

A brighter smile than that which you had ever seen from Azriel graced his features. “Mates,” he confirmed.

[antaripirate]

Some final thoughts before Threads, from a place a little too close to my heart.

(and a note on Threads posts and spoilers)

So, its 11pm, and an hour untill I’ll have access to The Fragile Threads of Power (I ended up preordering the kindle edition on top of my physical ones, bc they are all delayed in shipping, and, as someone pointed out to me recently, I have the patience of a fruit fly).

I should probably preface this by saying that this will probably read as insanely cringey, but I have so much I want to say, and so much on my mind that I know I will never know how to convey.

But I am just so fucking grateful that V has brought these worlds, these characters, back to us.

They feel like my home.

Something I always try to explain when people ask why Shades means so much to me, is that when I first read ADSOM, it was the first time I had ever seen myself in a character so entirely, and just felt so fucking seen.

I know that not everyone loves Delilah Bard, and that’s okay. But I’ve never felt quite so myself as I do when I have Lila there on the page next to me, as ridiculous as this probably sounds. I don’t really know how to explain this, because there are so many ways I could begin.

And then there’s Kell. Oh, Kell.

It’s so odd, to have never found a character like me, and then all of a sudden, stumbled across one who I wholeheartedly see myself in, and another where I can see pieces of me reflected.

If you couldn’t already tell, I’m not very good at putting these feelings into words, but trying is better than nothing, right? So I’ll continue.

The concept of having these characters back is so reassuring, so exciting, so nerve-wracking. I can’t wait to see what they’ve been up to, how their relationships have strengthened and changed, how new characters will push and pull on the threads of established dynamics and weave new ones.

I am scared of inevitably awful things happening to my favourites. The thought of Kell and Lila not being ok, and safe, and happy, and together fucking terrifies me. They are my entire world, both together and apart. But as terrified as I am, I can’t wait to have them back. To hear them snark at each other, and pull each other out of trouble, and just love each other.

I could writes essays on these two, and on all of the original ADSOM cast, and on predictions and theories and things I’d love to see, but I don’t think right now is the time for that. I’m already rambling and already so nervous with excitement.

I feel like a ball of adrenaline.

I can’t wait to come home.

A note on spoilers on posting:

So I’ve been wondering a lot about what to do regarding posting here about Threads whilst in the spoiler risk period, and I think what I’m gonna do is anything I do post, I’ll have a huge heading broadcasting spoilers for the book and also for which part within the book, because I am fucking terrified of accidentally spoillering someone. If anyone has any thoughts on this please do lmk!!

Anyway, if you read this, thank you - I hope it didn’t sound too ridiculous.

Anoshe.

[childrenofslumber]

    ☾✧.° ( @chrmiing​ / cont. ) °.✧☼

      It was events like these that the princess was thankful for her twin’s boisterous personality. He took all of the attention off of her momentarily. It wasn’t that she wasn’t having fun - quite the opposite, she was but occasionally her nerves would kick in and the rooms seemed to get smaller. As she looked around she saw caught sight of the prince making a hasty exit. Excusing herself politely from the conversation around her, she picked up the ends of her gown and moved across the ballroom. She opened the door, stopped by the sight of the snowfall but then she looked at Chad with concern - he was out here alone in the cold.

       “I understand.” Artemis said softly. She was in no rush to get back inside. Arms wrapped around herself as the chill settled on her skin. A faint smile crossed her lips as she looked out to the snow covering the gardens. “It’s incredible..” Now she looked to him with curiosity. She felt that way at nearly every ball. Being the heir wasn’t always the best position to be in. The pressure to be perfect weighed heavily during these events. “Almost always.” She admitted. “You have every right to complain. I was going mad in there myself.”

[aeipathisms]

continued from [ x ] | @foxofthe100

     His eyebrows raised, unfooled and incredulous. ❝ The sooner you spill the beans, the sooner we can get the hell out of here. How bad could it be? ❞ After he finished his question, as rhetorical as it might have been, a sinking feeling pitted in his stomach. Hopefully Murphy wouldn’t come to regret being so persistent. 

[moonxbabe]

vinnie hacker smut - take it out on me -

hi readers - this was another request I had, not my best work and also pretty short so I apologize but hope you like it - also - this story has a bit of that cigarette incident with Vinnie, but I do NOT care that he smokes, sadly I find it attractive (I know, I'm the worst) but anyway Its just a story.

warning: smut 18+

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Vinnie groans exiting his now stalled car on the side of the road. He slams the door closed causing Jett to jump as he gets out as well. 

“Let me make some calls so someone can come out here and get us, dont stress,” Jett assures him as best as he can but he already knows Vinnies had a rough day and there's only so much he can say to make it better. 

Vinnie moves both his hands to the back of his neck holding it tightly pacing by the front of the car ignoring Jetts attempt at comfort. He pulls out his phone and opens your text thread typing. 

Vinnie: I'm having the worst day. 

You read his text and sigh knowing it was coming. A few hours ago Tik Tok room also blew up a post at their weekly attempt to “Cancel Vinnie Hacker” along with his meeting regarding the boxing match that he never got paid for. Things just weren't going his way today and when that happens he falls deep into the dark. 

You: Come over?

Vinnie: I'm stuck on the side of the road. I don't even want to talk about it. I'm turning my phone off. 

You read his text and slightly frowned. You knew he was in a bad mood but you hated when he pushed you away and wouldn't even let you help. You decided to grab your things and go to the Hype House to wait for him to get back. 

                                                       ---------

Vinnie storms into his bedroom slamming the room shut startling you as you sit on his bed slowly closing your laptop. He turns around and slams his first against the back of the door leaning his head against it for a moment before turning around to press his back to it and slides down taking his head in his hands. 

“Hey hey, let's breathe for a second?” You say softly approaching him, getting down to sit in front of him. You touch his arms gently stroking them softly with your thumbs. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” He finally responds after a few moments and sighs, leaning his head back against the door. He takes one of your hands and squeezes it softly, intertwining your fingers. 

“You didn't, I'm just worried about you,” You brought his hand up to kiss it softly. He closes his eyes for a minute before opening them.

“I'm just tired, tired of everything,” He lets go of your hand and slowly gets up “I need a cigarette” He walks over to his dresser pulling out the box. 

“Vinnie,” you say with a warning as he pulls one out of the box and attempts to find a lighter. 

“Don't start with me, y/n. I'm not in the mood,” He doesn't bother to look at you as he continues to search for the lighter. 

“I promised your mom that I’d make sure you didn't smoke anymore,” you walked over to him annoyed and attempted to take the cigarette out of his mouth. 

“You really think I care about the promise you made to my mom right now, y/n? I don't give a fuck,” He grabs your arms, slightly pushing them away. You frown at his reaction.

“Okay but I don't want you to do it,” you hold back tears as he tries to walk past you but you hold him. He doesn't say anything but attempts his best to avoid eye contact. He knew he was hurting you but he was hurting himself and the battle within him was strong. 

“Stop,” you grab his face with both your hands using your thumbs to stroke his cheeks softly before using one hand to tuck some of his curls away “I know you're hurting right now, but-- but-- this isn't going to help,” you search his face for a moment as he still doesn't look at you, you take a moment before saying anything else “Take it out on me, let me make you feel good,” you say quietly waiting for him to say something, anything. His eyes linger for a moment before finally looking into yours causing your body to somewhat relax. 

He still doesn't say a word, but moves his hand up to grab your neck slightly pulling you closer, his lips crashing onto your kissing you hungerly not wasting a second. He groans softly as you suck at his bottom lip sliding your tongue into his mouth. He moves his other hand deep into your hair, gripping it pulling you even closer to him, you can almost taste his pain. He bites at your bottom lip tugging at it before pulling away to take your hand leading you to the bed. 

“Knees, now.” He says sternly as you nod and get down onto your knees looking up at him. He started to undo his jeans, pushing them down along with his tight boxers freeing his hardness. You bite the inside of your cheek in anticipation as he nods looking down at you giving you permission. He sits at the edge of the bed as you get closer in between his legs. 

You take his dick in your hands stroking it, causing him to let out a soft groan before leaning in closer and slowly taking it into your mouth. His hand quickly finds its way deep into your hair once more grabbing it as he lets out another groan at the feeling. You begin to bob your head up and down his length, allowing your tongue to roam all over before pulling up and using it to gently lick his tip a few times.

“Fuck baby, so good” He moans gripping your hair tighter as he watches you work. Your mouth slides over his dick again, taking in as much as you can using your hands to stroke the rest.

“Be a good girl and take it all,” He groans and pushes your head further down on his cock causing you to slightly gag but you continue as tears form in your eyes. Your hand strokes his balls as your tongue proceeds to lick all over. You begin to feel his dick twitch in your mouth as you slightly hum sending vibrations along it. 

“I'm so close baby, don't stop,” He moans softly, stroking your hair as you keep bobbing your head faster taking him all in as his tip hits the back of your throat. His hips buckle up as he grips your hair once more pulling your head back, you continue to stroke him as your mouth remains open, sticking your tongue out ready for his load. He shuts his eyes and lets out a loud grunt cumming into your mouth as you lick your lips and swallow. 

“My good fucking girl,” He says in a husky tone and wipes off remaining cum from your lips with his thumb shoving it into your mouth, his eyes locked on yours as you suck it clean. His hand slides down to grab your neck again pulling you close. 

“Open,” He says and without hesitation you open your mouth as he leans in to spit in it. You swallow as a slight grin appears on his face, he pulls you in kissing you hard. 

“Such a good little slut for daddy huh?” You slightly bit your lower lip and nod. 

“Do we think she deserves a reward?” His hand slides up to grab your jaw as you both don't break eye contact. 

“Yes daddy,” you almost whine and nod once more. He studies you for a moment before nodding.

“Get up, lay down,” He pats at the edge of the bed, you do as he says and wait for him as he pulls off his tshirt leaving himself completely naked aside from his silver chains around his neck. You bit your lip at the view of him wanting him deep inside you. You press your thighs together but he's quick to push them apart, grabbing the edge of your shorts, pulling them down and throwing them off to the side. 

“Those look so good on you,” He licks his lips at your black lace thong “But sadly they have to come off,” He rips them off tossing them as well. 

“Vinnie I just b--!” you attempt to say but get cut off by his warning look shutting you up. He leans over moving his hand to your neck once more pulling you in to kiss you deeply as his other hand cups your pussy causing you to slightly moan into the kiss. 

He slides two fingers in between your folds feeling your wetness and pulls away to groan softly against your lips. 

“Look at you, so wet for me and I’ve barely touched you,” He rubs your clit causing you to moan once more as your back slightly arches off the bed. He slowly enters two fingers into you pumping them in and out at a steady pace. 

“Vinnie,” you bit your lower lip moving your hand down to grip his. 

“I want to taste you,” He said in a husky tone, getting down pushing your legs even more apart and replacing his thumb on your clit with his tongue sucking at it. 

“Oh my-- don't stop” your hand moved to grip his hair pushing him further in, your eyes rolled back at the pleasure as his fingers continued to work in and out of you at a fast pace. 

“Cum for daddy,” He whispered against your heat before letting his tongue trailed up and down causing your legs to shake. You felt your walls begin to clench around his fingers as he suddenly curled them hitting your g-spot,  you tried to push his head away from the overwhelming pleasure but he didn't budge. 

“V-Vin, I'm about to cum” you moaned loudly gripping his curls harder as your climax took over. He slowly pulled his fingers out, licking them all over as he leaned back down to lick you clean. You groaned softly, closing your legs still sensitive from your over stimulation. 

“Delicious,” He said quietly before leaning over kissing your lips softly. Your eyes fluttered tired from your high. Before you knew it you were flipped over on your stomach and he was behind you.

“Ass up baby,” He growled, giving your behind a hard slap, causing you to wince but you followed his orders quickly. You got on all four as he positioned himself behind you. One hand gripped your hip as the other slid up your back to the back of your neck pushing it down into the bed. 

“I said ass,” He ordered once more as you nodded. Your cheek pressed to the bed sheets as you bit your lower lip nervous but also excited. You liked it when he played rough, but he was also in a bad mood today so you didn't know what to expect. Before you could even have another thought he slammed into you hard causing you to scream gripping the sheets next to you. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight” He groaned at the feeling as he thrusted in and out of you at a fast and hard pace as his anger got the best out of him. It hurt but you tried your best to keep it together in hopes it would get better. Your teeth sunk harder into your bottom lip as your eyes shut feeling him deep inside you as he kept going with no remorse. 

“Vin, slow down” You mumbled moving your hand behind you pushing him back a bit. He grabbed your hand and moved it down to press it above your head into the bed. 

“Take it like the good little slut you are,” His voice husky as he leaned in to growl in your ear, holding your hand in place for a few moments before moving it in between the both of you to slowly rub your clit. His thrusts slowed down a bit but remained just as hard causing you to moan. He rubbed your clit harder as his other hand gripped tightly at your hip keeping a good rhythm going. 

“Yes, yes right there,” you moaned loudly at the feeling as your eyes rolled back, your hips meeting his with every thrust. You could feel his dick in your stomach from how deep he was.

“There she is,” you could hear the smirk in his voice as he picked up his pace again. The room filled with skin slapping skin noises as he watched himself slide in and out of you. His hand on your hip slid up your back once more reaching your hair and grabbing it all together tugging at it. It hurt but in the best way. You could feel your climax coming as you turned into a moaning mess. 

“You feel so good baby, I love the way your pussy feels around my dick,” He groaned as his words sent chills down your spine causing your legs to shake. He leaned his head back before lifting his leg up fucking into you hard from a different angle finding your g-spot once again. 

“Holy shit, Vin,” you cried in pleasure as you felt your walls begin to clench around his dick. “I'm about to cum,” 

“Hold it,” He demanded and kept going, wanting to climax at the same time. Your body was shaking uncontrollably as you gripped the sheets tighter. His hand on your clit not moving driving you insane.

“I'm close, don't you dare cum” He groaned as you felt his dick twitch inside of you, feeling like you were ready to explode. 

“Vinnie,” you moaned loudly as he moved his hand shoving you into the bed getting in a few more thrusts.

“Cum baby,” He moaned, stiffening inside you as you immediately came all over his dick. You both rode out your highs as he slowly pulled out of you grabbing a towel to clean you up as you laid there tired and breathless. 

After throwing the towel in his basket he walked back over to the bed as you turned over on your back grabbing a blanket to cover yourself. He laid next to you putting his arm around you pulling you to him as you both stayed silent for a few minutes. 

“Was it too much for you?” He said quietly looking down at you as you hugged into his chest. He felt guilty for taking it out on you.

“No, im fine Vin” you nodded and looked up reassuring him. He gave you a slight smile kissing your forehead. 

“I'm sorry about earlier,” He sighed, “I shouldn't have shoved you like that or said what I said,” He leaned his head back against the headboard. 

“It's okay, I know you're having a rough time right now, I just wish you’d talk to me instead of shut me out,” you looked up at him and placed a hand on his cheek stroking it softly with your thumb, he leaned into it closing his eyes for a moment before nodding. 

“I know, its stupid of me, I just get too deep into myself sometimes,” His eyes fluttered open as he reached for your hand placing his over it before taking it and kissing the inside of your palm. 

“I love you, thank you for caring for me and still sticking around even though I can be a shit boyfriend,” He held your hand tightly.

“You don't need to say that and you are not a shit boyfriend Vin, I care because I love you and want you to be happy” you kissed his bare chest as he held onto you tightly. 

“You make me happy, only you” He leans in to kiss you softly as you kiss him back smiling. 

                                                          -------------

feedback is always appreciated <3

[soulwillower]

cleaning the room • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader smut)

requested:  heyyy i love your work!! can i maybe request a Richie smut where their like in the middle of doing “it” but then someone calls the reader (maybe bev or eddie or sumn) and instead of stopping richie keeps going and so she has to continue the call and pretend like shes not in the middle of such unholy acts haha sorry if its too specific,, thank you!!!

warnings: swearing, smut, spitting, v light cum play, light light slapping (reader smacks richie bc theyre frustrated he was teasing them), unprotected sex, risky sex, talking on the phone w someone, use of the words whore/slut, degradation, this has literally no plot its all smut LOL

heyyy finally bback w a fic, i have awful writers block so this was all i could do. hope u guys like it

[ 18+ ]

1.8k words

♡

"richie," you purr, sighing with lust as your boyfriend's hands pull your hips harder towards his own, arching your back as his hand rises to gently push you down against the mattress. he hums, leaning down to kiss your lips hard, thrusting into you as your back rubs the sheets under you. 

richie leans back and his mouth opens to murmur something to you, but a ringing noise makes you jolt. both of you turn to look at your phone, which has lit up with the call from someone. richie sighs and you groan, arm reaching out to grope around for the phone as your other hand threads into richie's hair, tugging him as he slowly eases on his thrusts. 

"oh, god," you say, half moaning as richie's strokes slow, changing angles as he looks down at you with mischevious eyes. "it's eddie." you add, tossing your phone to the edge of the bed.

 richie hums, pulling out of you and grabbing the phone. you whine, looking at him, "no, please keep going, i can call him back later." you beg, desperate to feel richie again. richie raises his brows, "you know he'll just keep calling." 

you lean back, sighing because you know richie's right. "fuck you richie. fine." and then you snatch the phone, pressing the answer button. "hey, wh-what's up?" you ask, breathing slightly heavily. 

"hey, i was wondering what your plans are later. we need to get some supplies for the party." eddie says cheerfully, and you swallow. god, couldn't he have called any other time? at least this will be quick. 

you jolt but keep quiet as you feel richie's fingers gently run through your slick folds, thumb teasing your clit. you let out a short whine and gulp, "oh, uh, yeah i can-can hang out later, just not now-" you swallow. your face feels on fire, excited by the idea of possibly being caught. 

"you okay, y/n?" eddie asks genuinely, sounding concerned. you bite your lip so hard you think it may draw blood as you gasp, "yeah, just...not feeling good." you say, sharply inhaling as richie quietly chuckles. you send him a glare. 

"richie and i are c-cleaning his room and there's... it's hard work." you mutter breathlessly as you go up on one elbow, eyeing richie as he smirks, his hand trailing down to stroke his cock. you barely resist a moan as you watch him, biting your lip as you wish you could have him in your mouth. 

"okay..." eddie says absently, immediately dismissing your excuse as he launches into a conversation with you asking about what you're bringing to mike's surprise party on saturday. you're biting your lip as you fall back onto the mattress, heart racing as you think back to twenty seconds ago when richie's cock was inside you. "-and, you know, i think richie's bringing weed and some handles, but maybe if you still have your fake you could try and get us some-" 

but you accidentally cut eddie's sentence off with a sharp gasp tailed with a moan, because as you were listening to eddie, richie lined himself back up to your entrance and pushed straight into you.

your eyes are wide as you stare at richie, watching as he winks at you, finger going to his lips in a shush motion. you hate how immediate your shivers of lust flow through you, as richie starts to slowly thrust into you again. you roll your eyes but your face heats up as eddie's voice breaks the silence over the phone, "y/n, wh... -are you sure you're doing fine?" 

you pull your hand off your mouth, "yes! yes, i just-" you cough to cover up a moan as richie spits down onto your dripping cunt and starts to thrust harder, "i stubbed my fucking toe." richie's smirking darkly at your words, looking down at you as his large hand creeps up your body, splaying across your breasts and then to your neck, ghosting a squeeze before slipping a finger into your open, panting mouth. 

his other hand finds purchase on the skin of your thighs and he winks at you, moving his hips and hitting the perfect spot inside you. the pleasure you feel has your eyes falling back, toes curling. 

"oh. well make sure if it's bad that you ice it, because one time my ma stubbed her toe and she had to stay in bed for a week," and then eddie launches into a quick story and you hum along to make it seem like you're listening even though all you can think about is richie and how his hand is tweaking your nipples, splaying across your sternum, as you suck on his fingers. 

then he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and presses them to your clit, rubbing in a pattern that has you seeing stars. 

"-wait, you said you're with richie?" eddie asks and you cough, throat caught after having richie's hand on it, "yes, he's- he’s right here." you say breathlessly. 

"can you let me ask him something?" 

your eyes widen and you gasp a bit, making eye contact with richie. "s-sure, here he is."  richie's giddy face as he grabs the phone from you makes you nervous, but you bite your lip as he mutters, "hey, eds." 

it's quiet for a bit as eddie's voice drawls along on the other line and suddenly richie's pushing your legs up towards your shoulders and speeding up his thrusts, the deep angle almost making you scream in pleasure. his hand falls over your mouth, keeping you quiet as he leans over you, pumping into you and making tears of pleasure form in the corner of your eyes. 

richie mutters, “mhm? yeah, yeah.” to eddie, but the sultry way he’s staring at you and the way your nails are raking down his back make you wonder if the words are also for you. 

"yeah, she's helping me out, she's always so good like that." richie says, voice shockingly even for the way that he's fucking you into your mattress. and yeah, that definitely is for you. 

 the desperation and pleasure creep up on you alarmingly quick and you can't help the whimpers that quietly escape you - you thank god for the loud fan in your room to cover your noises. 

richie hums to eddie a few more times, then he slaps your thigh gently as you try to close your legs from the pleasure, knowing when you cum you won't be able to keep quiet. it makes you feel even closer, though. "yeah, eds, i can do that. now listen, i got something important to finish off here so i'm going to give you back to my girl." 

you bite your lip, feeling warm as you squirm under richie's touch, hands shakily taking the phone back from him and then richie’s kneeling above you, fucking you down into the mattress and filling you up fully. "eddie," you gasp, "i also have to go, i'll - i'll call you later?" you say, trying your hardest to hold off your orgasm as richie spits on your chest, licking and biting and leaving a love bite in the same spot as he thrusts hard into you. 

"sure, bye y/n!" eddie chirps.

and then the second your finger presses the off button you're a begging mess, eyes screwing shut as you reach up to grip richie's neck. his hands push your knees up towards your head, hitting a spot that has you clenching around him, legs shaking as your chest stutters.

 "please, richie, god, i'm going to kill you for that." you hiss, causing him to grin, "i fucking hate you, i hate you." you mutter, smacking his cheek lightly. the grin after you leave the smack makes you even closer to the edge, and his hands grip your tits as he leans towards your ear. 

his strokes are hitting you deep and hotly as he chuckles, "you liked it. i saw it in your face. pathetic desperation. i can feel it." he whispers against your clammy skin, his fingers brushing against your slick heat as he mutters. your cheeks are hot in embarrassment, and you whimper in need. 

you bite your lip hard, resisting a moan as a sharp cry falls from your lips, shaking as you beg, "richie, just - please, let me cum. please." 

"you're so pretty when you beg, look at you. perfect little whore, talkin' on the phone to my best friend while i fuck you." he mutters, hand caressing your burning cheek as you whimper. "all mine, so eager and willing to do whatever i want."  

you nod, "yes, i'm yours, just - please, please." you whimper. "please say i can cum."

he smiles as he kisses your nose, "would you do whatever i want?” 

you stutter an exhale, “yes! fuck, richie, yes, yes i would. i’m yours.” 

he smiles, “cum, then." you do after the next three thrusts, shaking and gasping and calling richie's name. the euphoria rushes through your body and makes your eyes roll back, chest rising and falling as richie rides you through your high. 

only a minute later, richie pulls out of you, hand moving to pump himself. "my perfect slut." he mutters as you sit up slightly on shaky elbows, tongue out and mouth open as you pant, richie's hand moving in quick movements as he chases his own high. then he's grabbing your neck and pulling you toward him, moans leaving his lips as he cums in spurts onto your open tongue and down your chin, a bit dripping onto your chest. his thumb caresses you, opening your mouth wider and smearing his cum on your lips, wiping it from your tits and slapping them lightly, pinching your nipples and making you grin up at him. 

and his chest is heaving as he smiles down at you, shaking his head as you swallow his cum, "christ, you're perfect doll." you tug his arms so that he falls down onto you and you're both chuckling as you become a tangled mess of limbs and beating hearts and blushy cheeks, sticky bodies cuddling close. 

"he's going to find out." you say after a few seconds. richie hums, "what makes you say that, sugar? it's not like you were all 'richie, fuck me harder, please, yes!' while you were on the phone. that was only after." he teases, and you smack his chest lightly, "shut the fuck up, richie. i hate you." you say through a laugh. he's laughing too as he pulls you even closer, kissing your hairline, "i love you so much, y/n." he says, smiling giddily. 

you pull his chin to you, kissing him sweetly. "i love you too, richie. but eddie's going to your place later, he's going to see that we didn't clean the room." 

richie laughs, shrugging as he runs a hand through his messy curls, "let 'em guess. it's funnier that way." and then he's kissing you, rolling on top of you and tickling your sides as you scream and squeal. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings  @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @chl0bee  @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly  @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew @etaerealboy

[whatanoof]

I have a few corruption ideas in mind for cal and I'm just. Okay so like-- reader grinding on/teasing him, maybe while they're hiding in a cave or an empty room in an inquisitor base-- purposefully to the point where he can't hold himself back and he just cums right then and there 👀

Or-- reader accidentally projecting some very, very dirty thoughts towards Cal (bonus points if it's virgin!/inexperienced!Cal), and his reaction to said thoughts ;3c

Don't feel obligated to turn these into full fics or anything tho!! I just like to share my thoughts w ppl and see what they think abt it 🥰💛

SKDJFO THESE ARE GOLD I LOVE THEM.

Oh babe, this isn’t an obligation. This is my PLEASURE. Don’t mind me with my slightly force sensitive reader learning how to weaponize her inexperience against her very innocent boyfriend.

A/N: These turned out a lot more fluffy than I had in mind at first, and probably more so than you had in mind, anon. I'll to expand a little more on these, but I wanted to give you what I have now. More to come!

NSFW TOWARDS THE END 18+

You were two weeks into your relationship the first time it happened. It’s early morning on Bogano, the rare off-day where Cal doesn’t have to take a quest anywhere. The grass glistens in the early morning light, dew droplets sending sparkles of light through the air. You sit in the field, watching the sunrise with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a steaming mug of caf clenched tightly in your hands, gracing your morning with its fragrant smell. Happy chirps and beeps echo through the stillness of the morning as BD-1 scampers around the field, chasing a butterfly that’s been disturbed from its early morning food quest. It’s so domestic that it almost hurts. It reminds you of life before the Purge, when everything was better. Except, now you have Cal.

Not beside you of course, he’s actually the reason that you’re even awake to see the dawn. He stands stock-still in the grass several meters in front of you. He’s relaxed, breathing in the crisp dawn air, eyes closed against the rays of light beginning to conquer the horizon line.

Cere stalks back and forth in front of him, “Focus, Cal.” She hefts a round fruit in her hands about as big as her head. “Sense the life around you. What do you feel?”

Cal pivots slowly on the spot until he’s facing you. “I feel you. And her.” His brow is creased in that one spot between his eyebrows. You want to kiss it. 

“Not us, Cal. The life all around us. There’s a reason I chose Bogano for this lesson.” Cere’s disapproving tone is a common staple around here. The crew has learned to accept it as a sign of affection.

“A bogling. On the ship. It’s looking for food.” Cal says.

You smile. The newest addition to the crew has been nothing but a joy to you and a pain in the ass to Greez. It’s always stealing his favorite snacks and making a mess of his ship, if you count it’s tiny nest in the corner of the kitchen to be ‘a mess’. 

“Better. Expand, Cal.”

Then you feel something at the edge of consciousness, something familiar and strange all at the same time. It wasn’t so much a thing, but a feeling. A presence. If you had to describe it in words, you couldn’t. But if you had to try, it would be in swaths of color and emotions that blend and swirl in the invisible eye of your mind. It’s warm, reds and oranges and yellows fluttering against each other, tinged around the edges by blue, the same blue as Cal’s saber. Cal. The presence is undeniably Cal, the warm colors echoing back to his fiery spunk and stubborn affection. 

Your eyes open. When had they closed? Cal is right there, his hand stretched out in your direction. Cere watches cautiously, eyes flicking between you and him. You see her reluctance to interrupt the moment. 

As if called back to the ground by your distraction, Cal opens his eyes with a soft gasp. The presence retreats, fading from your short grasp as you try to chase it. Your gaze bores into Cal, trying to focus your mind on reaching back out to him. But you can’t.

Cere speaks, “That’s enough Force training for today.” She tosses the previously forgotten fruit directly at Cal’s head. “Think fast. Form V today.”

His lightsaber materializes into his hand, cleanly slicing the offending object out of the air in a single smooth motion. But Cal doesn’t hesitate for a single moment, flowing through different saber forms without difficulty. Cere calls a variety of commands, and each gives way to another attack by Cal. The saber moves like it is an extension of his body, like a deadly serpent that flickers in and out of the air.

This continues for a long time, long enough that you have time to finish off your caf. The drink warms your insides. Watching Cal working so hard to strengthen his connection to the Force warms your heart. Examining the definition of his shoulders and his muscular torso warms other places. Your eyes drift to his ass, emboldened by the illusion of ignorance. You allow your mind to drift. 

You and Cal started dating two weeks ago. There was an irresistible pull between the two of you, to the point where the crew forced you two to acknowledge it. Cal had been cautious, but permission from Greez and a blessing from Cere was all the encouragement he needed, because as he had said so eloquently, “Like you. I like you. A lot.”

And you like Cal. A lot. Nothing physical had happened beyond a single makeout session and more cuddle sessions than you could count. You know that he’s unsure about sex, and because of that you’re more than willing to wait for him to be ready. But that doesn’t mean you can’t look and daydream. 

Your gaze drags over his body, imagining for a moment how it would feel. What it would be like, to be allowed close to him to make him feel good. What his skin would taste like, how your fingers would feel threaded through his bright hair. The sounds that he would make as you go down on him. 

A gasp from the field snaps you out of the daydream. Cal’s facedown on the ground; all you can make out of him from here is the fringe of his poncho and his shock of red hair contrasting against the green environment of Bogano. You stand, hurrying over as Cere helps him up.

“Cal?” She's concerned, you can see it in her eyes even if she won’t verbalize it. You’re worried too. In all of your time aboard the Mantis, you’d seen clumsy Cal maybe once before, and that was because he was goofing off in an attempt to make Greez laugh.

He doesn’t respond to Cere. His gaze snaps up to you, and he says your name urgently. Your brow creases, “What?”

His face is flushed red, and he’s panting as he shakily kneels in the grass. “I think you’re Force-sensitive.”

---

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be easy!” He looks so earnest, like a kicked puppy dog. You avert your eyes. Looking too long means that you will fall prey to the terrible innocent eyes.

“I said no. What’s so hard to understand about that?” You cross your arms tighter over your chest. You know that arguing is futile. Cal is the most stubborn person you know, even more so than Greez and you have witnessed the intense food aggression.

“Babe, it’s one rock. You’re not going to get hurt.”

“I might when it’s going to be flying at my face!” Cere had insisted that you learn to control your Force sensitivity, at the very least so that you could learn how to guard your mind from others. But, she placed Cal in charge of your training. Merrin’s Force abilities were nothing close to what you could hope to accomplish, and you believe Cere’s exact words were, “It will be good for Cal to learn just how irritating training a Padawan can be.”

And so your Jedi boyfriend became your Jedi Master. It was quickly determined that your Force sensitivity was nothing close to the level of Jedi. Your talents extended to thought projection, minor thought detection abilities, and, as Cal had been so excited to learn, basic telekinesis. 

That had been an accidental discovery, actually, brought out of a session wrestling with the Mantis’s control board wiring. You’d lost concentration for a split second, and in a flash of light and electricity, you were nursing a burnt finger. Merrin was attracted to your area by the flash of light and pained cry, and was incredibly surprised to find you with various medical supplies hovering in front of your face while you soaked and bandaged your finger. And she’d snitched on you.

So now you’re on a no name forest planet, facing down your boyfriend who’s threatening to throw a rock at your head in order to force out your hidden telekinesis, because as soon as Merrin witnessed the feat, you’d lost all voluntary control over it.

“Cal, this is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Yes. Leave me alone. I can shield my thoughts now, that’s all I wanted to do.”

“Oh come on. It doesn’t excite you even a little?”

It does, but not enough that you’d be willing to have a rock thrown at your face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands up, “I’m going back to the ship.”

But as soon as you turn, something sparks on the edge of your conscious mind, and you whirl with an outstretched hand. The rock sails past your fingers and bonks you on the forehead. You clap a hand over your head as pain throbs at the point of contact. “Ow!”

You whip your head up and glare at Cal, who’s standing there, mouth agape and eyes so wide that you can see the whites from here. When he meets your eyes, he shrinks back and turns to run.

“Cal Kestis you are going to pay for that!” You lunge after him, nearly tripping over a root as you scramble after your soon-to-be dead boyfriend. 

He disappears around the corner of the clearing with you hot on his heels. Trees tower over your head in every direction. The only thing interrupting the perfect vision of nature is the dorsal fin of the Mantis spearing up into the sky, guiding you to safety.

And Cal’s running away from it, leading you further into the forest. Branches whip at your face, but you can’t pay attention to them when you’re focusing harder on not losing Cal as he ducks and weaves through the foliage with all of the ease of a jungle cat. Then you round a corner, and he’s gone. 

You’re gasping for breath as you stumble to a stop in the midst of the forest. Damn it Cal. You want to rest, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow Cal to get away with this. He knows that if he gets away now, you’re probably going to be cooled down by the time he gets back to the Mantis, and you can’t have that. You tamp down your anger. Gather yourself. Feel the world around you. Now hold it at arms’ length. You bring your mental shields up slowly, guarding yourself and calming your racing heart through a few deep breaths. Then, you let the barriers down, allowing the world to rush back into your mind. You exhale slowly, combing through the sensations like Cal had taught you, searching for the presence that had become so familiar over the past few months. There!

A flash of warm colors in the midst of the muted Force signatures of plants.

You whirl, scanning the tree branches above you in time to see Cal make a break for it. He’s overhead, about ten feet off of the ground and running along a tree branch so gracefully that it seems like he’s skimming across the air. He’s heading for a vine. ‘Sneaky little--’

‘Sneaky little what?’

You gasp as he teases back through the Force. Your brow sets in determination, and you narrow your gaze on the vine that he’s reaching out for. You settle on it, and reach out. Your consciousness brushes the vine, pulling it just out of Cal’s reach. His outstretched fingers close just short of the vine, and he loses his balance.

He hits the ground with an oof and you plant a foot on his chest. “Sneaky little laserbrain.”

“Babe you did it!” He grins up at you, unrepentant and ruffled from the mad dash through the forest, “Don’t you love your amazing boyfriend who just helped you to learn another Force trick?”

You smile, “I do. But--” you press harder on his chest with your boot, “--you’re still going to pay for that.”

He groans, “I just paid by falling out of a tree. How else would I make it up to you?”

Without your bidding, ideas leap to your mind. “Oh, I have some.” Cal, between your legs and making you cum with only his mouth. You, on your knees for Cal against one of these trees. Riding Cal back on the Mantis, topless and gasping his name as he brushes up against that one spot inside of you that makes you sing. You don’t project them, but you’re aware that your shields aren’t up, and Cal’s Force presence is hovering on the edge of yours.

Cal’s face reddens as he gapes up at you. All of this time, and he still gets worked up at the bare idea of you naked. It’s a little cute. He springs to his feet, “Let’s go back to the ship.”

You hum, looking at him thoughtfully, ‘We don’t need to go back to the ship for a couple of those.’

He chokes, and you smile as you grab the front of his poncho and back him against a large tree. This is going to be fun.

[hxseok-honee]

blossom | part 8

blossom [part 8] || “Jungkook doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

[‘cause all i need is to see you blossom out, blossom out, blossom out]

previous || masterlist || next​

taglist !!

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @dingzerenistall @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupppp @sonderkook @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @lilacdreams-00 @calling-dips-on-j-hope @heyitsgigi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @taeshuworld​ @bongsbeforebibles​ @x-xjaeminx-x​ @missmadwoman

________________________________

“-- And there’s Jacobson with the quaffle, passing right through Slytherin defences -- he bought a flower crown from me once for his girlfriend, great guy -- Oh, there he goes! Will he make the shot? And he scores! Another ten points to Gryffindor!” Whatever calls of annoyance are made from the Slytherins are quickly drowned out by the cheers of the other three houses as Gryffindor scores once again, placing them yet another ten points ahead of their opponent.

Y/n cheers alongside her friends, but she does so almost mechanically. She can’t bring herself to focus on the match, too busy keeping her eyes on the commentator. She’d heard that since the last quidditch commentator had graduated he would need to be replaced, but she hadn’t exactly put two and two together a few days ago when asking Hoseok why he’d been so excited about the match. 

Up in the commentator’s box stands a very enthused Jung Hoseok, decked out all in yellow despite the match being Gryffindor v. Slytherin. He’s got his Hufflepuff scarf draped loosely over his shoulders as he follows the match, ears tinted red as they poke out cutely from under his hat. His gaze follows the quaffle with impressive focus, large wire-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, aiding his mission and making his eyes look impossibly round in the process. 

He gives himself a small moment to relax only when goals are scored and there’s a few brief seconds of respite as the crowd reacts and the players fix positions for the next set of formations. In those few seconds, he’s shaking out his tense limbs and pushing his glasses back up to a comfortable spot as he takes a couple deep breaths. And -- just as he’s managed to do every time for the last ten goals in a row -- he allows himself the fraction of a second it takes to locate Y/n in the crowd below him, eyes meeting hers in an exchange of small smiles and even smaller waves.

She remembers the way he’d used his time before the match watching the crowd trickle in, twisting his scarf around in his hands nervously as more and more students started gathering and cheering for their respective teams. Once it had become clear that the crowd had split itself off in the stands, he’d started searching the sea of red scarves and hats almost desperately, biting away at the skin on his bottom lip as he scanned the faces of his classmates. Only when he’d found Y/n, standing in the back row with her friends (sans Yoongi and Jin, who were stubborn in their undying support of the admittedly horrible Slytherin quidditch team), did he release his lip from its torture, flashing her a bright smile and sending an exaggerated wave that required his entire body. She tries not to think, even now with the match almost over, about the fact that he’d been looking for her in the first place.

So caught in her thoughts, Y/n barely registers that Hoseok is yelling Jungkook’s name, cheering alongside the rest of the Gryffindor supporters as her ex-boyfriend flies past her on his broom, quaffle tucked securely under his arm. 

“-out of nowhere! Jeon Jungkook is at it again, insanely complicated maneuvers that I know nothing about making him almost impossible to catch as he races for the goal! Slytherin Keeper Alvin Durmenstringer -- is that a real name? -- is no match for the Chaser as they go head to head -- and he scores! We can expect nothing less from Gryffindor’s star player, who is not nearly as goth as I thought he was going to be -- he’s actually kind of intimidatingly athletic, isn’t he? I mean just look at his arms -- okay, I’ve been informed that I’m no longer being professional so let’s focus on the match! Another ten points to Gryffindor!” 

Y/n watches as Jungkook shakes his head at the commentary, a scoff leaving him as he flies back into position. He appears indifferent as always, but Y/n knows him well enough to see the smallest of smiles dancing across his lips at the praise of the crowd. If they had still been together, Y/n would have found that smile unfairly attractive, but at this moment in time all she can think about is how arrogant he looks. Sighing slightly, her eyes scans over the crowd opposite her, a sea of green and silver, until she finds Yoongi. He and Jin are booing Jungkook obnoxiously, and she can see even from here that Yoongi’s letting loose an interesting string of expletives as the Gryffindor passes him. 

Only when Jin places a hand over his roommate’s mouth does Yoongi calm down. Y/n can hear Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jimin laughing loudly beside her, and she guesses that they’ve all just witnessed the wrath of their aggressive Slytherin friend. Yoongi glances over at the spot where he knows they’re all seated, and, realizing they’ve all seen his display of emotions, he sends Y/n a wink, eyes dancing with mirth. She’s immensely grateful for him, as she has come to be over and over again in the seven years she’s known him. 

The match continues much in this manner -- Gryffindor absolutely dominating the quidditch pitch as Yoongi’s blood pressure rises, Hoseok’s creative narration filling the air until the very end. It’s no surprise that, even though the Slytherin Seeker had managed to find and catch the snitch before his opponent, Hoseok still gets to excitedly announce to the crowd that, with a gap of more than 150 points between them, Gryffindor had won regardless.

The crowd loses all semblance of control, cheers audible even from the castle as three out of four houses celebrate a victory. The Gryffindor team flies around the pitch, reveling in house pride. Up in the commentator’s box, Hoseok turns off his mic and flops down in the stool that had been behind him the entire time, completely unused. He removes his hat, running his fingers swiftly through his hair and letting out a dramatic sigh. He sits there for a few minutes, watching the crowd and the Gryffindor team with a smile, leaning forward at some point to plant his elbows on the ledge and watch the excitement with his chin in his hand.

Finally, he moves to leave, rising to his full height and shoving his hat back onto his head, ears sticking out cutely once again. Glancing quickly over at the spot where Y/n had been, he stops in his tracks when he realizes that she still hasn’t left. In fact, she’s still sitting with her friends as they wait for Yoongi and Jin to make their way around the stands to join them, and she’s still got her eyes on him. The noise of the crowd is drowned out slightly in his ears, and he finds himself warming at the idea of her watching him -- waiting for him to look for her, too. He waves sweetly at her, heat crashing over him and painting his cheeks an embarrassing pink when he sees that she’s mouthing words of encouragement at him for his job well done. He thinks of something to say back, but he doesn’t get the chance. There’s a Gryffindor player hovering in the space between them, and he can tell even from where he stands that he’s looking at the back of Jeon Jungkook’s head.

On the other side, Y/n is interrupted by a pair of eyes she could recognize even in her sleep, but it isn’t the fact that Jungkook’s gotten in the way that bugs her -- it’s his expression. It’s filled with something close enough to annoyance for her to find herself becoming agitated, but there’s something else there too. Is it hurt? Betrayal? Disbelief? Y/n can’t pin it down, but she’s certain he must be bothered that she isn’t paying as much attention to Gryffindor’s star player as he’d like. 

He’s finally pulled away from her by the sound of his own name, called by his captain as he’s instructed to join the team in the locker room. With one last glance, he waves coolly to the rest of their friends as he flies off, leaving her both confused and irritated. Her only comfort -- that is, until Yoongi appears behind her with an arm thrown over her shoulders and a chaotic presence that only she could find comforting -- is that Hoseok still hasn’t left, and he’s looking as confused as she feels. He smiles awkwardly at her before waving farewell, choosing at the last moment to pull out his phone and gesture for her to do the same. 

Reaching into her pocket just as it’s buzzing, she opens the text thread to read the new message, not even noticing the weight of Yoongi’s body hanging off of her as he reads over her shoulder.

Jungkook doesn’t like me very much, does he? 

She feels rather than hears the hum that leaves Yoongi’s body as he considers the text from behind her. When he speaks, she finds herself turning to hide in his embrace, a noise of annoyance muffling itself in his chest as she realizes what he’s saying is very likely to be true. 

“Looks like you’re going to be dealing with a very crabby Jungkook at the after-party tonight.”

[myownworstenemyyy]

Crystal Clear - Part 2

a Javier Peña x Reader series

Word count: 2.3k (gif by @notsogreatgifs)

Warnings: alcohol ; situation involving someone cheating on their partner ; ANGST

A/N: surprise! i decided to make a mini-series out of this story (a continuation of this ask) because i just can't stop myself 😂 and I'm procrastinating writing for my other series sooo this is from Javi’s POV so enjoy the angst y’all! 💕💜 (masterlist in bio)

AO3 | fic inspired by the song Crystal Clear by Hayley Williams

I jump in with the rush in my head only to find the water was concrete

She’s engaged, Javi repeats in his head for the hundredth time since he discovered the ring on your finger. Downing his third glass of whiskey, all he can think about is the look on your face after you kissed him earlier that day.

The kiss starts out slow, almost tentative as your lips connect for the first time - is this really the first time we’ve kissed? Fuck, I’ve wasted so much time, Javi thinks when you thread your fingers through his hair. It only takes a second before he’s gripping your hips and tugging you even closer to his chest, a gasp falling from your lips when he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. 

As soon as you open for him, he loses his fucking mind - every desire he’s kept locked away takes form in the desperate way his mouth devours yours. But the passion isn’t one-sided, because every time your lips break apart, your hands flex along his scalp, closing the small gap between you once more.

Your mouths move hungrily against each other, like the two of you have been wandering through a desert for weeks, slowly dying of an agonizing thirst until finally discovering the source of life within one another. And that’s the only way Javier can describe how he’s truly felt about you all this time - like he’s been suffocating and you’re the air he’s been gasping for, for his entire life.

All the yearning and sorrow he’s suffered from years without acting on his feelings for you leave him in a state of depravity that no other woman he’s ever been with could cure. And no matter how hard he tried - how much liquor he drank or how many women he fucked - he could never force you out of his mind. 

Or out of his heart.

Suddenly, you pull back from the kiss, pushing against his shoulders to keep him at a distance. He grips onto your arm - not unlike the way you had held onto his arm just before admitting you couldn’t deny feeling something for him. 

Your eyes grow impossibly wide as the two of you stare at one another, chests heaving and breaths mingling in the little space that’s between you. He licks his lips, still tasting you on his skin and it takes everything in him not to pull you into his arms again. 

“I-” you swallow hard, your expression growing more worrisome, almost to the point of looking like you’re about to be sick. Your eyes fall to where your left hand rests on his shoulder as you croak out, “We shouldn’t have done that.” 

With a look of concern, Javier raises his hand to tuck back stray pieces of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail, but once his finger grazes your cheek, you flinch away, taking a step back from him. 

And he’ll never admit out loud just how deeply that small gesture pierced his heart.

You wrap your arms around yourself, not meeting his eyes as you shake your head lightly, “I shouldn’t have done that - I-I’m sorry, I can’t.” Keeping your eyes cast downward, your shoulder brushes his as you head back in the direction of your house, but he catches your elbow just before you’re out of reach. 

“Can I...see you again, bonita? Just to talk, I promise,” he pleads, hoping you’ll see the sincerity - along with the fear of losing you - in his eyes. 

You hesitate, looking around as if to make sure none of the neighbors are watching your intimate exchange with a man who isn’t your betrothed. When your eyes land on his again, they soften though they remain laced with uncertainty, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Javi.” The regretful way his name falls from your lips makes his stomach drop but your next words give him some semblance of hope. 

“I just...need some time to think, OK?” you offer him a small, reassuring smile as you bring a hand to his cheek. The gesture feels so natural and warm, yet foreign all at the same time, and all he can manage is a nod in response, his voice failing him. 

He doesn’t miss the sad glint in your eye either as you turn and walk away from him for the second time that day.

Signaling the bartender, Javier asks for another whiskey as he reaches into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. He releases a heavy sigh as his drink is placed in front of him, if there was ever a reason to get fucking plastered, reuniting with the love of your life when she’s already engaged to another man would be right at the top of the fucking list.

The moment he felt that ring on your finger, his heart clenched painfully in his chest, because he knew - he knew he was too late and he only had himself to blame. All those years ago when he left for Columbia, he thought he was doing the right thing - that you’d be better off without him. 

When he’d learned you had feelings for him as well - because if he’s being honest with himself, he’s been in love with you since you were just kids - he was shocked, to say the least. He never once even humored the idea of having something more with you, beyond the close friendship the two of you have shared for decades. 

But the way you looked at him that night, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you bared your soul to him, there was no way he could tell you he’d already been assigned to Columbia and was set to leave the very next day. It crushed him to hug you so close that night, knowing he was a coward for saying nothing - about how he felt the same about you, and about how he’d be gone for what was sure to be years, as the hunt for Escobar would be no easy task.

So he’d kissed you on the cheek and promised that the two of you would talk everything out the next day, though it was a complete lie. And the hopeful look you gave him - one full of love and tenderness - it pulled the air right from his lungs. But he forced himself to walk away before he changed his mind and confessed the truth to you right then and there, telling himself you deserved better than a coward like him.

You deserved the world, but he could never be the one to give it to you. 

“Something got you down, partner?” the bartender asks, a slight Southern twang in his voice. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s use of the word partner as he takes a drag of his cigarette before responding, “Just...lady troubles.” He’s surprised he divulged even that little bit of information, but it’s most likely due to the alcohol now weakening his inhibitions.

The bartender - who’s not much younger than Javier - offers a knowing smirk, “Ah, yup, that’ll do it.” He chuckles to himself and Javi glares at him, though the other man doesn’t seem to notice as he wipes down the counter, grinning to himself, “Glad I don’t gotta deal with that anymore.”

Javi raises an eyebrow, only slightly intrigued by the meaning behind his words as he takes a swig of his drink. The other man runs a hand through his light brown hair before continuing, “Been with my lady for years now and we’ve never had any problems - well, none that I’m aware of, at least,” he chuckles again and though the guy seems genuinely nice, something about him rubs Javi the wrong way. He’s just not sure what.

But he doesn’t have to wait long to find out as the door to the bar opens behind him, calling the bartender’s attention as he exclaims, “Well, speak of the devil - here’s my pretty lady now.” 

Javier downs the rest of his drink, deciding to head out before he gets stuck in an hour-long conversation with this guy and his pretty lady. He hears light footsteps approaching on his right and just as he sets his glass back down, he hears a familiar soft voice and freezes.

“Hi, honey. I brought you some food,” you grin as you place a large paper bag on the bar top and lean over the counter to plant a light kiss on the bartender’s - no, your fiancé’s lips. “Aw, thanks, baby - you’re too good to me. But, were your ears ringin’? ‘Cause I was just talkin’ about you with my new friend here, uh - sorry, man, what’s your name?” 

You turn with a bright smile on your face, but it quickly falls once you meet Javier’s eyes - your warm expression being replaced with one of sheer panic. Javi can only imagine what’s going through your mind right now, but he’s almost certain it’s something along the lines of “Oh, shit.”

“Javier, nice to meet you…” putting on his best poker face, he extends his hand out to you, assuming you want him to play dumb so your fiancé doesn’t suspect Javier had his tongue down your throat just hours before. 

As if this situation wasn’t fucked enough already.

You clear your throat a little too harshly as you extend your hand out to him, saying, “Y/N, it’s...nice to meet you, too,” and when your skin comes into contact with his, it sends a shock up his arm and straight to his heart. 

While Javier’s world is tilting on its axis, the bartender sifts through the bag you brought - seemingly unaware of the shift in the air. “Baby, did you bring your momma’s hot sauce?” he looks at you expectantly, though your eyes are still fixed on Javier. 

“Uh - oh, n-no. Shit, I forgot, sorry,” you turn and offer an apologetic smile that appears strained, at least to Javier’s eyes. Este pendejo doesn’t have a clue, does he?

“You feelin’ okay? You look a little pale, darlin’,” the bartender - what the fuck is his name - asks with a look of concern, and Javi almost feels bad for the guy. Or at least he would if he wasn’t currently engaged to the love of Javi’s life.

“Yeah, I’m just...tired. I was outside most of the day, trying to fix the garden,” your voice evens out as you speak and Javier can’t help but admire your talent for masking the anxiety that must be coursing through your veins. She’s almost as good a liar as I am.

The other guy is about to respond when someone catches his attention on the far side of the room, “Gimme a minute. Don’t go anywhere, baby, and I’ll fix you another drink when I get back - OK, partner?,” he winks before sauntering off in the direction of where he was called from.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Javier laughs, the alcohol in his system making the whole situation seem much less serious than it is, “Really, bonita? Him? Since when have you been into gringos?” His words come out harsher than he intends as he glares at you and you glare right back at him with a fire crackling in your eyes.

“Since a couple of years after a certain tontito left the country and never even tried to contact me again,” your words land like a blow to the stomach and Javi visibly winces before you continue, “and he’s actually a really kind person - he doesn’t deserve this.” You sigh as you plop down on a bar stool, making sure to keep one empty between you and Javier. 

“And what exactly is...this? I’d love to know,” he rests his elbow on the counter, leaning his head onto his hand as he angles his body toward you. “I mean, we didn’t exactly go over all the details after you had your tongue in my mouth,” you gasp at his lewd comment, but he remains unfazed as he continues, “por favor, dime qué somos tu y yo, bonita.” His words are starting to slur and his vision’s a little fuzzy but he can still make out the blush on your cheeks.

“Keep it down, will you?” you whisper harshly as you lean closer to him, planting a hand on the empty stool between you. “This,” you gesture between the two of you, “is nothing, OK? I can’t - I won’t put Jackson though that,” you lean back, your expression stern, yet weary.

So the pendejo’s name is Jackson then. Typical southern name to match his southern accent.

“Through what?” Javi asks and he knows he’s being an asshole, but that’s easier than admitting that his heart is shattering with each minute he spends looking at your beautiful face, knowing that you belong to someone else.

“I’m not doing this with you, Javi. We’re - we’re not even friends anymore, so let’s just leave it alone and...go our separate ways,” you nod as if trying to convince yourself this is the best option for everyone, but your eyes say different. Even in his intoxicated state, he can see the confusion and stress that plagues your features. At that moment, he’d give anything to hold you in his arms and kiss away all your sorrows.

“Bonita-” he starts but is stopped short by the bartend- Jackson rejoining the two of you, “Oh, “bonita” - that means pretty, right?” He grins between the two of you as if he didn’t just intrude on one of the most painful conversations of Javier’s life. 

And the way he said “bonita” is the last straw for Javier. Clenching his jaw, he slips off his stool with surprising ease and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, his cigarette long forgotten in the ashtray on the bar.

He mumbles, “Yeah, it means pretty-” he looks at you with a level of intensity that makes your heart race, “or beautiful.” 

Dropping a few bills on the wooden surface, he nods his thanks to Jackson while clenching his fist at his side and turns to you once more, a wistful look in his eyes, “Nos vemos...bonita.”

And he walks out of the bar, his soul in tatters.

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

Translations:

pendejo - dumbass

gringos - white men

tontito - idiot

por favor, dime qué somos tu y yo - please, tell me what we are.

nos vemos - see you

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

aaaahhhhh what’d y’all think?? i hope you don’t mind I'm taking a tiny break from Mariposa - i got stuck so i decided to just do another series lmao fuck

thanks for reading! 💜

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[actonbellworks]

BTS and art-pop; a postmodern analysis of the album Love Yourself: Tear (2017)

this is an essay i wrote for a uni assignment, and i really wanted to post it here, so,,,

The closest definition of postmodern music, by Jonathan Kramer, in his 1996 essay Postmodern Concepts of Musical Time, is described in several characteristics. It is not a repudiation or a continuation of modernism, but contains aspects of both; it is, on some level, ironic, disregards the value of structural unity, and seeks to break down the distinctions between ‘highbrow’ and ‘lowbrow’ music. Postmodern music refuses to be cast into a specific mold, includes detailed references, is pluralistic and eclectic, but above all, it locates its meaning much more in the listener than it does in the actual music and performance. In his essay, Answering the Question: what is Postmodernism? Jean Francois Lyotard defines postmodernism as part of the modern, conceding to perhaps the most influential critic of Postmodernism, Jurgen Habermas, as he writes, “The postmodern would be that which, in the modern, puts forward the unpresentable in presentation itself…”. The phenomenon of the postmodern, as critics have tried to define it, exists in spite of a definition.

This leads us to another, far more important question; can we define ‘popular’ music as ‘postmodern’? Critics still hesitate to attribute the ‘postmodern’ or the ‘art-pop’ tag to mainstream popular music, because they view postmodernist music and art-pop as a genre that is inexorably linked with modernism, which implies that there has to be a predecessor for popular music to be classified as ‘postmodern’. In another definition, one that is, perhaps, far more closer to the hypothesis laid out by Kramer, is that Postmodernist music, and indeed, the postmodernist movement, developed as a reaction to modernism, and as such, incorporates the attributes of modernism as well as defies it to a certain extent.

The genre of K-pop has been popularised all over the world largely due to the influence of the seven-member band BTS (방탄소년단 in Korean), and their detailed musicality, which is perhaps showcased best in their third studio album, Love Yourself 轉 ‘Tear’, widely regarded as one of their most intricate works. True to the definition of postmodern music, the album smoothly shifts genres, sometimes in the gap of a single song, although there is a thematic, sometimes singular focus on the feelings of loss and loneliness. To centre a musical venture around the idea of love and loss is nothing new, perhaps, but ‘Tear’ refuses to play into any of the common tropes.

The term ‘postmodern’ contains an air of elitism with it, as it still refers to practices that developed as a reaction to the modernist methods of the twentieth century. It directly challenges the strict rules of modernist art, a return to pre-modernist era art techniques, and above all, it removes the boundaries between the “classical” and the “popular”. BTS has been termed as ‘popular music’ by critics, and while the label ‘popular music’ is considered restrictive, for many music critics, ‘Tear’ represents how the genre can be pushed to its limits, moving beyond the limitations set by the industry and by music critics in general.

Perhaps one of the most dynamic songs in the LP’s tracklist is the title track, “FAKE LOVE”, the music video for which begins with silence, and the track is completed by a jagged guitar riff that cuts off abruptly to a scene of the seven members, dressed in robes and masks that look eerily reminiscent of the early Greek comedic tradition, in which every character is identifiable by their masks and their choice of costumery. The teaser for the music video, interestingly, had the piece, Waltz in A-flat major, OP. 9, No. 1 by Frédéric Chopin, also termed as ‘The Farewell Waltz’ or ‘Valse de l’adieu’. Chopin’s music and BTS’ song both move in circles, without reaching a conclusion. Chopin’s waltz moves in ¾ beats, until it ends abruptly, and FAKE LOVE reiterates the same line,

Love you so bad, love you so bad

널 위해 예쁜 거짓을 빚어낸

Love it's so mad, love it's so mad

날 지워 너의 인형이 되려 해

널 위해서라면 난

슬퍼도

Which loosely translates to “love you so bad/ I create a beautiful lie for you/ love you so mad/ I try to become your doll by erasing myself.” Both pieces move around the idea of loss, with neither reaching anywhere fruitful. Chopin’s waltz ends where it had begun, in the middle of his heartbreak, and BTS end their song with the refrain of

기쁜 척 할 수가 있었어

널 위해서라면 난

아파도 강한 척 할 수가 있었어

사랑이 사랑만으로 완벽하길

내 모든 약점들은 다 숨겨지길

이뤄지지 않는 꿈속에서

피울 수 없는 꽃을 키웠어

Which again, translates to “for you, I could pretend to be happy even when sad/ for you I could pretend I was strong even when I was hurt/ Wishing that love is perfect as itself/Wishing all my weakness is hidden/In a dream that can’t come true/I raised a flower that couldn’t bloom”.

A particular characteristic of art-pop music and alternative music in general, is the recurring motif that runs through one or more songs. In ‘Tear’, the septet continue to use masks, in order to symbolise what is the loss of one’s self, in the process of another, perhaps more explicitly shown in their introductory music video to the album, ‘Singularity’, where singer Kim Taehyung (using the stage moniker V) sings about losing his voice, trapped in a lake, donning a mask that obscures half of his face, losing all his individuality. ‘Singularity’ is perhaps one of the most complicated songs to translate from Korean, as the songwriter, RM, lays down visual clues of what it feels like to wake up from a dream, only to find oneself trapped. The music video carries forward the baroque imagery, as well as the heavy classical influences in the slow progression of the track; it conjures the powerful imagery of being trapped underwater ourselves, in the lyrics

Tell me 내 목소리가 가짜라면

날 버리지 말았어야 했는지

Tell me 고통조차 가짜라면

그때 내가 무얼해야 했는지

Loosely translated, it refers to someone trapped underwater, who doesn't feel as though their voice belongs to themselves. ‘Singularity’ wonders whether or not it is worth it to sacrifice one’s individuality to mould themselves to fit in. Postmodern art talks about the truth of the artist, especially how difficult it is to maintain one’s sincerity to survive, be it in a relationship, or in the music industry, a sentiment expressed by the septet in the fifth track of the album, ‘Paradise’ (낙원 ), where rappers Suga and j-hope express their dissatisfaction with the world through an intertwined verse,

누군 이렇게 누군 저렇게 산다면서

세상은 내게 욕을 퍼붓네

세상은 욕할 자격이 없네

꿈을 꾸는 법이 무엇인지

(“saying some are living like this,some are living like that/ the world pours curses at me/ the world has no right to pour curses at me/ for it has never even taught me how to dream '')

The song ‘Paradise’ is not only about the futility of the dreams that we are forced to accept and work towards, it also serves as a reminder of the society that we continue to subject the future generations to, in the capitalistic pursuit of wealth and correlating it to happiness, we forget that perhaps, humanity is not defined by wealth. ‘Paradise’ sets a reminder that it is okay to pause the world to remind ourselves that the world does not exist in spite of us, it exists because of us.

Perhaps the strangest, most compelling song on the entire album is the final song, ‘OUTRO: TEAR’. A rap track featuring the three rappers, it has been one of the most lyrically intimidating songs. A direct continuation of the thought process in ‘singularity’, “OUTRO: TEAR’ also muses upon the threads of a broken relationship, and the precipice upon which it all began.

For music critics, the opening six bars of the outro are reminiscent of the sombre tunes in Rachmaninoff’s piano concertos, which reach a crescendo and give way to RM’s introductory verse. It is a song that has remorse at the very core of it, writing for one’s lost love, for which there is still regret. For RM and Suga, this comes with the words

어쩜 내가 너를 사랑했던 적이 아예 없는 것 같아서

(because it felt like maybe I had never loved you anyway)

심장이 찢겨져 차라리 불 태워줘

고통과 미련 그 무엇도 남지 않게끔

(“my heart breaks, please rather burn it, so that the pain and the lingering love disappears”) while RM denotes his regret with rhyming sequences that linger, and for Suga, it is in a series of archaic, perhaps even frightening metaphors to his breaking heart. Both the rappers are talking about their failed relationship, with music, their friends, and their love, how it has an everlasting effect on their lives, one that will never go away, even with acceptance of their fate.

Written at the brink of disbandment, perhaps the coda by j-hope is where the song hits the hardest. The most lyrically dense section of the song is the coda, where j-hope lays down a flurry of rhymes and rhythms, shaken at the prospect of leaving music altogether. Although the song stems from a personal story for the septet, it deals with the very real anxiety and fear an artist has, of having to separate from their art. For j-hope it is akin to a break-up, a sundering with the very people he had thought would be by his side forever, and he writes, “이별은 내겐 그 순간들뿐”(goodbye, for me is only there, just at those moments). He writes,

넌 내 시작과 끝That is all

(“You are my beginning, end, that is all”)

And to him, and to all artists, art is supreme, and the thought of parting from the art that has given them so much, would be akin to severing them from their soulmate. For many music critics, the outro is the most complex song they have heard form the septet, with some going so far as to naming it a magnum opus.

In Love Yourself 轉 ‘Tear’, BTS puts the spotlight on the human condition; something which is fallible, something which is dependant upon others. Postmodernism, and postmodernist art, especially, talks about the complex aspects of humanity, forcing people to pay attention to the world and to their own selves. It isn't the music videos with homages paid to Romantic era composers, neither is it the layered verses with the double entendres of lyrical meanings. ‘Tear’ is a postmodern work of art because it covers multiple aspects of the human condition, while also harkening back to the music that inspires artists to create; and the stories they tell in ‘Tear’ are universal.

(trans cr to @doolsetbangtan)

[curly-bangtan]

A Drop of Heaven IV: Unravelling

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of blood drinking, depression and suicidal thoughts, slightly gruesome, probably a lot of confusion, plot heavy chapter

Word count: 11.1k

A/N: I’m not sure if it’s just me but I feel like my writing style for this series has kind of shifted, so apologies if you don’t like the change. Thank you for being so patient with this update, I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth the wait! ❤︎

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

They say that humans are immensely adaptable creatures. In the face of a drastic change, when thrust into a foreign environment, we possess a biological plasticity that allows us to mould into our novelle surroundings, no matter how alien. All for the purpose of survival. Humans are resilient. Humans survive.

You have survived, and you keep on surviving.

A week has passed. Almost in a flash, yet also agonisingly slowly. But in your memory, all the feeding has merged into a blur. Every time a pair of fangs sink into you, you’ve come to switch off your mind completely. You don’t recall where your consciousness has travelled to, you just remember floating in a cold darkness. Stagnant. Void.

On Thursday, broken and hanging on by a thread, you were tossed to Hoseok. The flash of craze in his eyes, despite your gaping wounds that took longer to heal than it should have, even after drinking Yoongi’s blood, managed to instill a droplet of fear in you. But only just.

Because after Yoongi, you no longer know fear.

Still, Hoseok’s insanity is something you’ve never seen before, a wildness exacerbated by the centuries he has lived.

Hoseok looks at you like a brand new toy. When he touches you, you can feel the tremble of excitement beneath his skin. Sometimes, you wonder if he is the worst one of them all, even worse than Yoongi. Because you at least know what the others are thinking. With Hoseok, he speaks to you as if you’ve been acquainted for years, asks how you fare as if he doesn’t know of your suffering. He smiles at you like he means it, and you know he is genuinely happy to see you, but not for the reason you hope for.

“You seem sad…” He had said, staring at you intently as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of your face. “Yoongi hurt you?”

Your eyes were transfixed on one spot of the colourful wallpaper of his Feed Room. Your head barely nodded.

You didn’t see his mouth quirk up in amusement, but you could sense it. Hoseok was prodding you, like a zoo animal. Testing your temperament, seeing how broken you are. And you were too tired, too drained to put on a show like the circus monkey he wanted.

“No worries, Y/N, it won’t hurt with me, I promise.” The ghost of his lips traced your shoulder. “We will have so much fun together.” His long fingers prickle your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. “Just relax and smile for me.”

It had hurt, at least very briefly before you could shut it out. Out of everyone, Hoseok has the least control. He never knows when to stop. Though he wasn’t bleeding you dry just yet, it visibly took him his entire mental strength to cease his drinking. And once he stopped, he began laughing maniacally.

“Sweet Satan, we’re in for a ride.” He kissed around the puncture wound at your collarbone where blood was weeping out of you. You didn’t move or make a sound.

The sire bond hadn’t surfaced at all. But it didn’t need to in order for you to ignore the pain; you’ve grown so accustomed to it by now that you hardly even blink, sire bond or no. You’re afraid of yourself, the lifeless husk you’re becoming.

The scariest aspect of Hoseok is perhaps how quickly he changes his mood after feeding. His ability to act as if he hadn’t just ripped into you, taking your around the house and telling you stories of his adventurous life while you eat, is uncanny. And when you fail to put on a smile for him, because how could you, his eyes would darken, jaw tighten.

“Isn’t that just hilarious? Can you believe I did that back then?” He would ask, and you’re not sure why your entertainment brings him validation.

But for self-preservation, you have learnt to giggle like you’re enjoying yourself and say cheerily, “I know right! That sounds wild!”

And Hoseok would nod madly, giddy from your approval, acting blind to your ingenuity as if he hadn’t forced the response he wanted out of you.

That was your Thursday.

.

Jimin was a salve, a soothing balm over your hidden wounds.

You no longer care whether his affection towards you is genuine. Beggars can’t be choosers, you’ll take any kindness where it is doled. It’s funny because, amidst suffering, amidst torture, you are able to resist the floods of tears that should be completely justified in your predicament. Yet as soon as someone shows the remotest care towards you, you feel the ocean pushing against your brick walls, threatening to rupture the dam.

It wretched your heart how tender Jimin was with you. You had almost broken down in his arms when he brushed over the skin where Yoongi and Hoseok had torn into. Your wounds are invisible. Vampire blood hides your cuts under fresh new skin, but doesn’t truly heal them. Yet Jimin had managed to sense your scars nonetheless.

He kissed them softly. You knew he wanted to kiss your mouth too, yet he didn’t. Is this what respect feels like?

Thus, you were completely willing when he fed on you. His preferred feeding spot is the inside of your thighs. When his cold breath arrived there, you could have sworn you felt something flutter in your core.

You had wanted him. You’re embarrassed to admit but you want him. Completely on your own accord, as the sire bond had also failed to lock in place with him too. You wondered if it was the damage Yoongi had done…

But then Saturday came, and the moment Taehyung’s fangs touched your flesh, you were swept away.

At first, it felt like drowning, as you struggled against the formidable waves that would not let you resurface. But then you calmed, a serenity took hold of you, and you began floating in the most soothing, clear blue water. The water healed you, almost, as you just drifted there on your back, watching the star-splatted night sky.

Taehyung swam up beside you, those sharp fangs of his never withdrawn, a wolfish yet reassuring smile, telling you it’s okay, everything will be okay, I can make you feel good.

And he did make you feel good.

The one thing you crave the most in this world is affection, you’ve come to learn. With Yoongi, you had wanted to feel something so badly, something other the numb wreckage of your mind you had trapped yourself in. Except he had made you feel worse, worthless, self-loathing just like him. With Hoseok, you were a broken doll, smile when expected to, laughing when required. You weren’t a person. With Jimin, you had been too grateful for his tenderness to function, unable to comprehend how, for once in the longest time, someone is treating you as if they care about you.

With Taehyung, you grew desperate to cling onto this intimacy.

It was like a drug, flooding your mind with peace and euphoria, drinking him in as much as he is drinking you. His kisses felt unhealthily good, and they tricked you into thinking that you’re worthy of someone like Taehyung, someone so beautiful, so intoxicating. He fucked you like he was making love to you, but also not. It came as waves - his sweetness, then his ferality.

You couldn’t get enough of it. You know it’s no good to feel so attached, when he probably sees you as no more than an object, his meal, but you couldn’t help it. You were just so desperate for that feeling of being desired.

He promised to make you feel good, make you forget, and that he did.

You hadn’t known what to expect from Jungkook. As you sat, waiting, on the bed of his Feed Room on Sunday, you pondered Jin’s words of his past.

He was a bright star once, before this curse. And even after, he had fed on humans once. The curiosity gnawed at your brain, pleading to find out what had happened.

Jungkook never showed up.

And so you slept the day and night away, replenishing your health with soup that Seokjin delivered, until you woke up and the cycle continued once more.

.

You watch the round dewdrop roll off the viridescent green leaf, and splatter onto the cold white tile. The greenhouse has soon become one of your favourite places to pass time. The walls of that manor are suffocating.

The faint sound of a piano whispers into your ears. You shut your eyes, appreciating the beauty of the pieces as it plays flawlessly. You wonder who is pouring out their emotions to the ebony and ivory sisters.

The glass of the greenhouse is fogged by the dawn dew, shielding you from the world outside and those who wish to take from you. Almost smiling, you pace around the kingdom of plants, enjoying the tranquility. Today is Thursday; Hoseok allows you to do as you please after he feeds on you; though it could be of his genuine good intent, you suspect it’s to instill you with a false sense of freedom. Let the dog out of its cage, let her roam their land, so the bitch never seeks to leave the house.

The thought of escaping had crossed your mind a profusion of occurrences the past week. Though, at this very moment, you don’t think there is much purpose in leaving anymore. Here, you at least are provided food and shelter, and maybe one or two friends whose friendship comes with a price. It’s not living in here, you’re merely surviving. But you’re surviving nonetheless. Compared to out there, where you’d be left to fend for yourself, constantly fleeing from seven vampires who you’re eternally bonded to.

You’ve thought about killing yourself too. A coward’s way out, but hey, you’d rather be a coward than a blood bag for the rest of your life. But when you had snuck into the kitchen last night after Yoongi’s heartless torment and raised a knife to your chest, an invisible force had pushed against your arms, freezing them in place and preventing them from taking action.

The sireship is so cruel. It humanises the vampires who captured you, makes you empathise with them, and forbids you from harming yourself.

On deeper thought, you wouldn’t have been able to kill yourself that way anyway. The moment your blood is spilled, in a house full of vampires, at least one of them is bound to smell it right away. They would have healed you before the pain could kick in - their way of sweeping everything under the rug nowadays - and you would’ve been back to the start. Except worse, as they would then know of your intention.

You crouch down beside a rose bush, petting its velvet white petals between your fingers. Flowers are beautiful yet fickles things, but roses have thorns. They lure people in with their beauty, but if anyone tries to pluck them off and keep one for themselves, they get cut. Your fingers travel down its stem to where a thorn is staring enticingly back at you.

You push the pad of your finger into its prick, hard. You don’t feel a thing. Not even as a bead of crimson oozes from the cut. It’s chilling.

Then you sense a presence behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet with those of Namjoon. Watering pot in one hand, he watches you, brows furrowed at your previous act.

“What are you doing?” There’s a hesitancy in his voice, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you.

“Admiring the roses.”

You no longer speak to Namjoon in that defying tone of yours. He was right, there’s no use in challenging him, trying to topple his superiority complex. It only took a week to tame you into a docile creature. You’re ashamed.

“No, I mean why did you purposely touch the thorns like that?” Still frowning, he stomps over, water in his gardening can sloshing about. As he sinks down beside you, his air of intimidation infiltrates your peaceful bubble.

“I… I don’t know, I just wanted to know what it feels like.” You mumble. Setting the pot aside, Namjoon snatches your finger and brings it close to his face for examination.

“Well, it was obviously going to cut you.” He hisses. When his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your blood is vastly tempting him.

“I know.” You pull your finger away, not that you don’t trust his self control, but because his touch was beginning to scald. The bond was trying to take hold of you despite it not being the day where you belong to him, and you hate how drawn you are to him because of it.

Spinning away, you stand and begin pacing towards the door. Your moment of peace has been disturbed, there’s no point in staying here anymore. But then you hear him call after you, “W-Wait.” The vulnerable expression that greets you when you look back takes you by surprise. “Um… You spend an awful lot of time in here nowadays… How come?”

You hadn’t been aware that Namjoon notices your growing presence in the greenhouse, not since you have never come across him here before. “I like it in here, I feel safe. Why, am I not allowed?” Your question lacks the challenging impudence it should have, more like a young girl asking her father for permission. You’re disappointed in yourself at how quickly you’ve deflated, even at the obnoxious Namjoon. Yet, you’ve lost your drive at standing your ground, you’ve got no fight left.

“N-No!” He is quick to dispute, standing up from his crouch as well. “I just meant… Nevermind.” His voice trails weakly to a tense silence. You watch his eyes flicker up at yours rather nervously, trying to decipher his intention. Then he speaks again, “I’ve just seen you here quite a few times… I enjoy being here myself; I find tending to my plants right before the sun rises fully a therapeutic pastime.”

His admission strikes you. You would never imagine a man as demanding, efficient and severe as Namjoon to enjoy a hobby as mundane as gardening. You’re not sure what to make of it to be honest, nor can you understand why he’s speaking to you so… conversationally. Is this his attempt at making peace with you?

“Well, you’ve tended to them very well, they’re beautiful. I enjoy being here too.” You guess you should accept his decency. He had been rather distant on Monday, leaving you to your own devices, only feeding on you once and hardly speaking a word. His contrasting moods are confusing.

Namjoon’s lips purse, brows raise ever so slightly, as if surprised by your kind response. His eyes flicker to your finger again. The tiny cut has yet to dry, fresh blood still leaking from the open wound despite its miniscule size. You should probably have some food; your body is frail, especially after Yoongi yesterday.

“I’m going to leave you to it, sir.” You nod courteously, but freeze as the name you address him as slips out of you. No, it was drawn out of you from the bond. It doesn’t take a second for heat to rush to your face in embarrassment. Namjoon noticeably stiffens. Gulps.

The coil within you is starting to wind. It tightens around your chest like thorned vines, piercing into your heart the more you try to wriggle free.

You know he feels it too.

But before he can take a step towards you, as you sense he intends to, you’re turning around and speeding out of the greenhouse. And it’s not until you’re within the confines of Hoseok’s Feed Room that you feel the liberty to breathe again, Namjoon’s sire bond reluctantly waning into the background.

.

You could tell something was off about Hoseok straight away when he entered the room. There were multiple telltale signs.

One: He was stumbling over his feet, tripping over to the bed in a drunken manner as he navigated the room. His words were slurred, hardly coherent sentences at all. His wine red hair in disarray.

Two: He smelled noticeably different. Though you’ve not spent more than two days as his feed, Hoseok has a clear distinct smell, most notable from the other vampires. He smells clean, sweet even; it’s the one thing you can’t help but indulge in about him. Yet even to your human nose, he had a weird, doggish musk to him as he approached you.

Three: From his rogue smile dribbled drying blood. And no, it wasn’t a mere droplet of crimson, he was drenched in blood, chin to toes. Despite the gore you’ve witnessed, it was still a chilling sight.

And four: Though his eyes were half shut, you briefly saw the way they flashed beneath his lids. Only half conscious, the other half gone and crazed, though full of purpose - purpose to get to you.

You catch him in open arms as he falls onto you, the mattress dipping at the sudden crash of his weight. “Hoseok, what happened?” Your voice harbours more concern than you would like to show, and you don’t know why you care at all.

His face presses against the crook of your neck, his lips stretching into a smile at your presence, right over your pulse. His hands wander to your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You recoil from his forwardness, but with nowhere to back away to except further into the bed. You try to ignore how pleasant the tip of his nose feels as it rubs against your skin.

“Missed you…” Hoseok mumbles, still grinning widely, mouth travelling to your jaw where his warm breath tickles. His breath should be cold; the heat tells you that the feeding of whoever’s blood this was recent.

You can’t help but feel flustered at his sudden touchiness. Of all vampires here, save for Jungkook, you would say you’ve been the least… intimate with Hoseok. It has never been your dynamic. It was always him flinging you around like a puppy shredding its new stuffed toy then chewing on the spilled cotton. So this is… new.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask again, trying to pry his arms off your torso but to no avail.

“Sweetness…” He mutters unintelligibly, and you shudder as his teeth grazes your ear, an involuntarily sensual tingle following.

“H-Hoseok…” Your breath hitches, his proximity growing more and more unignorable. So you grab his face, cheeks cupped in one hand, and shake him for good measure. His closing lids flash open like gradually awakening from slumber, yet still not recovered from his daze. “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.”

An icy cold settles in your bones. Werewolves. There are such things as werewolves as well. Vampires, witches and werewolves. What other creatures of horror are plaguing your world that you don’t know of? That explains that muttish stench he carries. The blood he’s soaked in… Is it his or theirs? You think you feel slightly sick.

Brushing his hair out of his face, you point his drooping head at you again. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those stupid mutts… picking a fight… Taehyung, Jungkook and I had to put them in their place.” Hoseok begins peeling himself off you, and finally your body is no longer crushed under his. Your hands around him fall to your side idly as you watch him stumble off the bed and head towards the door, though he doesn’t make it two steps before tumbling onto his knees. You hurry after him to catch his upper body before he falls completely onto the ground.

His shoulders in your grip, you try to examine him for any wounds, and though there are some tears in his clothes, the skin underneath has been healed clean. So why? “Hoseok, look at me.” Your voice is urgent, authoritative, it almost has the life it once had to it. His eyes lock onto yours, this time permanently without closing. They’re blank, the amber green murky with an unreadable shroud. “What’s wrong with you? You need to tell me.”

So with obvious effort, he grunts out, “Werewolf blood makes us… It’s like… wine to us. Too much and our mind is” hiccup “inebriated.”

Oh. You let out a sigh of relief.

Hoseok is drunk on werewolf blood.

Though, you’re not sure why you’re relieved that he’s alright. Surely you should be wishing for the opposite.

With tremendous endeavour, you drag him up onto his feet and walk him to the ensuite bathroom, huffing as you sit him down on the edge of the lavish bathtub that every Feed bathroom contains but you have yet to use. Hoseok is uncooperative, trying for detours on the bed, attempting to hop onto the sink. With the knowledge of his intoxicated state now, he appears like a little child, an innocently fascinated smile constantly plastered on his face, too easily impressed by even his own reflection in the mirror. For you, it’s a contrasting sight. Though he has always possessed a child-like temperament in his playfulness and love to goof at silly things, his usual underlying insanity is nowhere to be found right now.

It makes his company more soothing knowing that his mind absolves of any ulterior motive.

You don’t know why you’ve taken it upon you to do so, but you rummage around to find a clean towel. Glancing at the mirror as you twist the faucet to dampen the towel, you try not to notice how you scarcely recognise yourself anymore.

Hoseok groans at the wet coldness you press onto his chin, the dried crusted blood once again watering into a river of rusty brown-red. His fingers fly up to catch yours, trying to pry the scrubbing towel off his face. “Mmmm.” He whines in protest, shut eyes frowning. You ignore his brewing tantrum, towel travelling down to absorb the red stains of his neck, though you clean with more gentleness now.

He isn’t so bad like this, you guess.

Still, the more you try to understand him, the more you lose yourself in the maze that is his psyche. The more you think you can predict him, the more he comes out with an unexpected complexity that adds another layer to his mask. Who is Hoseok? The entertainer, the mood maker, always seeking to please his guests? The little boy who wishes not to be tamed? The spoilt brat whose greed grows with the more he has? Who is he really?

You straighten and regard his state. Head drooping sluggishly, fingers fidgeting at anything in his reach, you realise a cold towel isn’t going to help him. You’re all too familiar from the nights your uncle stumbled back, the reek of alcohol finding you before he enters the room, to know that this state of inebriation needs to be conquered before he falls asleep, lest you wish to face an ill-tempered brute the next day.

“Hoseok.” You tap his jaw lightly, rousing him, and he looks at you with surprising focus that makes you cower a little. “You should shower.”

He blinks sleepily, and you think he doesn’t comprehend at first, but then he takes your hand in his and stands up. As he does, his face zooms dangerously close to yours, pointy tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from brushing your lips. Your heart jumps. There’s a lag in your brain before you know to step back.

“Come with me, then.”

It’s evident that his whole demeanour has shifted. Gone is the childish giddiness he had. In its place: a solemn gravity, seemingly out of nowhere, his lips pressed into a taut line, jaw tense, a pinning glare possessing you unwaveringly. Even his voice has dropped deeper, forgoing its tangy cheer.

It takes more than a second for what he means to sink in. He wants you to join his shower.

“W-What? No!” You yank your hand from his, heat blooming across your cheeks.

At this point, you’re no prude, intimacy has been breached with several if not most of these vampires you share a roof with. Yet your dynamic and circumstance with each of them differs greatly. With Yoongi, it is a release of mutual resentment; Taehyung, it’s a seductive dance to pleasure you both; Namjoon, a reluctant magnetisation that you wish not to dwell on; Seokjin, a confusion of emotions and desperation; Jimin, a soft gentle healing. There has always been a sexual implication hinting at the back of your mind with these five, and with some, you’ve acted upon it. But never with Hoseok.

Because Hoseok has been too much of an enigma. Never once showing that type of attraction towards you, only a fascination that sits on the borderline of lunacy. Always just - ogling at you like you’re a show pony, marveling at the taste of your blood as if it’s a drug. And the confusion he inoculates when he acts as your friend, like he genuinely enjoys your company. Too baffling.

But right now, this very evening, something stirs in your stomach. A new sensation as another layer of him is peeled back to reveal yet another persona. A man desiring affection?

He looks at you for a while, as if he wants to say something. The absence of the smile that usually stalks his lips every moment of the day is throwing you off. You think he’s going to push further but he doesn’t, he simply tilts his head and says, “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Legs still rather wobbly, he makes his way, hand on the gold marble of the sink to balance his wavering weight, towards the shower. Standing there, stupefied at his sudden change, you don’t realise that he does not intend on waiting for you to leave before striping until he tears his blood-drenched shirt off crudely. Buttons fly towards the wall, scattering about in little clinks.

Faint scar-like marks dart across his back like a violent painting.

You’re transfixed. The light lines are not ridged, merely running smoothly on the surface of his skin. Some look like claw marks, some bite marks seemingly from an animal. Those werewolves he mentioned? Some look fresh, while others older.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why does he, a vampire with supernatural healing, have scars?

“So do you want to join or not?” He slurs, face half turned towards you, yet eyes trained low. His profile is striking.

“I- No. Um. I’m going to bed. Bye.” Your eyes immediately fall to the ground. Still incredibly flustered, you spin around and head back to your room, mentally trying to shake off the image of his scar-inflicted back.

At the door, you pause, back still facing him, and ask, “Will you be fine alone?”

You hear the whirl of his belt being pulled out, blood continuing to roar in your ears.

“I’ve been alone all these centuries - I think I’ll be fine.”

That’s not what you meant, but when you hear his zipper, you hurry to shut the door behind you, pondering the sourness of his reply.

.

His shower is quick, the water sounds stop not too long after you climb into bed. Though, Hoseok stays in the bathroom for a period of time before coming out. You debated going in to check in on him incase he has fallen unconscious or something of that sort, whatever werewolf blood does to vampires. But you weren’t sure if he would be dressed, so you stay tucked under the covers in a small huddle, quietly trying to dissect his character in your head.

The door eventually opens, though it doesn’t swing open as Hoseok normally does to announce his entry. He’s still in that odd sombre mood.

Lying on your side, curled up into a small lump, your back is facing him. Eyes shut yet wide awake, you hear a drop of water hit the floor every few seconds. You can’t resist the urge to look up, to see whether he has washed away the blood and intoxication.

But at the sight of his naked body, manhood only covered by the towel hanging loosely around his waist, you nearly roll off. Though his skin is mostly dry, there is still a lustre glossed over his unearthly sculpted body. The room is dark, his silhouette cast by the bathroom lights behind him. Despite the poor vision, you are mesmerised by the ridges of his abdomen, chiseled so perfectly that you wonder how they feel like beneath your touch. A defined V is carved on his pelvis, pointing down to a devilish place you’re glad the darkness doesn’t allow you to see.

You catch sight of his hand that is bunching up the towel loosen, just in time for you to swing back down into your foetal position away from him before you hear the cloth drop carelessly.

Is he purposely trying to tizzy you?

Your eyes close firmly as he paces to the dresser, and they stay that firmly closed while you hear him dress, hear the bathroom lights click off.

You jolt when you feel the pressure on the other side of that mattress, your knees curling up tighter, inconspicuously inching further away. To your relief, as he climbs into bed, he keeps his distance, doesn’t reach for you like you were scared he would.

The silence hums loudly, rhythmed by his shallow breaths. Is he finally sober?

No sound. Not a word. For Hoseok, that’s worrying.

Damn yourself, why do you care? “Are you feeling better?” You almost bite your tongue as you ask, cursing your inability to keep to yourself. At least you don’t turn to face him.

Silence, still. Steady breaths.

You begin to wonder if he fell asleep the second his back sunk onto the mattress. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

But then you hear the lightest sigh. “Feeling less drunk, but head still pounding. Dizzy.”

You’re unaccustomed to the deepness of his voice, wondering where its usual loud annoying cheeriness has strayed off to. You don’t want to say you miss it, you certainly don’t. You just… grew so used to it.

This version of Hoseok is too human. It’s uncanny.

Despite laying there in silence, it doesn’t feel silent at all. The tension is blaringly loud in the air, almost a physical pressure pushing up against you, goading you to do something. Turn around and face him. Let him feed on you to replenish. But no, he’s fed a lot today already. Your collar still feels sore. Find another vampire and ask them to cure him. But at this time of day, where the sun is already almost completely uncovered, they should all be asleep. Then at least talk to him, something, before he resumes back to his normal self that you have to cower from.

“What are those scars on your back?”

Your voice startles him. Though you can’t see well, you notice him jolt. Was that too much to ask? Too personal? And honestly, do you actually want to know the truth to your question or would you sleep much sounder without it?

He doesn’t answer.

Instant regret. You count your breaths, shut your eyes and try not to be hyper-aware of short the distance of an arm’s length actually is between your back and his side.

You shouldn’t have asked that. Of course it would be a sensitive topic. What else could explain the literal scars on his back that have failed to heal even with his supernatural abilities?

There is a line drawn between you and Hoseok. There are boundaries, though some particularly vague and hazy, between you and each vampire, but the line is especially distinct with him. You have to remember, you can’t act the same as you do with Seokjin or Taehyung with someone like Hoseok or Yoongi. He’s not your friend. None of them are your friends, really. Hoseok, one of the least of all.

Who knows what psychological trigger you’ve switched on by asking such question? Curiosity did kill the cat afterall.

“They…” It’s your turn to jounce, his response unexpected. “I don’t know, I guess there’s a limit to what my abilities can heal, and to be honest, I like the look of them anyway. I think there’s a word for it, but my mind isn’t working properly… M-something. Ma- You know, the opposite of sadism.”

You know.

“Masochism…?”

“Yeah, that. Masochism.”

The room goes quiet after he mutters the last syllable of a word you would never anticipate to be his answer. Hoseok is a masochist? He enjoys pain inflicted onto him? If it were even possible for your blood to go colder, you feel a chill spear through your veins.

Fuck, these vampires are dark. And you thought you were morbid…

“Why…?” So Hoseok is at the opposite of the spectrum from Yoongi. You vaguely understand Yoongi, how he lashes out due to self hatred. It’s a cycle of pushing people away due to fear of intimacy from his loneliness, and as a result feeling more alone. He likes to inflict pain because that way, he can convince himself that he’s an unlovable monster, and pretend that he is choosing to be alone. But with Hoseok, you cannot fathom how or why he enjoys pain. How could anyone? “If you don’t mind me asking…”

You’re tempted to turn, eye contact is human nature, but you don’t think you can stomach it. There is an inexplicable weight, an intensity bestowed. You feel as though you’re sinking in quicksand, a slow agonising submergence, swallowed up by the burden you’re seeking to know about but can’t resist.

“It’s so boring, living like this.” He mumbles. You hear him rustle around to get comfortable, or maybe to inch closer to you. “We’ve been alive for more than two thousand years. Life begins to get rather insipid, nothing really... stimulates me anymore. Yeah, fight with demons, get wasted on werewolf blood, sure, pretty fun.” Hiccup. “But after so many years, you start to not really feel anything anymore.”

Truthfully, you think you get it. You get his inertia, the lack of anything exciting him about life.

“Like yeah, I know how you see me. I’m this over-the-top, dramatic class clown caricature, so you probably won’t believe me when I tell you about how bored I actually am. But I am.” hiccup

“So pain is your remedy?”

“I guess, yeah, pain is my remedy. You know that feeling when your skin gets cut, that rush of cold that infiltrates you?” Unfortunately, all too well. “It’s pretty exciting. There’s no feeling like it.” hiccup “It’s just so refreshing, to be able to feel somewhat mortal. Get torn apart a little, because I know I’ll stitch back up together anyway. It’s the only thing that brings me thrill nowadays. Before we found you.”

“What if you don’t?” Vampires are immortal, but not invincible afterall.

“Then I guess I don’t.”

Hoseok says it with a finality, as if death is no big ordeal to him. If it happens, it happens. He’s not self-destructive perse, you know he isn’t actively looking to die. He just wants to feel something. Like you.

Yeah, you think you get it…

Despite the difference in the sufferings you’ve been exposed to, monotony breeds insensitivity to most stimulants of life. Food tastes blander, colours duller, sense of self starts to ebb away. Hoseok had been a cheerful man before becoming a vampire, one requiring extravaganza in his life, flamboyance, because his life was a show, the embodiment of entertainment. How long did that take to crumble? For him to grow out of parties and parades because he realised that they could no longer fill that void?

The fall from a life of exhilaration to one where you were only passing time is tragic. He puts on a show to convince himself that he’s having fun, imposes it on everyone around him.

You’re beginning to dissect the animus of Hoseok, what truly underlies his insanity.

It’s disconcerting, how much he’s opening up when he isn’t sober. He has kept this in for a while, you can guess.

“Hey…” He slurs sleepily, though you hear his purpose, a sort of determination to stay away and say one last thing. And finally, you turn.

In this darkness, you hardly see a thing more than the shadows cast around him. You can’t see his facial expression, and you think it’s perhaps a good thing; you don’t wish for it to confuse you more. What throws you off is the heat emitted from his body. Vampires are cold creatures, warmth absent in their touch. You try not to think about the werewolf blood still coursing through his veins to keep him warm, how it makes it feel as though a human lays beside you rather than the monster in actuality.

“Yes?”

Your reply falls flat. As your vision adjusts to the pitch black, you are hyper aware of the stillness of the night that encases you.

“I…”

He.

It’s silent. So silent you can hear the thrumming of your chest.

“Yes?” You repeat, egging him on. His hesitancy has a depressive tone to it, it is somehow so genuine, rather than for dramatic effect like one would expect from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words shoot into you like bullets of chaos and disarray, their shells ricocheting. Your ear rings as if deafened by an explosion. Maybe this is a dream. You can’t tell these days anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything.” He sounds throaty, still dragging his words as he tries to grapple at sobriety but fails. He also sounds like he means what he’s saying, like he feels terribly guilty.

You don’t understand.

“What do you mean… Why…?” Your eyes drop to the distance between you, fixing on the shadow of a crease you can barely make out.

“I’m just-” Hoseok tosses onto his side to look at you. You stare at that shadow harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“But wh-”

“Every time I look at you, I just want to, I don’t know, shake you. No, not you. Shake myself, or my brothers. I want to shatter some glass, sprint at a wall, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I’m saying. But yeah, every time I look at you, I just feel so fucking bad, man. I’ve- I guess I’ve been pretty good at keeping the guilt at bay all these centuries - we kind of have to, or we wouldn’t have survived two thousand years. But like, when I look at you, I can’t forget how much you’ve suffered. That kind of damage scars you forever. I can fucking see that you’re a shell of a person.”

Your throat constricts. You hate this feeling. Not that people have ever pitied you before, seeing as there was no witness of your uncle’s abuse, there was no one to feel sorry for you. But right now, you get it. That wash of humiliation from the small satisfaction you gain from someone pitying you, someone acknowledging how bad you have it, all the shit you’ve been through. It makes you sick.

Yes, you’re damaged. Good that he knows. Good that it tears apart his conscience. You’re glad that it makes him feel horrible.

Then why? You want to ask him. But you know he’s not finished with his piece.

“I see that you try to hide how fucking empty you are when you’re with me, try to act like you’re enjoying my company and actually find my jokes funny. I guess that’s why I keep trying to make you laugh. I know I’m annoying as fuck. Hell, I would hate me if I were anyone but me. But, I don’t know, I just want to stir some reaction from you, make you feel less hollow. I know it fucking sucks for you here, and I want to make it suck less, you know?”

A shiver fires down your spine. You have never thought about it like that.

Drunk words, sober thoughts. Or so the saying goes.

All this time, you thought that Hoseok views you as some sort of dancing monkey, forcing you to perform tricks for him, smiling, laughing, stroking his ego.

But the truth is, he wants to spark some life back into you. His jokes, his stories, his antics. They have been for you, not him.

Your throat trembles.

“All that shit with your uncle, God, it was brutal, even for me. It was the fact that you couldn’t escape from it. You were living through hell for how many years? All because of us. And now you’re stuck here with us, have to continue to endure. It just doesn’t stop for you, does it? And I know it makes no sense coming from me. Especially from me, I guess. You know, I really wish I could control myself. But that sensation that overtakes our minds, I wish I could describe it to you, it’s fucking insane. Your blood tastes like a drug to me, I don’t know, heroin or something. Except it doesn’t kill me, it kills you.” His voice is drifting, quieter, duller, slower. Like he’s mumbling without knowing he’s speaking out loud. The words just keep tumbling out.

Glancing up, you see that his eyes are shut, chest rising heavily, on the brink of sleep. You want him to fall asleep. You don’t want to keep listening. Because it sickens you knowing that buried under all those masks is an emotionally empathetic person, hardly the maniac you thought him to be. Because it would be so much easier if he was that, so much easier to hate your tormentor and see him as a monster.

But actually, he isn’t. He senses your pain, holds remorse for his actions.

You hate it. You hate it.

Just let me believe that you’re pyschopathic.

“Anyway... what I was saying is that…” His head droops to the other side. Sleep will siege him soon, you’re glad to know. “I know I’m a hypocrite. Namjoon would give me hell if he heard me sympathising with the Feed, but I truly mean no malicious intent towards you... This is just the way things are for us…” His breathing slows, deepens. Words only just more than a slur of syllables. You lay there, clutching your fists, waiting for it to be over, but only for you to lie awake and ponder this revelation for hours. “I wish… I wish it didn’t have to be you... after all that you went through. But I guess you only went through that because of what you are… Hurting you was the only way to protect you...”

You don’t even hear it at first, silently contemplating his words. But then the last bit sinks in.

“Wait, wait, what?” You break your silence. Hoseok has stopped making sense, you shouldn’t expect more from a drunken vampire, but he had been making sense before. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean what?” He mumbles and rolls away, but you grab his sleeve and prevent him from turning and entering a realm of dreams.

“What you said in the end. About how… I don’t know... I went through that shit because of what I am. What do you mean? And hurting me was the only way to protect me.” Your blood has gone icy. You don’t want to be left with nothing but those words and your endless imagination of what they could possibly mean for the next few hours.

“You know, the spell…”

Spell.

“What spell?” But his eyes are completely closed, hardly a stir at your question to indicate he heard you at all. His sleeve bunches up under your fist, you gently rattle his face. “Hoseok, what spell? What are you talking about?”

He tries to shake you off, frowning in annoyance at your disturbance. “You know. That spell, the one to keep you safe.”

“Keep talking about the spell, Hoseok. Please. Safe from what?” You continue to shake him, stomach tying into knots. What spell?

“Safe from us, whatever Creatures of the Night your blood attracts.” Vexed, he grabs your wrist, eyes half opening, and shoves them away. “The spell the angels put, remember?”

“I don’t remember. Tell me about the spell, what was it?” You hear the urgency, the degrading desperation in your voice, but you need to know. You need to. What fucking spell to keep you safe?

“It’s complicated. Some twisted magic? You know that car accident with your parents? That was some Hell’s magic, when the demons started to find you... Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires. They would’ve taken you if the angels hadn’t been watching closely and intervened. Then they, the angels I mean, decided to shield your aura, you know, your angel aura. The thing that lets the supernatural know that you have angel blood? It’s a distinctive scent for us, and I’m guessing other creatures too. It attracts demons and whatnots and helps them hunt you. It’s like a beacon of light. So they had to suppress your aura. And the only way to suppress angel aura is to suppress the angel themselves. Make them suffer, endure tremendous pain, dull their virtues, make them lose the will to live, et cetera. That way you don’t ‘shine’ anymore, and we won’t be able to find you. So I guess they did some sort of spell, or whatever heavenly magic, on your uncle so that his mind was warped and unconsciously fixated on hurting you... It’s fucking dark and twisted, especially for angels... To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. That’s what irks me... Don’t know why but it just makes me feel so fucking bad…”

Something churns violently in your stomach. And you would have thrown up if you had eaten much previously.

None of it makes sense. Or maybe it’s starting to make too much sense.

You can’t believe it. You fucking can’t believe it.

You let Hoseok drift off to sleep, the weight of his body falling limp. You let go of his face.

You just can’t. Fucking. Believe it.

There’s no way this is true. He’s drunk. He has made up some story in his head. There’s no way.

Because there’s simply no way that the past few years of your endless torture has been a gift from the angels, a path paved for you to endure. To shield you. To save you.

In what sick universe…

You scramble off the bed and rush into the bathroom, ignoring the loud pads of your feet against the cold wooden floor. Your fingers tremble as you turn the light switch on and slam the door behind you with your back. For a moment, all you hear is the ocean of your roaring blood.

That’s why that night your parent died had felt so strange, so off, your disagreement with your parents so out of the blue. That’s why there was a storm. That’s why a car drove into you and killed your parents. That’s why your grandmother died so shortly after despite normally having great health. That’s why there was a sudden change in your uncle’s demeanour, as if a switch had been flipped in him. That’s why he had locked you in the basement, broke your legs routinely to stop you from escaping, beat you and your sister without reason.

It was demons and Creatures of the Night and a so-called “protection” ploy from angels.

You want to scream. As your back slides down the door, you want to scream at the top of your lungs. The amalgamation of emotions is tearing you apart, piece by piece.

This is it, the tipping point, the loss of your sanity.

His words play over and over again in your head, a drunken confession that he probably did not realise the meaning of in his state.

To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it.

Like a prayer.

Panting hysterically, you feel your mind shattering into a million shards. You can’t comprehend it. You don’t want to. You don’t want to know that the pain you felt, day after day, for what felt like an eternity had been a plot. A fucking spell. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to. You don’t want. You don’t. You.

You. Can’t. Do. This.

01:01. The crash. The beatings. The death of your sister.

It’s possible that you are crying, shaking, but you’re not aware.

And after crumbling on the bathroom floor, for minutes, maybe hours, you make your decision.

You run.

.

The sun is still out.

That means they can’t come out yet. They can’t come after you. They’re probably still asleep, unbeknownst of your escape.

The house had been eerily quiet as you snuck out. And as soon as you stepped foot outside the front door, you had felt it.

The incredible weight holding you down. Like the manor itself was shackled to your ankles. Walking away felt like trudging through mud, dragging this boggling heaviness with you. Every sire bond that has formed was shrieking in your head, wailing, begging for you to stop leaving.

It was purely your willpower and determination that gave you the strength to overcome the supernatural ties that tethered you to those vampires. You had to ignore how much your limbs were aching, how much your heart was straining. You just had to run away. Keep going and don’t look back. It was melting your brain into a puddle, but your mind had been in ruins anyway.

You didn’t know where you were going, the forest faced every side of the house, but you just kept going, as far from them as possible. If you ran down one direction, you were bound to meet an end at some point, find civilisation.

There is no plan. No plan as you fled the walls of those wretched vampires. You just knew you couldn’t stay, couldn’t continue living like that with the knowledge that was spilled onto you. There’s no way you could have pretend not to know and face those vampires, let them drain your blood when they had been part of the reason behind all your suffering.

Fuck the Heavens and the Hells. Fuck the angels, the demons, the vampires, werewolves, witches, all the damnable fucking supernatural.

Angel blood in your veins. A fucking curse.

Every bone in your body is starting to hurt, lungs growing weaker every gasping breath. You keep running, ignoring the overbearing ache and faint voices in your head chanting sorrysorrysorry.

Sorry, child, we’re sorry.

.

The sun has set. It is dark. And you are still running through the forest, no inkling at all of how far you’ve gone and how far is left until you find your rescuer.

The night is eerie, enveloping you in a fog of oblivion, no perception of anything beyond this forest. Howling can be heard from a distance, or what you hope to be a distance. You’re hanging on by a thread, but only just. You don’t know how much longer you will last, you just know that you’ve passed the point of no return now. They would have been searching for you since the daylight began to dwindle. They are on their way.

There had been so many instances where you had just stopped, panting, and stared at your own two feet, wondering what the fuck you’re doing. Because where are you running to? Who is going to believe you when you tell them about the fucking vampires looking for you? Who is going to care about some crazy girl?

What is the point in running? Living, even?

But an instinct within you, the one sparked by this revelation, didn’t allow your legs to stop. The whole world is against you. The whole fucking world. Creatures of the Night are hunting you, the angels have abandoned you to a cruel spell, your family is rotting six feet under. No one is going to fight for you, except yourself.

You are a survivor.

Energy waning from the lack of food and the sparing gulps of water you had salvaged from a brooke, the only thing fuelling you is your adrenaline. At this time of night, your vision is no more than dark silhouettes of trees and rocks. Your limbs are numb. The only thing telling you that you haven’t stopped moving is the constant crunch of leaves beneath your feet, crisply ringing. Keep going. Just keep running.

Where are you?

You hear a voice, his voice. No, you don’t hear it, you sense it. You feel his worry, his fear.

Where did you go? Please.

They can’t possibly be near. Even with vampire speed, there’s no way that can catch up with you so quickly when you’ve been gone for hours.

Please.

The pleading makes your heart lurch. You stop, heaving over your knees.

Guilt. It’s the guilt. Why do you feel guilty for leaving? No, you don’t feel guilty, the bond is making you feel it. It’s trying to manipulate you.

I can’t lose you…

But that’s definitely his voice, his inner thoughts. Seokjin is afraid, panicked, in a frenzy to look for you. Genuine concern.

Maybe you should go back. What are you even doing anyway? Where are you going? There’s no purpose.

It also dawns on you that they will pick up on your scent right away. Even if they don’t find you tonight, everywhere you go, they will find you eventually. They had found you even though your aura had been muffled by your uncle’s abuse. They somehow found you. They are always going to find you.

Maybe you should give up. Just submit to them for the rest of your eternity. Either way, you would be suffering, the angels will see to that. Just give up.

Your fists tighten on your knees. It’s freezing cold; your clothes shredded by sharp grappling branches, the midnight breeze percolates pass the futile material and assails your skin. Thoughts racing at an uninterpretable speed, your lost purpose becomes blaringly apparent.

It’s not so bad in there.

Please be okay. Please come back. Don’t go.

They kind of care about you, in their own warped sense of what caring is. Right? They almost love you, some of them. Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

I miss you. I’m coming for you. I love you.

Right?

Please be okay.

“SHUT UP!” You sob out loud. In the distance, your outburst scare away a flock of sleeping birds, their wings flapping in synchrony to your heartbeat. “Please just shut up.” As tears erupt like a dam, your slam your hands to your ears to shield you from the sound. But of course, it doesn’t stop. It isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. It’s the sire bond telling your mind his emotions. “Shut up. Stop making this harder for me. Shut up.”

Falling onto your knees, you simply break. Every fibre of your mind is peeling away, your entity flaking into dust. The cold stings your damp cheeks, trickling down to your neck where you remember so vividly the feeling of their fangs.

They almost love you, some of them.

That’s good enough, right?

That’s better than… nothing.

More birds shriek into the silence of the night, so loud that you hear them clearly despite your covered ears.

Are they here? Already?

You keep crying, soil eating your crumpled frame.

And because of your sobs, your firmly shut eyes, your covered ears, you don’t hear the footsteps approach you until you sense a looming presence behind.

Here.

Which one is it?

Slowly, every inch of you trembling, you turn.

A shocked man stares at you in wide eyes. Some sort of camper or hiker judging by his attire.

Not here.

“Oh my god. Please help me. Please help me.” You crawl over to his feet, ignoring the protest of your exhaustion and your pitiful position. “Sir, please help.” Your luck has turned. Finally. You’re going to be okay. Finally. The tears fall harder.

“W-what happened? Are you hurt? Lost?” Gradually processing the dirt covered girl collapsed and crying at his feet, the man bends down and examines you in concern.

“Yes, please, just take me somewhere safe. Please, they’re going to find me.” The wash of relief almost overwhelms you to unconsciousness.

“You need to tell me what happened, little girl. You’re in shock. Who’s going to find you?”

In the dark, you can’t see well, but something in his eyes makes you trusting of him. It’s the genuine worry and care. What a normal man is supposed to look like. You’re saved. You’re finally saved.

“We have no time, just take me… take me to the police.” Your shaking hand grips at his fleece in desperation. You don’t know what you can tell him or the police, you don’t know anything more powerful than vampires than can protect you from them, but you can think about that later. You just need to go now.

“Okay, okay. Let me carry you.”

No. Child, no.

This time, it isn’t Seokjin’s voice. Someone else, like that faint chanting you occasionally hear.

“Thank you.” You shift into a position that better enables the man to reach under your legs. Behind him, you see a pack of black dogs, creeping warily towards you, sniffing. “Are those your dogs?”

“Yes, don’t worry, they are clever boys.”

When his palm touches the underside of your thigh, ice pierces into your skin.

No. Not him. Not safe.

You know that ice. You know that inhuman lack of body heat.

As he hoists you up, you nudge him away and roll back onto the ground. “Wait.” Moonlight illuminating part of his face, you survey his pale skin, his devilishly good looks. His brows pinch in confusion, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

Not human.

You glance over at the dogs again. Sleek black coat, long sharp ears, crimson eyes. Where their legs should meet the ground are misty shadows, like ghosts.

Not dogs.

The man’s lips quirk up. His camper’s attire dissipates like dust to reveal a black suit underneath.

You run.

Twigs snap beneath your feet as you sprint as fast as your calves allow, away from whatever they are. Your chest aches from fatigue, ankles screaming for you to stop. As you run, you ignore the branches reaching out to scratch your cheek, your arms. You hardly even feel the cuts against the twisting feeling of dread in your gut.

Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires.

Looking back, you see the man stood rooted where he is. He isn’t coming after you, but the smirk he wears is enough to tell you not to stop. But not long later, you realise why he isn’t chasing.

Growls, howls of excitement, absolute beastly noises erupt from left and right. The hounds are running at an astounding speed beside you, their pelts pitch black despite the moonlight that they should reflect. Jaws open, they pant at you wildly as they hunt you. Zigzagging between the trees to create a misleading path, you try to create as much distance from them as possible. But they’re quick things. Clever boys.

Soon, they are narrowing in on you, until the pack is an arrowhead surrounding you. The closest hound snaps his jaw at your ankle, barely missing you. The loud crunch from the collision of its canines as he shuts his jaw, you know your foot would have been gone if you had been one second slower. You don’t have time to yelp. You focus on running ahead, slipping between boulders and following your instinct for directions.

Where are you? You hear Seokjin once again.

I’m here! You try to scream down the bond. Save me.

You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are asking for help from the very ones you had been running from in the first place. But you just know that, whatever is hunting you, your fate would be much worse with them.

I’m coming. His utter distraught is gone, replaced by a calm composed determination instilled by the awaited reply from you at last. And you know at this moment that it was a mistake to flee. Seokjin at the very least, regardless of everyone else, would never harm you, would always look after you. Why did you leave? Why had you acted upon your deranged irrationality? We’re looking for you. Don’t worry.

Relief. Because that is a promise. And you trust him.

But now the guilt of fleeing from them kicks in. What the bond had made you feel every step you took, that ripping sensation as if you’re tearing apart something substantial, you can imagine being a mammoth’s weight worse for them with their heightened senses.

Something is chasing me. Please help me. I’m sorry.

His fear returns, this time a formidable wave wiping his away short-lived relief. What is chasing you?

Dogs, big black dogs. There was also this man.

Bloody hellhounds and a Drude demon. Shit.

You have no idea what those creatures are but you can tell by the explosion of terror in Seokjin that it’s some of the worse you could encounter.

Distracted by his disclosure, you misplace your foot on an uneven log and topple down, the bark you crash onto scraping fire against your skin. Pain explodes at the back of your skull where it hits something severe. You don’t see beyond a sea of pulsing black.

Then something rips into your leg. You don’t know if you are screaming.

.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Tiny stars dance around the deep blue sky. They look pretty.

You think you hear something growling, whimpering maybe.

What is that leaking from you so briskly? Blood? Hmm.

Darkness.

.

You hear voices? Yes, voices. Unintelligibly arguing. But if you shut your eyes again and stop shifting on the ground, they could pass off as background music.

Then the volume grows. Fighting. Grunting. More Growling. More whimpering.

But you feel safe. You don’t know why but you feel safe. That’s how you know you’ve lost your mind for good. There are virtual flames burning around you, warmth licking at your broken body. Nothing can get past the flames. Nothing can hurt you. This phantom fire is shielding you.

You heart is burning too, fighting. Someone’s sireship is fuelling you, feeding you, forcing life back into you.

When you open your eyes, when a vaguely familiar face appears, hovering over you, obstructing your view of the towering treetops and wavering constellations. You can’t quite put of your finger on his name, but you know you’re safe.

His eyes are big, full of concern and trouble, his hair long, black, wavy but tucked behind his ears. A black liquid is splattered across him, some on his beautiful face that is taut in vexation.

You don’t protest when he carries you in strong sturdy arms, lifelessly flopping against his chest.

He is warm. Fire. Safe.

And then he is zooming past the trees, so fast the wind tickles at you violently, your limp body jostling. Though half unconscious, your eyes don’t leave him, studying his angular jaw, the round crook of his nose.

J…

A droplet of black liquid rolls off his chin and splats onto your arm. It tingles like weak acid, faintly sour, an unearthly sensation.

Your heavy lids seal you back into the darkness.

.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the softness around and under you. Arms from beneath you draw away, leaving your weight to sink into the bed. Your eyes stay shut.

Warmth is pressed onto your lips, gently, careful as if one hard prod would shatter you. Your throat knows to swallow the stream flowing into your mouth, its taste unfamiliar, but safe.

Warm. And safe.

Almost immediately, you feel its effects catapult into your system. Skin everywhere begins to sew back together, bones like toppled buildings building brick by brick, the chaos in your mind whispered to sleep. That protective fire around you blazing.

Still, you don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to. You can’t face them.

“Troublesome little shit.” He pushes the hair out of your face, touch possessing a surprising delicacy that contradicts his insult and completely entangles your preconceived conception of him. But his voice… So soothing like honey. Not what you expected.

You train your breath to be steadily slow, eyes to be unmoving under your closed lids, hoping to pass off as asleep. The silence creaks, followed by a rustle of bedding. Then you feel the heat of his breath stroke the tiny hairs on your forehead. You suppress a flinch. But he presses his lips onto your skin, so tenderly you almost open your eyes to see if it’s really Jungkook.

“Please don’t leave again.”

And then he’s gone.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh  @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84 @runlikeabuffalo @nanna022 @berryjam17 @thelouhvre @bluemooncnblue @enigmaticlove-03 @lanu-la @bangtanfancamp @brbkpop @jiminisnotavirginrecs @samariakeeper @goodnightbug @dont-touch-me-fwit @tastelessfoolsbts  @queensavage1245 @laced-brds @ultraanonymousey @ashchats @godzillagirl-14 @lustremyg @animeshins @it-is-dana @itsavakent @strawberrym0chii @namchimtae @smoljams@brightenn @btsxdoll @d-noona @show-respect-to-your-queen @fyeebangtan@for-hobi @lx-leeta​ @thesoftuglies

❦

19/01/2020

© Copyright 2020

[nereol]

Cyberpunk 2077 Prompt Event (10/30)

As usual you can read this on AO3.

Daily Prompt: April 10 - sitch - Only one bed

Technical Prompt: 8. Reversed madlibs: four adjectives: perpendicular, radiant, discombobulated, preposterous; three nouns: cat, spaghetti, momento; two verbs: thrust, capitulate; one adverb: petulantly

2K+ words RipperMerc fluff and pining

It's the first time, after Jackie's ofrenda, that they wanted to meet as a group. Well, that already doesn't work out as planned, because Misty canceled. 'At least Vince will be there, too... it's not like I'm alone with her...' Viktor leaves the elevator. He had never been at Val's apartment before. They had met mostly at El Coyote Cojo, sometimes just in the back of his clinic, at different diners....

He knocks on her door, the bag of food in his other hand. He can hear music playing quietly. "¡Espera un momento!" Val's muffled voice from the other side. Viktor can't help but grin. He leans one shoulder against the doorframe and waits. The door opens, Val stands in front of him with a grin. She has no makeup on, looks different to her usual dark purple lipstick. With one hand she pulls down her tank top as if she had just put it on. Her grin is - as always - catching and Viktor smiles down at her. "V, I don't speak Spanish." "Me neither." She chuckles and shrugs. "I understand much more than I speak."

Viktor holds up the bag with the take away. "Spaghetti?" Val's eyes grow wide and with a small joyful squeak, she takes Viktor's other hand in both of her smaller ones and pulls him into her apartment. Viktor laughs. "Hungry, huh?" Val lets go of him and pushes the button to close the door. "Pasta is always good!" She says firmly.

"Misty sends her apologies." Viktor looks around her apartment. "She has a migraine." "Oh, poor thing, I'll write to her right away." Val walks to the couch and picks up her agent from the coffee table. As she leans over, her purple braids, which she has not tied into a bun as she does when she works, fall forward over her shoulders. "Why are ya still standin' around?" She looks up at Viktor. "Get comfy."

Viktor flinches for a second, then walks over to the couch, puts down the food bag, and sits down. Val frowns as she goes through her messages. "Everything okay?" Viktor knows her well enough to see that something is bothering her. She shakes her head slightly. "Vince gets here later, he's still at a gig." She puts the agent back on the table and walks around the couch to the storage room. So they are alone after all. At least for now... "Beer?" Val's voice snaps Viktor out of his thoughts. "Eh, sure." Viktor nods, although she cannot see him.

A meow makes Viktor look towards her bed - something he had actually been trying to avoid. The naked cat jumps off the bed, remains sitting in front of it and looks at him suspiciously, while the tip of its tail twitches petulantly. Val puts the beer on the table. "Just ignore him, he doesn't like strangers." She sits down opposite Viktor and grabs a box with food out of the bag. "So, if Vince is late - more pasta for me." She grins. As she leans forward, Viktor can't help it, his gaze falls on her cleavage. She wears, as always, no bra and her pierced nipples outline through the top.

Viktor has seen Val only in panties already after the Delamain cab dropped her and Takemura off, when Misty helped him take off her suit, he cleaned and bandaged her wounds. But he had been so focused then that he hadn't paid attention to her body - not in that way. She leans back on the couch and opens her takeout box, clearly happy. Viktor reaches for a beer. "You okay?" Val asks with her mouth full. She slurps up a couple of spaghetti that was hanging out of her mouth. "You're so quiet." She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Viktor takes a sip to buy himself some time. Then he puts the bottle down. "Sure," he says without looking at her and takes a takeout box as well. "Long, busy day." "Hmm..." Val humms, as if she was thinking. As she swallows the next bite of pasta, she reaches for her beer. Viktor's gaze is on her mouth as she takes a few sips. Her pout mouth. He glances down at his food so she doesn't catch him staring at her.

"I've been thinking, now that I've finally paid off my debt ..." She threads some spaghetti on her fork. "Next, I need Mantis Blades." A low chuckle from Viktor. "You need?" He looks at her with raised eyebrows. Val nods eagerly as she puts the fork into her mouth. After she has swallowed, she continues. "And a better cyberdeck. Somethin' with lots of ram and slots." Viktor nods as while chewing. "I'll get you one," he says, after swallowing.

"Nova." Val puts another way-too-large bite into her mouth and looks around as if she's thinking. After swallowing, she points at Viktor with her fork. "Bet you know what else I need." "Hmm..." Viktor hums his mouth full, eyes her. "Matching the new cyberdeck some RAM update, Memory Boost..." Val nods her head while chewing. "Detoxifier... or maybe at least a basic Cataresist until you can afford better."

Val swallows. "I also want some tendons or ankles." She lifts her bare feet and wiggles her toes. Viktor laughs and shakes his head. "V, I'm eatin'." But he doesn't really sound bothered - it's hard for him to be annoyed by Val. She pouts and lowers her legs again. "They are clean - I just showered." She looks at him with big puppy eyes. Viktor sighs, pushing aside the pictures of Val in the shower. "Anyway - that'd be pretty expensive."

Val finished before him, puts the empty box on the table. "Don't tell me you're going to eat more." Viktor asks with amusement, eyebrows raised, fork halfway to his mouth, as Val looks down at the bag which still contains Vince's serving. "Hmm..." She takes her beer and leans back. "Maybe later." She grins at Viktor and takes a sip. Then she reaches for her agent again. Viktor watches her while he eats the last bites of spaghetti. "I texted Vince that if he isn't here soon, I'll eat his pasta." She grins widely as she leans forward to place the agent back on the coffee table.

"You've got..." Viktor points at her mouth. "Sauce?" Val asks, and he nods. "Wanna lick it off?" She winks at him with a smirk and Viktor chokes on his food, but Val is already reaching over to grab a napkin. As she looks up again and sees his expression, she laughs out loud. "Oh, come on, Vik. You're way to easy to tease." "You can't do this to an old man, V." He takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head, avoiding her gaze. "Your not that old, Vik." Val giggles and Viktor puts down his empty takeout box.

"Did ya bring the movie?" That was one reason for the meeting. Val and Vince wanted to see Viktor boxing. Viktor takes a shard out of his pocket. "Don't wanna wait for Vince?" Val looks at her agent - no new messages. "When he comes, we can watch it again." She takes the last sip of beer and stands up. "Turn it on." She gestures to the TV behind Viktor and then goes into the storage room to get two new bottles of beer.

Viktor slots in the shard and stands up to go around the coffee table and sit on the other side so he can see the TV. Val sits down next to him. He had not hesitated when Vince had asked if there were records from Viktor's active days. But watching them now, alone with Val, in her apartment, made him feel a little uncomfortable. Viktor says nothing, sipping his beer from time to time and watching Val out of the corner of his eye, who is watching the TV.

"I have to admit, you were pretty hot, Vik." She looks over at him with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, well..." He shrugs. "It's been a while." He takes a sip. Val giggles, and Viktor looks over at her. "What's so funny?" She looks back at the TV. "You underestimate yourself, Vik." He does not know what to say in response. Does she mean... No, she can't mean that. "Oh, that's a cool move!" She suddenly says enthusiastically and points to the TV. Viktor, torn from his thoughts, looks at the screen. "What?"

Val rewinds. "This." Viktor chuckles low, her enthusiasm is adorable. "Show me!" She looks over at Viktor, who looks at her in disbelief. "What?" Val pauses the movie. "Show me!" Val says again and jumps up. She takes his hand, which is not holding a beer bottle and pulls on it. Well, if he didn't want to, she wouldn't have a chance to move him even an inch. "Come on." She looks at him with big green puppy eyes again. Viktor sighs and stands up. "Yes!" Val rejoices like a child at her triumph.

Viktor explains, showing her the positions. Val looks concentrated and tries to follow his instructions exactly. They stand opposite each other in the middle of her apartment. Nibbles lies on the desk chair and watches with annoyance. "Okay, hands up like this." Val mirrows his position. "...okay and now your feet perpendicular to your shins and..." Viktor points to Val's feet. "Wait, what?" She looks down with a puzzled expression on her face. "You can't explain that even more complicated, can you?" Viktor chuckles. He has to admit that she looks cute, totally confused.

"Hey, you're makin' fun of me." Val looks up at him and Viktor shakes his head, chuckling. "Yes, you are!" She walks up to him and punches him playfully in the chest. Val's agent on the coffee table beeps and she turns away from Viktor to check the message. Viktor sighs with relief and sits down on the couch again. "It's Vince..." Val sits down next to him, closer than before. Probably unintentionally, because she didn't even look where he was sitting, her eyes still on the message. "He's still on his gig." She sighs and puts the agent aside. "He'll not come anymore - it's getting too late."

Viktor frowns a little. He had hoped that Vince would come over. Now it was clear that he would spend the rest of the evening alone with Val. This almost feels like a date now - even though he knew she'd never call it that, even if it was a date. They finish watching the shard, Val asks a few questions now and then, but most of the time it's quiet. She sits so close to him, he can feel her radiant body heat.

When the recording is over, both have emptied their second beer. Val reaches for the empty bottles on the table. "Another one?" "Sure." Viktor nods and stands up to put his shard back in his pocket before sitting down again. She thrust a drink into his hand and sits down beside him. "So, what to watch now?" "Whatever you want." Viktor says and opens his beer.

"We could watch my old movies." She winks at him with a naughty grin. Viktor almost chokes on his beer. "Your..." he coughs and Val laughs. "Your BDs?" He looks at her in disbelief. Val shakes her head, giggling. "Why not?" Viktor notices how he blushes slightly and Val notices it too. "Oh, Vik - it's not porn." He avoids her eyes. "Still... I... no..." he stuttered. Val pats his shoulder with a giggle. "Okay, okay. Calm down." She turns on the TV and browses through the channels.

They stick with some action movie. Val has been leaning against his shoulder since a few minutes now, her legs pulled up on the couch. Viktor doesn't pay much attention to the movie. He is busy convincing himself that it doesn't matter that she is cuddling up to him. Val is a very flirty and handsy person. She used to cuddle with Jackie as well. She hasn't said anything for some time and her breathing is calm and steady. "Don't fall asleep on me, kid." He can't help but grin. "Vik..." She actually sounds a little sleepy. "If ya don't stop callin' me kid, I'll start callin' you daddy."

Viktor only swallows. His mind's going places and his thoughts straight to his dick. He can feel himself blushing. When he says nothing, Val looks up at him. He clenches his jaw and avoids her gaze, looking at the screen. "Oh, you're blushing." She giggles. "Guess you'd like that, huh?" He still looks straight ahead stubbornly. "Leave it alone, V." She giggles and kisses him on the cheek. "You're adorable, Vik." She leans against him again.

His cheek feels as if it has caught fire where her lips have just touched it. "Just teasing a lil'. You know that." She shifts a little to make herself more comfortable. Viktor puts his arm around her. "Yeah, I know..." He knows it very well. She enjoys teasing him, testing his reactions. But that's it. As if a pretty young woman like her would want anything from him. Anything more than just a friend or a shoulder to lean on. She could have anyone - and she has anyone she wants, Viktor knows that very well.

When the movie ends, Val yawns heavily as she sits up. "I should leave and let you get some sleep." Viktor says and stands up. "Hmm..." Val looks up at him with tired eyes. "It's late, you don't have to drive all the way home." Val looks at the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. "And you drank." "Oh, I didn't drink that much." Viktor also looks at the bottles to avoid her gaze. "Vik, come on." She stands up and looks at him with raised eyebrows.

"Okay, okay." Viktor looks around. "I'll take the couch." Val sighs as she turns off the TV. "That's preposterous. First - you are way too big for the couch. Second - we are adults, we can share a bed." Viktor sighs and nods, still without looking at her. He capitulates - he knows arguing with Val is useless. Adults... Yes, he always says that he's an old man. But sharing a bed with this woman. He feels more like a fucking teenager. Viktor swallows hard while taking off his shoes.

---

Okay, the "only one bed" situation isn't an actual part of this, cause it's already 2k+ words. I tried to fit in all the words for the tech prompt and then I came up with more and more details. So I hope this is still fine for the prompt.

Val grew up in Heywood with lots of 'Tinos and speaks broken Spanish. I'd guess she uses several phrases and wordings in Spain, kinda like I and my family uses particular in Danish. Val was with the Mox and a dancer at Lizzie's before she left NC for Atlanta. Many people asume her old BDs are XBDs but they are in fact lap dances, striptease and other stuff - sexy but not sex.

I like the scene, I like some of the dialogues and I like how giddy Val is in the first part. I'm not totally happy with the writing, but it's to long to rewrite it. So for now, for the event this has to be good enough. I'll rewrite it and continue (have a draft already) at some point after the event.

[fletchphoenix]

Hold You Through The Night

:)) literally all of these were started during my break and edited now - I really kinda like this one. Its decent i guess so i hope you enjoy :)

Also, its good to be back to writing.

-----------------

After such a long day, Hugo was..unbelievably excited to finally settle down. They’d been travelling and sleeping rough for what felt like days, his legs beginning to take the toll and aching constantly as though he’d aged twenty years in a week. Is this what Donella felt like? Was that why she was always in a mood? It made a lot of sense - after years of chasing after Hugo as a child, it had finally come to bite him in the ass in the form of the unbelievably energetic Yong. The kid seriously had no off switch and it drove him insane.

At last they approached the inn, a wooden sign above it swinging slowly in the wind and bringing back painful memories. Briefly, he glanced at his prosthetic arm, flexing the fingers and allowing himself to, once again, think about his mother and how much she’d helped him get back on his feet. Looking back on it, even though she had her tough love kind of methods, she could still be compassionate (like when she paid to get him his goggles - it being a big big deal if Donella went out of her way to pay for something) even if she didn’t show it through the most conventional methods.

“Hugo? You coming?” Varian’s voice brought him back to reality, a stupidly pretty smile on his face that had Hugo nodding frantically and walking inside before his suave persona slipped. Truth be told, he had a huge crush on the smaller man. He really didn’t know how it came about to be honest, the feelings less like a slow build and more like someone had thrown a brick straight at Hugo’s face and proceeded to beat him with it. It just came as fast as feelings could, and it scared him more than anything else in the world. 

The room they were in was quite small, small enough that he could probably make his way across the room in five steps if it weren’t for the counter pressed against the wall. To either side of him there was a door, one of them leading to a dining area and, presumably, a bar and the other directly to a staircase where the rooms were. The ambience was kind of nice, the interior decorated as though it were a log cabin in a desolate area, which fit nicely with the frozen exterior of the town. Behind the counter was a woman with short, blue hair and a soft smile playing on her lips as she talked with Nuru, though Hugo looked away in favour of looking at a certain black haired, blue streak, staff wielding alchemist.

Hugo stood awkwardly, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms as he waited for Nuru to stop negotiating about rooms with the woman, all the while his eyes staying fixed on Varian as he fixed his hands on Yong’s shoulders. He really didn’t get what he saw in the other - I mean, only a few weeks ago he’d reveled in being the most annoying man in the other’s life, but now he wanted to be the best man in his life and give him the world. It was draining as well, his brain in overdrive whenever he so much as looked in Varian’s direction. It was driving him insane in the best way possible.

“Okay good news is they have rooms. Bad news is there’s only three so Varian, Hugo, you’ve gotta share.” Nuru declared, extending her hand to Hugo who stared at it for a second before taking the key from the princess. He didn’t even bother with complaining like Varian did, already walking through the doorway on the left and making his way up the stairs, the wood moaning under his weight which...was not comforting at all. Quietly, he headed down the hallway, opting to ignore the various paintings on the wall and unlock the door, having to shove it open before walking into the room.

Oh no.

The room was rather nice, a desk against the wall which Hugo promptly placed his bag on, and a window on the right wall. It still fit with the general ‘log-cabin-in-the-winter’ vibe that the inn had going on, though there was one really really REALLY big problem that would certainly make his predicament with Varian way more difficult. 

There was only one bed.

“Hey Hugo, I tried to meet a compromise with Nuru about having different rooms, but no can do.” Varian commented as he opened the door, his eyes meeting the blond who was frozen in place in the middle of the room. “What are you looking at-oh.” His voice died out as he noticed the problem. “Well uh, if you want, I can sleep on the floor.”

“No need. We can make a pillow wall.” Hugo replied quickly, moving to his side of the room and changing into his pyjamas, Varian following suit. So this was really happening, huh? He had to share a bed with Varian and it was going to be the most awkward thing in the world. Hugo strolled across the room to lay down on the bed, leaving room for Varian to slip in before setting up the pillow wall. “Okay, here we go. That’s your side, this is my side. Stay there.”

“You have more room than me.” Varian whined as he shuffled upwards and glanced over the top to look down on Hugo. He had that little pout that made Hugo want to give him what he wanted, but this time the blond relented and narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m bigger than you and need more room. It’s not my fault you’re the size of a toddler. Quit complaining and go to bed, child.” He replied snarkily, turning his back to the raven haired boy and suppressing the chuckle that threatened to sound out as Varian grumbled like a two-year-old. He wasn’t sure when, but he fell asleep.

A harsh kick to the leg woke him up, grumbling and turning over to see Ruddiger chittering nervously. “The fuck do you want-” he began to say to the raccoon, before turning his head and taking in the sight before him. The raccoon’s owner looked to be in the middle of a nightmare, tossing, turning and thrashing before sitting up and waking up with a loud gasp, gasping for breath with tears rolling down his cheeks. “V, are you alright?” Hugo asked nervously, Varian jolting before his teary eyes looked at him.

“Hey uh-go back to sleep. I’m sorry.” He whispered in hushed apologies, before Hugo took the other man’s hand and pulled him into an (admittedly awkward and stiff) embrace, his fingers threading through raven locks as carefully as he could, his prosthetic sitting aside on the desk while the stump lay limply beside him. Varian welcomed this new embrace, his head resting on Hugo’s chest as he mumbled.

Hugo thought for a moment, racking his brain to try and think of something to calm Varian down. Slowly, Hugo began to sing a little tune, his lips ghosting against the other man’s forehead as he kept his voice gentle, all the while his fingers continued to dance through his hair. After a while, he heard a hushed snoring against his chest before he decided to stop singing and began to slowly fall asleep, Varian’s fat bastard of a raccoon coming to sit on the pillow beside his head as his eyes closed.

----------------------------

Sun rays blazed in through the window, the fabric of the curtains doing nothing to block it out. A slither made its way directly onto Hugo’s face, the glare making it almost impossible for him to ignore as he grumbled and groaned. His eyes opened slowly as he attempted to raise himself, though a heavy weight on his chest stopped him. Glancing down, the head of his favourite alchemist kept him in place and the sound of Varian’s snores echoed through their tiny room. 

Almost uncharacteristically, he pressed his lips against the top of the other’s head and shuffled his way out of bed to attach his prosthetic and change into his day clothes, and walked out of the room to head to the inn’s dining room for breakfast. 

Neither boy bothered to mention the cuddling session from last night, graciously sparing each other from teasing off Nuru and Yong, though Varian would be lying if he said he didn’t want it to happen again. And so, even if he did lie when paying for rooms,  Hugo never seemed to mind. Varian would even dare to say that Hugo liked it as much as he did. He could tell he was growing on the blond.

On the other hand, Hugo never mentioned the gentle kiss he pressed to the forehead of the other man or the way his touches began to linger, craving more contact with the alchemist before the inevitable betrayal. A gentle sigh left his lips at the thought. He wasn’t even sure he could betray them anymore. Over their time together, Hugo was starting to get more and more attached to the gang, and even though he loved Donella, he really wasn’t sure if he could risk hurting the other teens. 

Only time would tell, he guessed.

[charmspoint]

Hello hello, what are your thoughts on the newest JJK chapter?

I’m standing outside of Gege’s home, its 4 am, I’m holding a knife. He wakes up and sees me through a fogged up window. I mouth: ‘bls continue the Maki vs Ogi fight next chapter I’m begging’

hjbjhbjj I WAS VERY EXCITED FOR A MAKI CHAPTER

ngl i feel a bit let down how quickly Ogi got her but i’m hoping this isn’t the end of that fight. I’m also kinda bad at reading action in manga so i’m not really sure what happened I JUST WANT HER TO GET UP. Also cant believe she was in the same room as Naoya n didnt crack him like a glowstick, WHEN WILL WE GET OUR RIGHTS

But also there was so much i loved about it aaaa

1. It’s a Maki chapter

2. I love the whole bit with Megumi n Maki talking about Megumi becoming a zenin clan head. I like how Maki is v much taking charge of the situation, like Megumi doesn’t want it but he’s doing it because he trusts her to maneuver them in the best situation zenin wise. It honestly gave me a lot of hope for Maki becoming clan leader like, Megumi is SUPER against the idea of him being the leader and is only doing it because they need an in and Maki doesn’t think they are in the right spot for her to take the lead (which, she’s right, others are already kicking up a fuss about it being Megumi, Maki would stand no chance cuz nobody respects her as a sorcerer, n also she doesn’t have Gojo protection like Megumi does, makes her an easier target). Like to me it really felt like she was basically telling Megumi to keep her seat warm until she can take it. Though at this point....i feel like zenin clan as a whole should just be thrown out lmaooo Maki get their asses.

3. 

The sibling stuff in this chapter AH

So on Todokugou twitter wrote this thread and my god I’m emotional. Like i got emotional as soon as we got

But reading that thread really got me

The relationship between Maki and Mai was what first really gripped me in JJK. I love good sibling dynamics and they are actually remarkably rare in anime. Like think about it, most anime siblings either have a weirdly sexualized relationship, are weirdly distant like acquaintances and not siblings, the older sibling acts as a parent to younger or they just hate each others guts beyond measure. Like, siblinghood is such a close and special bond, one of the closest ones we’ll ever have in our life. Growing up together does that to people and siblings can be their rawest and weirdest around each other and they can care about each other immensely and they can still be 100% ready to throw down on moments notice just cuz one did something mildly annoying. Honestly, for one of the closest relationships a human can have, we do a remarkably poor job of showcasing it. Jjk comes very close to what I want out of siblings. This is why i love Choso so much, this is why i love Maki and Mai so much. This feeling of closeness and care for each other and ‘you might be a huge bitch but you are MY huge bitch’. The fact that Maki doesn’t want to take over and remake the zenin clan just for herself but for her sister too, the fact that Mai v much seems to be one of her core reasons for doing so I’m just ;-; i’m emotional about well written siblings okay. N Maki n Mai have such a complex relationship god that twitter thread REALLY made me hope we’ll see them have a proper conversation eventually and that they’ll team up and slowly figure out how to live with each other and that it will be a long road to be okay with each other again because they had hurt each other, but its a road they can travel together.

And then they can break all of zenin men like glowsticks together

Anyway idk will the next chapter be the continuation of the fight cuz like that CANT be all, no way, but i’m looking forward to it!

Also we got to see Maki’s arms scars i liked that uwu shes so badass

[artificialqueens]

Not A Ghost, You're In My Head (Your Move 3/3) (Branjie) - Ortega

a/n: this has had about fifty billion potential titles, but rest assured that finally this is Your Move 3, only a year and a bit late. i really hope u all enjoy the end of the saga, and sorry and thank u to those who have been so patient! i’ll shut up now bc quite frankly uv all waited long enough for this. (title’s from Forever by Charli XCX pls listen to it it’s such a Branjie song)

fic summary: “Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.”

***

The smell of coffee and the warmth of the cafe inside hits Brooke like a ton of bricks as she walks in, blinks a little, and scans the room to find a seat. Eventually her eyes settle on a small booth through the back, away from the clatter and hiss of the coffee machines and probably the closest thing to quiet that they’ll get in a public setting like this. Sliding into it, Brooke shrugs her jacket off, lifts up a menu, puts it down again, drums her nails against the tabletop and takes her phone out. She checks the time, then checks her reflection in her phone’s camera. Briefly she finds it crossing her mind that she’s probably put more effort into her outfit, hair and makeup today than she had for their first date. What had she worn for their first date again? She can’t remember. She supposes it doesn’t matter now.

Putting her phone down, Brooke digs her toes into the soles of her shoes and takes one deep breath that she intends to be calming. Instead it leaves her feeling as if she is trapped under a sheet of ice with a millimetre of air to work with before she sinks underwater. Part of her feels as if she is already sinking. The other part of her feels as if she sank a month-and-a-bit ago and here she is, sitting waiting in a cafe, a living shipwreck. Sometimes her ribs feel like huge, cracked planks of wood, an empty vessel where something once lived. Sometimes it feels as if her heart is a sail, a huge mast broken in two with two long, ragged dagger marks scarring the sheet and rendering it useless. Other times she feels like a huge, heavy propellor is cutting into her stomach and churning it up, though that’s mainly when she makes the mistake of scanning social media (and isn’t madness doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?)

Today, Brooke just feels hollow.

Suddenly her phone buzzes harshly against the table and Brooke’s heart involuntarily leaps as she picks it up, an aftershock of the past seven months that will eventually dissipate with time. At least, she hopes so.

V: i can’t do this today

V: i’m sorry

Brooke feels as if an elastic band inside her has suddenly snapped. She doesn’t know if she feels relieved or if she wants to cry. Feeling a blush prickle against her cheeks and a lump form in her throat, her body seems to make the decision for her.

B: It’s okay don’t worry. Another time x

What does she expect? Brooke isn’t supposed to be the heartbroken one, Brooke isn’t meant to be the one that is sitting crying at a coffee shop table as if she’s the one that’s been broken up with. She wipes below her eyes and dabs lightly at her lashes with her fingers before pulling her jacket back on and walking quickly back through the door of the cafe she’d stepped through not even five minutes ago.

They’ll try again when she’s ready.

***

Brooke sinks on top of her bed, letting out a huge, deep breath of air until her stomach feels as if it is concave. It had been Vanessa that was the cautious one, it had always been Brooke making the big decisions about their relationship- a fact that, she cruelly reminds herself, remained true til its very end. She blinks very slowly. Her eyelids are so fucking heavy and tired. She took the morning off work to accommodate her plans and now she has nothing to do. Sitting and staring at the ceiling until her eyes burn is a nice impromptu plan.  

Her phone suddenly hums in the silence of the room. As if she’s been shocked by jump leads, Brooke spins over on her bed and grabs her phone from her bedside table, her heart hammering at an unhealthy rate. She feels the disappointment sink through her whole body when she sees the name on the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boo. Calling to see how you were, but your tone kind of says it all for me.”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. Vanessa never showed.”

“I know. She phoned me.”

The cardiac arrest is back, alive and unwell in Brooke’s ribcage. “What did she say?”

“That she felt like an ass. I asked her what donkeys had to do with anything.”

Brooke shakes her head and laughs in spite of herself. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“I know. How are you doing?”

Brooke frowns deeply. “What, that’s all you said? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

A sigh comes from the end of the line. “Brooke, maybe you have to let her go.”

“No, come on, Yves, that’s not fair. Don’t talk to me like I’m obsessed and still clinging on because that’s not…it’s more complicated than that.”

“I mean. It was you that ended things.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Brooke sighs, her heart feeling sick and empty.

“Look, just give her some time. You can’t just expect everything to go back to the way things were. Because…” her friend pauses on the end of the line, as if she’s about to deliver something Brooke won’t want to hear. “…well. Things might not.”

“I thought you were phoning to cheer me up,” Brooke says, deadpan. Yvie has the audacity to laugh.

“No, sorry, sorry. I just…you know. Best friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear sometimes. That’s part of the contract I signed back in high school,” Yvie’s affectionate warm laugh comes down the phone and Brooke finds herself smiling. It’s impossible to stay mad at Yvie; she may look fierce on the outside but Brooke knows she’s secretly a Care Bear brought to life via magic spell. Brooke is sincerely happy they’ve been friends for so long. They’ve helped each other and been there for each other through a lot, of course, through situations that are arguably worse than this, but Brooke is glad she has Yvie during this absolutely shit time. Vanessa had loved Yvie too when she’d met all of Brooke’s friends. Sure, she’d got along with Plastique and Nina and had eventually warmed to Bianca (although that had been a struggle after some of Bianca’s snide comments), but Yvie had welcomed her into Brooke’s life with open arms and had treated her as if they had been friends all their lives too. Brooke knows Yvie still speaks to Vanessa just to check in on her. She doesn’t mind.

“Do you wanna go for drinks tonight? Or food, if you feel like drinks will descend into stuff you’ll regret,” Yvie continues down the phone. Brooke exhales slowly.

“…Honestly Yves, it’s fine.”

“I’ll come to the apartment then. I just don’t want you wallowing. Wallowing’s for hippos. You’re not a hippo. You’re a…graceful crane.”

“You’re drunk already.”

“Maybe I am, and what the fuck of it? Right, I’m coming over tonight with lasagne in a tinfoil tray. Preheat your oven now. I’ll be round at 7. Love you, bye.”

“Bye. Love you too,” Brooke raises her eyebrows as she hangs up the phone. She remembers when she used to sign off like that all the time.

***

Brooke remembers those days of being in love with Vanessa, when the sex was passionate and gentle and full of fire and tenderness all at once. She remembers how it felt to look at her for as long as she wanted, taking in each glossy thread of hair, each small speckle of colour in her eyes, each individual and perfectly curled eyelash. Vanessa would always laugh at Brooke when she did that, telling her she was a creep, to stop staring at her. Now Brooke wishes she’d looked just a second longer, because she’s clearly not committed it all to memory.

She decides to go into the office. What else can she do? Yvie is annoying, but she’s right, Brooke can’t just sit and wallow. Or she could, but there’s case files that need updating and Brooke can either be sad at home lying in bed or sad at work doing something productive. Sad is the wrong emotion, she supposes. Empty is maybe more accurate. She is past the point of sad. Sad had happened when they’d had that argument and Brooke had played her trump card, best card in the pack at the time. Now she knows it had been a tarot card in disguise, the fool, and Brooke hadn’t at all known what her future would hold. She still doesn’t.

She walks into her office, past people that used to fear her, respect her. Perhaps they still do, but Brooke can still see the glint of sympathy in their eyes, hear the note of pity their voices hold. Brooke says good morning to Nicky, her new secretary. She hasn’t fired her yet, probably won’t ever fire a secretary again no matter how horrendous they are. Vanessa never came back after that day and Brooke doesn’t blame her, but she hopes she’s found another job. Nicky, she supposes, isn’t horrendous. She’s efficient and calm and obedient. Brooke knows she’s attractive too, and for a moment she allows herself to wonder if there is a parallel universe where she’s sought out a relationship with Nicky instead. Maybe a bit of random fucking with a pretty girl could take her mind off everything. Brooke laughs to herself in her office. She’s clearly losing it.

Detox comes in around half an hour later. Brooke’s done no work, simply staring at an excel spreadsheet and feeling her eyes glaze over but being unable to work up the motivation needed to blink. Detox puts a cup of coffee down on her desk and Brooke lets out a laugh.

“Jesus Christ, D. I’m not dying.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Seen happier faces at a fucking wake,” Detox jibes softly, pushes the cup closer to Brooke. “How are you today?”

Brooke leans back in her chair, swears she catches the scent of Vanessa’s perfume. It is gone almost as quickly as it had appeared and all Brooke is left with is approximately 45,000 memories, none of which she wants. “I’m shit. But I think that might be my new normal, I’ve felt like shit for so long. So I guess shit is the new fine. Therefore I’m fine.”  

Detox exhales through her nose, the hint of a humoured smile playing on her lips. “The old you would be beating you up and taking your lunch money if she heard you talking like that.”

“Believe me, I’ve already beaten myself up enough.”

Detox gives a heavy sigh of frustration, shifts from one foot to the other. “You need to sort your shit out, Brooke.”

“What are you, my Mom?” Brooke snaps back, now as frustrated as her friend. She wants to be left alone to stew in her own lack of emotions. Detox doesn’t relent.

“Look, I’m gonna give you two choices. Number one, you accept that everything’s over with Vanessa, that you fucked it, that you’ve made your bed and now you need to lie in it. But from what I can see of how you’re acting just now, you don’t want to do that.”

“No, I’m not fucking doing that,” Brooke sighs, tearing her hands down her face and wishing Detox would leave.

“Second option is, you start a constant campaign of non-stop attempts to win V back. Flowers, texts, cards, we’re talking borderline Joe from You.”

“Of course you watch that trash.”

“But you get the point?” Detox persists, annoying incarnate. “Brooke, you can’t…you can’t go on living like this. It’s been over a month, it feels like I’ve lost this bitch that used to be my friend.”

Brooke supposes she has lost her sense of self. She goes through her days without showing a single emotion, instead preferring to let them all out in the courtroom, raining down upon witnesses relentlessly as if every case has been a personal experience. She’s won her past six in a row and she puts it down to the fact that she now focuses every single fibre of being that she possesses into her career and job and work and anything that doesn’t have to involve emotions whatsoever.

“Look, I’ll..I’ll think about it, alright?” Brooke waves her away, rubs her forehead long-sufferingly. The whole thing is annoying her, becoming less of a heartbreak and more of a headache.

Detox smiles and punches the air. “That’s my girl. Have a think. Right, I’ll leave you alone. See you later.”

Have a think. Brooke wants to laugh. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking since the day Vanessa left.

***

Brooke misses her.

She misses the way Vanessa just got her humour like no-one else did. When she’d have a client waiting for her and Vanessa would send her her first impression or opinion of them in advance, and then Brooke would have to hold in her laughter for the duration of her meeting because holy fuck yes, the woman’s hat did make her look like a bat and combined with her cloak it did make her look like the villain in a superhero movie.

She misses the way that Vanessa had sort-of-not-quite-not-officially moved in with her. Some of her clothes are still strewn around the apartment: a pair of black heels left by the door that she’d worn out to dinner with her, an emerald green lace underwear set that had fallen underneath the bed and Brooke had stuck in her washer-dryer, the cosy pyjamas that lived under one of Brooke’s pillows folded not-quite-neatly and covered in creases, and a white silk shirt that Vanessa had worn to work and Brooke had peeled off her when they’d arrived home, pressing kisses to her bare collarbones, chest and stomach. Vanessa used to crash her way through the apartment and often Brooke wondered if it was her mission to make as much noise as possible as she loaded the dishwasher, hoovered the living room, sang off-key in the shower. Brooke’s apartment has been so deathly quiet since she left, a funeral sort of quiet. Mournful and still and ghostly and cold.

Sometimes Brooke is sure she sees in black and white.

She remembers the day when they told each other they loved each other for the first time. There had been no ceremony, no grand gestures. In fact the pair of them were watching a film on Brooke’s couch- The Little Mermaid 2, Vanessa eager to force her love of Disney sequels onto her girlfriend. Brooke had looked away from the TV just for a moment, just to see Vanessa’s reaction to whatever was happening on screen, and when she lay her eyes on her she felt that familiar feeling of falling hit her like a wave all over again. It had happened quite a few times that fortnight or so, and the urge to tell her grew with every moment they shared together. Brooke watched her smile like a dork at the TV, the light in her eyes shining and the good in her heart visible just by looking at her. Brooke had laced their hands together, Vanessa taken by surprise and meeting her gaze with a funny sort of smile on her face. Her nose had crinkled up as she’d laughed at her.

“What?”

Brooke had pulled her close and kissed her without saying a word, trying to tell Vanessa without actually telling her anything. She was scared to say it first. She was scared to say it at all.

When Vanessa broke away, she gave Brooke a look that seemed to reach into her soul. Then she looked down at the blanket they’d thrown over them and gave a shy laugh.

“I wanna say something but I’m scared.”

Brooke still remembers the way her heart had beaten right out of her chest. If she tries she can still feel it.

“Say it. Say it, because I want to say it too.”

Vanessa had made eye contact again, her face nervous and hesitant, and Brooke wanted to kiss her fears away but that would have stopped her from saying what she wanted so desperately to hear.

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Almost as quickly as they’d said it they were pulling each other in, their lips meeting desperately as they melted into each other. And Brooke hadn’t taken her to bed and they hadn’t had passionate, lovestruck sex on the couch. They had sat and kissed on the sofa with the film playing in the background like teenagers, the feeling of being in love communicated without even having to say anything else.    

Brooke had finally understood why people in musicals randomly burst into song.

She wishes she had known the last time she’d said it to her would be the final time. She wishes she could say it to Vanessa again. It’s still true. She’s still in love with her. She had fallen so hard.

The trouble with falling is that she had to hit the concrete eventually.

***

Another day goes by and a new one begins. Nicky comes in at half past nine with Brooke’s coffee. Vanessa always used to have it sitting out for her when Brooke arrived, a little heart drawn in the foam with caramel syrup making the coffee too sweet, just like her. Brooke can forgive Nicky, though. She suffered through another sleepless night and she needs the coffee more than she needs a lot of things. Doing her makeup this morning had been like painting a corpse, and Brooke tries not to feel embarrassed as she takes in Nicky’s perfectly painted face in contrast to her own. She thanks her, takes the cup and assumes Nicky will leave.

“Ms. Hytes,” Nicky says, surprising her. She stands in front of her desk, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hurting.”

Brooke almost drops her coffee cup in surprise. In days of old she would’ve fired a secretary on the spot for having the audacity to address her in such a way, make such an assumption, but Brooke is tired. She can’t be bothered to deny it, it would take more energy than to simply admit it. She deals in facts, and it is a fact after all. “Yes, Nicky, I am.”

Nicky pouts a little sympathetically. There is a pause in which Brooke assumes she’ll leave. She doesn’t. Instead she speaks again. “Who was the girl that broke your heart?”

Brooke can only blink back at her, her eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. She could tell Nicky to go back to her desk, she supposes, to get on with her work. But she’s in a rare mood to talk about things, so Brooke cracks a small, indulgent smile. “And how do you know it was a girl?”

“Men can’t break hearts like women can,” Nicky says softly, philosophically. Brooke isn’t sure she’s right but she supposes she’s never had any experience with men to disprove the theory. She sighs, nodding.

“Yeah, it was a girl. Her name was Vanessa,” Brooke says, the name feeling too clunky and odd in her mouth where once it had felt like a prayer. “I guess she didn’t break my heart. I broke hers and then by proxy I broke my own. It was a stupid mistake, we had a fight and…things were said that I regret but she still won’t talk to me. And fair enough, why the fuck would she?”

Nicky nods slowly, wraps her arms around herself to give herself a hug. “I have the same. Uh, I am escaping a girl who broke my heart. But even though she hurt me, I still love her. How does that work?”

“Because emotions are stupid and they don’t work in a logical way,” Brooke shrugs instantly. She’s had a lot of time to think about the subject. Looking at Nicky, she can see the pain behind her eyes, the hurt behind the calm facade of her perfect makeup. “Who was your girl?”

Nicky smiles sadly, nostalgia getting the better of her. “She was named Jaida. She was a model, like I used to be. I don’t wish to talk about her much. It’s still sore."

"Yeah. It’s still sore for me too.”

“You say you broke Vanessa’s heart?” Nicky asks shyly. The words are like a stab through Brooke’s chest, confirming the whole thing, validating it. Brooke nods wordlessly. Nicky gives a small laugh. “Then probably she still loves you too. Like me for Jaida.”

Brooke laughs, disbelieving even though she’d be lying if she said Nicky’s words don’t strike even the tiniest bit of hope into her heart. “No, I think that ship has sailed, Nicky.”

Nicky raises her eyebrows, shrugs. “You should call her.”

“Tried that.”

“Well, call her again,” Nicky persists, her voice calm and relaxed despite her insisting. “I wait for my call from Jaida every day."

Brooke feels sad for the young girl. She’s clearly lived so much of her life already at such a young age- she’s from France, but her CV stated that she moved to America to work in the modelling industry, which clearly didn’t work out if she’s making coffee for Brooke. "You should go back into modelling. You’re wasted here.”

Nicky frowns. “I am a waste…of space?”

Brooke laughs at the misunderstanding, waving her hands and shaking her head in protest. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s had in a long time. “No, no, no, no, God no! Wrong expression. Um…you’re too good at modelling to be working as a secretary. You have too nice a face.”

Nicky blushes, making Brooke’s face hot too. She hopes her compliment didn’t come out wrong. Nicky is smiling again, the regret plain on her face. “I would love to, but I would risk meeting her again and I am not ready for that.”

Brooke’s face contorted. “But you want her to call you?”

Nicky sighs, scuffs her foot. “It’s different when you have her in front of you and she’s beautiful."

Brooke shrugs in agreement. "That’s fair enough.”

Nicky lingers, tilts her head thoughtfully. “Can I do anything to help, Ms. Hytes?”

The Parisian lilt to Nicky’s voice makes everything sound like a proposition, even though Brooke doesn’t think she means it. She knows that she could probably have Nicky in her bed by the end of the day if she wanted to- they’re both hurting and broken hearted and yearning to be needed and wanted again, and Nicky is gorgeous but it’s not Nicky she wants. Her porcelain skin just reminds Brooke of Vanessa’s in contrast, her neat blonde hair brushed carefully into its bun reminds her of how wild and loose Vanessa’s used to be, her blue eyes remind her of Vanessa’s dark ones. Brooke shakes her head, gives a tight smile of gratitude. “No, Nicky. Thank you for this, but I think we’d both better get back to work.”

Nicky smiles in agreement, giving a little nod as she exits Brooke’s office and takes a seat back at her desk. Brooke looks at her phone in its place on her desk, reaches out to take it. She scrolls to Vanessa’s name in her contacts and hovers her finger over it, millimetres separating her from potentially hearing her voice again.

She discards her phone onto her desk and opens an email.

***

They had been the best months of Brooke’s life. She couldn’t stop telling Vanessa how much she loved her once she’d started and Vanessa couldn’t seem to either. They were the worst kind of honeymoon phase couple, or perhaps the best. Detox had cooed over them like a mother hen and Brooke had let her guard down a bit at work. Well, a lot. She’d loved being able to show Vanessa off as her girlfriend, she’d loved being able to kiss her throughout the day, squeeze her hand as she showed a new client into her office. They would exchange ridiculously soppy emails during meetings. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Brooke has spent so long blaming the business trip, blaming Priyanka, blaming Vanessa, blaming her work, blaming the distance. It was none of them. It was her fault. She did all of it.

Brooke had flown out to Florida for the weekend. There was a conference that her law firm had to attend there, Detox was speaking. Brooke had been looking forward to it as she knew one of her old friends from her Law degree would be there. She hadn’t seen Priyanka in ages; she was still based in Canada and practising there, but they still texted and when they’d found out they were both going Brooke had been excited. Priyanka is one of those rare exes that’s still a friend, their breakup back in their early twenties being a mutual decision, and Brooke knows there’s no attraction there anymore.

But of course, Vanessa didn’t.

Brooke should’ve done more to reassure her, she knows this. If she looks back she can see how agitated Vanessa had been during the leadup to the conference for a full week- biting her perfectly manicured nails, a small frown on her face without her knowing, moments where she’d stare off into space. Vanessa knew about Priyanka (they’d both talked about their exes) but Brooke had told her it had been amicable and mutual. Besides, she told Vanessa how much she loved her every single day. It wasn’t as if Brooke had hidden the fact that Priyanka was going to be there that weekend, or shielded her phone when they’d been texting each other. She’d had nothing to hide.

Brooke almost wishes she had been more secretive now. Maybe it would’ve changed things.

The conference had been fun, even though Brooke now holds it in the same regard as the beginning of a horror movie, the calm before the cyclone. She’d phoned Vanessa when she had arrived, eager to reassure her but she could still hear the worry in her tone, the anxiety. Still, it hadn’t stopped her meeting up for drinks with Priyanka that evening in the hotel bar, laughing and chatting like they’d always used to and doing silly Boomerangs with the cocktails they’d ordered. Brooke told her all about Vanessa and Priyanka was thrilled for her, saying how excited she was to one day meet her. Brooke had got her phone out to show her some photos when Priyanka had looked at her own and gave a little exclamation of surprise.

“Oh! Is her nickname Vanjie?”

Brooke had narrowed her eyes, watching as Priyanka scrolled. “Yeah, why?”

“She’s watched my Insta story already. Doesn’t follow me though. Probably just doesn’t want to be weird,” Priyanka had shrugged. Brooke had shrugged back, offhandedly agreeing but internally embarrassed. She’d known why Vanessa had watched her story- she’d been checking up on her. Brooke hadn’t liked that.

When she’d arrived home, everything gradually came crumbling down, the pair of them slowly removing the Jenga blocks of their relationship one at a time. Their hug had been off when they’d seen each other again, their conversation had been the small talk of strangers. And then it had happened. Vanessa had brought up Priyanka, Brooke had brought up the Instagram stalking. Vanessa had brought up how weird she found it that she still wanted to hang out with an ex, Brooke had defended herself and told her they were only friends. Vanessa had expressed how worried she’d been, Brooke had been hurt.

“When have I ever given you reason to be worried?”

“Well shit, when you met up with your ex for drinks?”

Brooke had hit out, called Vanessa out on her jealousy.

“Well maybe I do get jealous! But it’s only ‘cuz I don’t ever want to lose you, fuck, I just don’t want to think about you with anybody else, that’s all!”

“But you don’t have to! Priyanka is my friend, that’s it, that’s all there is to it!” Brooke remembers how irritated she’d been, how exasperated. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you! Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust her,” Vanessa had sighed frustratedly, pulled another block out.

“Well I’m not going to just not see one of my friends for the rest of our relationship, V!”

“So you’re choosing her over me? That it?” Vanessa had questioned. Brooke still remembers the tears in her eyes. She’d known Vanessa hadn’t meant to say that, she knew Vanessa knew she was being unreasonable. But Brooke had reacted instantly, thinking in absolutes, or perhaps not thinking entirely.

“Fuck, Vanessa, well if it’s that black and fucking white to you then what the hell are we doing anyway?” she’d yelled, the finality still hurting her if she thinks about it. The raised tensions in the room had come to a boiling point. Vanessa had gone quiet.

“What are you saying?”

Brooke had committed and she was still angry, still frustrated. She’d doubled down. “Why the hell are we doing this if there’s no trust in our relationship?”

The realisation had dawned slowly and sickly like tar over Vanessa’s face. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Brooke hadn’t replied, only stared at the floor. Vanessa had taken it as an answer.

She’d left.

Brooke had regretted it, but she’d known they would make amends. It had just been a silly argument, and things had been said that neither of them meant. She still loved her. They still loved each other. Brooke had given it an hour, waited for her to cool off before she called her to apologise.

Vanessa hadn’t picked up.

Brooke’s still waiting on her to call back.

***

Brooke is ten minutes away from a firm meeting when she gets the text.

V: i’ll be at Rialtos for the next hour

V: your move i guess

She doesn’t even think about the decision, simply acts. She asks Nicky to send her apologies, tell the director that she’s had to go home with stomach pains. If she gets a disciplinary it’ll be worth the risk. She crashes out of her office like a tsunami, her bag and her coat swinging wildly from the crook of her arm. Rialto’s is a five minute walk from her office but she makes it in three even in her stilettos. It’s only when she sees it on the corner on the sidewalk opposite that an overwhelming feeling of panic and sickness hits her like a gut punch. She’s been waiting for this moment for the past month-and-twelve-days (she’s counted), but now that it’s here she almost doesn’t know what to do. She’s never felt nerves like this- all of her nerve endings are buzzing like broken strobe lights and every time her heart beats her whole body feels it. It had been different the first time they were supposed to meet up and talk things out because Brooke had been there first, she could sit for a while and psych herself up. But this time Brooke knows that Vanessa is sitting at a table in the bar just across the street, and all that’s separating them is a busy road, a door and a few steps. Brooke steels herself, forces herself to take a few deep breaths as she checks her reflection in the shop window beside her. She looks a fright: no makeup, sleep-deprived bags under her eyes, the only thing remotely presentable about her is her hair which she threw into a low ponytail that morning. Then again, she supposes that Vanessa’s seen her without makeup before. Brooke thinks Vanessa’s seen every possible version of her, apart from of course this one. She takes another deep breath, turns around and stares the bar down as if she’s going to war.

It’s time.

Brooke dashes across the road and it crosses her mind that perhaps it would be better to just let fate take its course and get hit by a yellow taxi, but that’s the coward’s way out so she reaches the bar entranceway, pushes the door open with a huge, held-in breath. Rialto’s is dark inside with dim red lighting, and so even at four in the afternoon it seems as if it’s midnight. There’s red booths with black lacquered tables that shine under the crimson of the lamps positioned above them and the walls are covered in framed pictures, none of which Brooke takes in because she’s searching, slowly yet frantically as if she’s attempting to both prolong and speed up this whole situation. One booth near to her to her right holds a cheerful couple, another on her far left houses an old man drinking a cup of coffee.

And then she sees her.

She’s got her back to the door but Brooke recognises the wave of her blonde hair, the tie-dye of the oversized hoodie she’s wearing. She recognises the acrylic nails and the chunky rings that pattern the hand that’s curled around what looks like a French martini on the table. A searing, painful memory of their first date at Le Bernardin wrenches Brooke’s heart. She takes another deep breath and walks forward even though she feels like she’s going to be sick. She stops just at the table and the breath is knocked out of her lungs.

Vanessa looks up at her, her face impassive. Her makeup is perfect, but then Brooke wouldn’t have expected anything else. There’s dark roots at her side parting but Brooke thinks she somehow suits them. Apart from that she looks exactly the same, just how Brooke remembers her.

“Hi,” Brooke greets her feebly. Vanessa somehow communicates a shrug through a blink.

“Hey,” she says, taking her hand off her glass to gesture to the seat opposite her. “Sit.”

Brooke nods as she sits down in the red leather seat, and it’s only then that she notices there’s a second cocktail opposite Vanessa. It looks like a pornstar martini, it’s one of Brooke’s favourites.

“I ordered you one. Figured it might make this easier,” Vanessa explains. Her expression doesn’t break. Brooke is touched by the gesture.

“Thanks,” she says. Her hands shake as she reaches out to take the glass, sips at it and feels the sweetness of the vanilla vodka and the tang of the passionfruit coat her dry mouth. Her stomach’s still churning as Vanessa sits regarding her for a moment. Brooke wants to say something. She wants to immediately apologise for it all, even though she’s left twelve voicemails and twenty texts saying the same thing. She wants to ask how Vanessa is, even though that would be the most idiotic of things to say. Eventually she decides to lead with a compliment.

“You look great.”

Vanessa sniffs. “You don’t.”

Brooke takes the hit, supposes she deserves it. “I’ve not been sleeping great.”

“Yeah. Yvie’s mentioned,” Vanessa looks down at her lap, blinks. When she looks up again she’s clearly ready to speak, and Brooke’s heart is in her mouth. “So, we need to talk properly.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa looks down at the table, then into Brooke’s eyes. Brooke can tell she’s having a hard time doing so. “Uh, first off I wanna say sorry.”

The apology knocks Brooke for six. She feels herself frown involuntarily. “For what?”

“Well, it was wrong of me to try an’ make you choose between me and your friend. I knew it was wrong the moment I said it but I was jealous, an’ I was hurt. But that don’t excuse it, so I’m sorry.”  

Brooke shakes her head. She’d been annoyed at Vanessa for that at the time, and she’d have maybe appreciated an apology a month ago, but just now it only seems trivial in the grand scheme of things. “Vanessa, you don’t…you don’t need to apologise for this situation.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes at her and there’s a warning look in her gaze, so Brooke drops her protests and shrugs a little. “But I accept your apology.”

Vanessa nods, clearly following some internal script. Brooke is happy to go along with it, to play her part and say her lines, whatever they’re meant to be. She’s so used to immediately taking control of every situation she finds herself in, and even though her stomach feels sick and she feels as if she’s in an interrogation room she doesn’t mind playing the role of the witness and letting Vanessa be the lawyer for a change. She supposes she is on trial in some way.

“Now…I know that you’re sorry, you’ve made that pretty clear, so I don’t want another apology from you,” Vanessa begins, and part of Brooke doesn’t like that because she does want to say sorry, but maybe that’s just for her own benefit and not Vanessa’s. Vanessa sighs as she continues, looks down at her drink and this time doesn’t break eye contact. “But I need you to know how much you hurt me.”

Brooke winces. She realises Vanessa’s waiting for confirmation. “Okay.”

Vanessa pauses, and the breath she takes is shaky before she speaks again. “I…loved you so much, Brooke Lynn.”

The past tense slices Brooke in half.

“I never loved anyone like that before in my life. An’ I always thought you were too good to be true, like somehow one day I’d wake up and our whole relationship would be a dream. I never stopped tellin’ you how lucky I was or how much I appreciated you or how much I loved you. An’ you never stopped tellin’ me either. You made me feel so loved, an’ so precious, an’ so…fuck, sorry.”

Vanessa’s tone grows frustrated, anger layering with the tears Brooke can see in her eyes as she tips her head up, swipes at them like a tiger to wipe them away. Brooke thinks her heart might be breaking again, halves into quarters.

“An’ so that day, when we had that fight,” Vanessa continues, staring steadfastly at Brooke. “All of that, everything we had…it was like it didn’t matter anymore? Like everything we’d shared an’ everything I’d told you an’ everything you’d told me…like, what, that was all for nothing?”

“It wa-”

“Just lemme get this out, please,” Vanessa puts a hand up, stops her. “It was like everything I knew about you was just…nothing. I didn’t know you anymore. An’ I know it was a stupid fight and we shoulda been able to work that shit out, but…I was hurt. I’m still hurting. You hurt me.”

Vanessa stops. She’s done. Brooke wants to cry. She swallows the feeling down before she speaks.

“I behaved like a dick. And I said stupid things, but by the time they were out I couldn’t take them back. I didn’t mean any of it, Vanessa, I just…opened my mouth and said whatever got there first. That’s my fault, I know that. And I know I’ve apologised before but I haven’t had the chance to do it in person, so I’m honestly so sorry for hurting you. For making it seem like our relationship meant nothing to me. Like you meant nothing to me. You mean the world to me, you still do,” Brooke sighs, trying to make the deep breath she takes to stave off her tears subtle. She can’t meet Vanessa’s eyes when there’s tears in her own so she fixes her gaze on the passionfruit half floating in her drink as she continues. “And you don’t have to accept it, just as long as you hear it.”

“I know,” Vanessa says instantly. She looks calmer now she’s said her piece and heard Brooke’s, and she takes a sip from the two little black straws sticking out of the martini glass. She suddenly rolls her eyes, a bitter smile spreading across her face. “Fuck you, Brooke Lynn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean…fuck you for making me still love you. Fuck me for still loving you,” Vanessa sighs, resigned. The words make Brooke’s heart give a leap and she can’t help the smile she instantly tries to suppress and fails. Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, her expression turning serious. “But that don’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know. You don’t have to,” Brooke says guiltily. She thinks about saying it, wonders if it’ll guilt-trip Vanessa and she doesn’t want that, but indulgently and selfishly she says it anyway. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Vanessa winces as if she’s been shot, her expression instantly turning into one of discomfort and her eyes squeezing shut. Brooke frowns. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Christ. You’re so fuckin’ Canadian,” Vanessa sighs exasperatedly as she puts her head in her hands, and Brooke probably would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been trying to repair the most important relationship of her life so far. Brooke feels awkward and she’s in this conversation without a map, unsure which direction it’s going in.

“Where do we go from here?”

Vanessa drains her glass, foam and syrup all that’s left. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over. There’s a tiny smile that’s back on her face, and it makes Brooke’s hopes start to climb.

“Well,” she shrugs a little, her guard still up but ever so slightly lowered. “You can start by buyin’ me another drink an’ we can take it from there.”

Brooke nods, grabs her purse and almost sprints to the bar. She orders another French martini and another pornstar- she thinks she’ll be needing it. As she waits for their drinks and the sound of ice in a cocktail shaker cuts through the air, Brooke sneaks a look at Vanessa in the booth. She’s so gorgeous. Brooke’s happy to see her again, despite the circumstances. Just as she makes to turn back around, Vanessa’s head snaps up from the phone in her hand and their eyes meet.

Vanessa’s gaze is soft and the small smile on her face is warm.

Maybe they’re going to be okay.

[mavspeed]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

1.

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon. 

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

2.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

3. 

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

4.

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

5. 

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

6. 

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

7. 

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

8. 

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

9.

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10. 

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11. 

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess 

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13. 

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14. 

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb