#[sharply dressed grin] ms. s

[daily-rubbersoul-redux]

completely unrelated to everything going on atm, but

i kinda just had this idea after realizing that sumi is (possibly) the strongest person on blog now if we take away weapons and stands

that shit’s wack

[coffeechangbeanie]

Home Reading 18+

Dilf!Chan, biker!chan, kindergarten teacher!reader

Basically Chris' daughter is in your kindergarten class, and you've been simping whenever he pulls up on his motorbike to pick her up. Plus he's tattooed because I have n e e d s ok? There's a bit of pussy slapping and dirty talk but it's pretty vanilla.

__________________________________

You were standing outside the school, making sure your kindergarten class stayed in line. As the bus pulled up to the side if the road, your kindergarten assistant took her line of bus kids to that side of the parking lot, giving you a lovely view of the parent parking lot. Especially one parent in particular. You composed yourself as you saw Mr. Bang pull up in his motorcycle, his daughter, Yuna, excitedly jumped up and down, accidentally hitting another girl. The girl starts to cry, hitting Yuna back. Hiding your annoyance, you knelt down to Yuna, "Yuna, remember, keep control of your hands." Yuna sheepishly nods. "And Suzie we know not to hit our friends back-"

"Ms. Yn?" A deep voice says behind you, interupting your teacher speech.

You turn around, standing up to see Chris.

His black leather jacket hangs off his shoulders exposing just enough of the head of his surpent tattoo on his neck for you to wonder how far the snake went down his body.

"Ah, Mr. Bang, did you get my email?"

"yes I did, where are we having this impromptu parent teacher meeting?" He says, adjusting his helmet under his arm, a much smaller, sparkly pink one tucked inside.

You see your assistant coming back up the sidewalk. "Right now if ms. Chaeyoung wouldnt mind taking over."

"of course! Go have your meeting," she says, taking your clipboard from you.

You lead the way back inside to you classroom.

The room's walls are lined with students drawings, crafts, and pictures. A whiteboard with the day's letter still up.

"Mr. Bang, today marks the 3rd week her home reading isn't done. In class she's unfocused, hyperactive, and disruptive, I'd like to work with you so we can help her succeed."

Chris rubs his eyes defeatedly, "it's been a tough few weeks, I'll get on the home reading and speak to her about her behaviour."

"thank you, Mr. Bang."

He nods, awkwardly leaving your classroom. You watch him exit the building from the window. Happily picking up Yuna and putting on her helmet for her. He carries her out the his bike as she sits atop his shoulders. You can't help but smile at the cuteness.

It had been a few weeks since your meeting with Chris about Yuna, but you couldn't get the thought of him out if your head. (Not that you could normally, but it was especially bad lately). You know you shouldn't be thinking about one if your student's parent that way but you'd never seen a ring in his finger and Yuna never talked about her mom on the "draw your family" art project...

You were out walking your dog through the playground, the late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky. You hear children giggle as they played.

"Ms. yn!" You look up to see Felix, a parent of another of your students, sitting in a park bench next to Chris. You do a double take when you catch a blush rising up his cheeks.

"Mr. Lee, Mr. Bang," you say, your dog preoccupied with a smell under the bench, "lovely evening for the park innit?"

Felix checks his watch, "speaking of, it's almost dinner time."

"tell your wife I say 'hi'" Chris calls after Felix who's helping his little girl pack up her toys.

"always do!" Felix calls back.

Chris laughs. It's such a genuine laugh, almost like a giggle.

You found yourself fascinated with the sound.

"something on my face?"

You snap out if your daze, "sorry, I just wasn't expecting your laugh to sound like that," you try to laugh away the awkwardness.

It seems to work as Chris relaxes his shoulders, loosening up. He laughs again. The sight of his crinkled eyes as he looks at you makes your heart swell.

"I know it's rather sudden," Chris inhaled sharply, "but would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? Yuna's having a sleepover at Felix's since it's a Friday-"

"I'd love to!" You cut off his rambling.

"really!?" He asks excitedly with wide eyes.

"yeah I thought you'd never ask," you laugh, "is 7 o'clock a good time?"

"I'll see you then," he says, grinning from ear to ear.

You walk up a set of concrete steps, seeing Chris' bike on the drive as you approach the front door.

The door opens before you have a chance to raise your hand to knock.

Chris looks stunningly sifistocated in his white button up and black jeans, hair styled curly as he invites you inside. He asks to take your coat, more than happy to show off your backless red dress.

"wow," he breaths, taking in the sight.

You smile, "you don't look half bad yourself."

He has a classy dinner already laid in on his dinning room table.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't find a table cloth."

"I don't mind at all," you say, smiling at Yuna's drawings etched into the wood.

Chris pulls out a chair for you, you sit down, thanking him. From this angle you have a good view into an office. You notice a stack of books and recording equipment piled on a desk

"what's the books for?" You ask.

"hm? Oh! Just my university stuff," he says, serving you.

"what are you studying?"

"music production, because I hate working so low down in the company."

You listen to him talk about his degree, how he's been studying for his finals the last few weeks, his job now and Yuna. He fills you in on all the adorable, sweet, and cheeky things his little girl has done. You see the sparkle in his eyes and can't help but reciprocate, she really is a sweet kid.

You find him fascinating in everyway. But your mind wanders a bit, he is also irresistibly sexy with his dark curls in his eyes and shirt showing a bit too much skin. The fact that you're sitting across from him now is enought to make your core wet.

"-sorry I don't mean to talk so much, I just rarely get the chance to have adult conversations, you know living with a 5 year old and what not- and here I go again rambling." He sheepishly resumes eating his dinner.

"not at all! I love listening to you!"

"really?"

"yeah," you say, a bit too breathy.

"that's good," he says staring at your lips. You hadn't realized you'd been biting your bottom one. You decide to bite the bullet instead and press your foot to his crotch. His body goes pliant in his chair for a moment before he silently puts his fork down.

He looks at you, searching your gaze before a dark lustful look comes over him.

He picks up his fork again, "the bedroom is the last room on the left hallway," he says, finishing his last bite of food.

Youve hardly processed his sentence when he speaks again.

"Did you hear me baby girl?"

You nod rapidly, standing up with weak knees going down the hallway.

You find the bedroom. You're inside for less than a second when Chris pushes you against his bedroom wall, kissing you deeply.

"How about you strip for me, let me see how much you want me." He's hardly finished his sentence when you're pulling off your clothes. You struggle to get out of your dress in your eagerness, eventually draping it over a nearby chair, kneeling on the floor, looking up eagerly at him.

"no bra," he breaths, his eyes fucking you.

Chris takes his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt. You can't help but ogle at the sight. Your eyes find the serpent, following it down his chest, the end of its tail still tucked behind his black jeans.

Chris continues the show, slowly dropping his pants and stepping out of them.

So it ends at his knee. You think to yourself.

You can see his leaking dick pressed painful hard against his underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"close your mouth, darling. You'll catch flies." He grins, voice like silk.

"maybe you should close my mouth for me," you test.

He smirks, running the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip.

You take that as permission to pull his boxers down.

"you gonna be a good girl and take all my cock?" He asks smugly.

You nod, stroking his length, leaving kitten licks on his tip.

Chris groans, "feels so good, Yn."

You take his whole length into his mouth, taking him by surprise. he accidentally bucks his hips into your warm mouth.

He moans seeing you choke on his cock for a second.

Chris mumbles an apology as he rest his hand in your hair, feeling the way you bob your head up and down on his thick length.

You bask in his elicit moans, feeling smug knowing you're the one on your knees for him, not any of your co-workers or single moms. You.

He suddenly pulls your head off him. You whine in response. Chris guides you back to your feet, pulling your body against his.

"that was fun baby girl, but now it's your turn," he whispers into your neck, his hard-on dripping against your thigh.

Chris picks you up, tossing you effortlessly on the bed, he kisses down your neck to your boobs, giving each a gentle squeeze before continuing his ministrations down your body. He gives special attention to your thighs, avoiding where you want him most. You catch his drift.

"please Chris, please touch my pussy" you whine.

Chris moans, "such a dirty girl."

"please," you whine again.

Chris lightly brushes his fingers over your womanhood, just barely missing your clit.

You groan in annoyance.

"touch me harder, Chris please!"

He lands a harsh but not painful slap on your dripping cunt. You moan, gripping his bicep as a wave of pleasure hits you.

"like that, baby girl?"

You nod rapidly.

Chris kisses your pussy lips, before slapping you again, you don't have time recover when he lands a third.

Chris presses his tongue against your clit. You watch his eyes flutter closed as he eats you out like he didn't just finish dinner.

He inserts 2 fingers, making you scream in pleasure.

He pistons his fingers in and out of your soaked heat while sucking harshly on your clit.

It quickly becomes too much, you come on his fingers with a moan of his name

Chris doesn't stop, he slows down while you ride out your orgasm but picks up the pace when you start squirming.

After your third orgasm, pulls his fingers out, you whine in protest.

"I can't take it anymore," he groans, whipping a drawer open and cracking a fresh box of condoms.

You watch his fingers, still slick with your come open the wrapper.

"first time using one of these," he nervously giggles when he catches your gaze.

You take the condom from him, sliding it down his thick length. His erection twitching in your hand.

You sense the anxiety in the air.

You lay on your back, pulling him on-top.

"fuck me Chris," you moan.

He groans as he guides his dick in you.

You moan when he bottoms out.

He starts off slow, letting you feel all of his length. As he gains confidence, he quickens his pace until you're screaming his name.

He slows his thrusts just long enough to make you squirm before his hips resume pistoning in you. The pleasure knocking the wind out of you.

"feels so good, Chris," you moan, tangling a hand in his hair. Your other hand moving down his back, feeling his back muscles flex with every jerk of his hips.

"fuck Yn, I'm going to come."

You've lost the ability to speak, responding only by moaning.

You both come at the same time, feeling him relax onto you.

After a moment of heavy breathing and gentle kisses later, Chris pulls out. He throws out the condom standing up. He pulls one of his clean black tees over your exhausted form. He tucks you into bed with him.

"that was amazing, Yn, thank you."

"you're very welcome, I thoroughly enjoyed myself," you chime. Chris giggles, his thumb rubbing circles on your thigh.

You laugh, burying your head into the crook of his neck.

He wraps his arms around you as you trace his snake tattoo from his neck down to his side to his leg.

He pulls you into a gentle but passionate kiss, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

"can I ask a question, Chris?" You ask between kisses.

"shoot."

"what happened to Yuna's mom?"

Chris took a deep breath, you cringed at yourself for letting curiousity get the better of you.

"she was a fling in my senior year of high school, when she got pregnant and didn't want the baby, I said I'd take her. Yuna's never met her mom."

"I didn't know, I'm so sorry."

"don't be." He smiled, "I think you'd make a much better mom for her."

"really?"

"if that's what you want!" Chris rushed, realizing what he just said.

"that is what I want," you say, kissing his lips.

"does that mean you'll do her home reading for me?"

You laugh, nodding.

_______________________________________________

_______________________________________________

Ugh I feel like this is trash lmao I tried. Ive volunteered in kindergarten before so I tried to make the dialogue work but idk if it did, I wrote this instead of sleeping. It's also been a very long time since I've written in "novel" format since I'm practicing screenplays rn oof so I'm sorry if this sucks. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! And thank you to @lovebini for the giggling suggestion!

-Elle

[candycityy]

RIVETRA AND 51.

Note: Hey anon! I already did 51, you can check it out here <3 But in the similar spirit of husband!levi, I did 63 instead ("Can you just man up and change his diaper?"). I hope you enjoy it still!

(You can also read this on AO3!)

Petra Ral, without a doubt, is the person he trusts most on the planet. From subordinate, to comrade, to lover, and finally, wife, she has always demonstrated nothing more or less than an unerring sense of judgment.

This trait, of course, is what made her the most reliable person on his squad back in the day, and what allows him to entrust his life—and the life of his daughter—to her.

But. Still.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Levi asks, for the fourth time that night. His wife doesn't even bother with an exasperated glare this time, just idly turns the page of her book. "And why won't you tell me who you got to babysit? I swear, Petra, if it's Hanji—"

"It's not Hanji, relax," she says lightly, tucking a neatly curled lock of hair behind her ear. "And yes, I'm sure. We haven't had a date night in ages. I think I've forgotten what it's like to actually do an activity that doesn't involve crayons or nursery rhymes."

"But if you'd just tell me—"

"No, Levi." She stands up and smooths down the fabric of her dress—a silky, knee-length sheath the colour of honey. He's seen her in it before, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat; although, to be fair, it's been a while since he'd seen her in something other than a t-shirt and sweatpants.

She glances at the clock, and then at the cot, where Ava is still dozing peacefully—for now, anyway. "They should be here any second."

"They?" he's about to say, when two hesitant knocks come at the door. He starts to get up, but Petra shoots him a warning look and sweeps towards the door. He sits back down.

"Boys, thank you so much for agreeing to babysit today." Petra beams down at their guests, her voice like melted sugar. "Come in." Levi glances up just in time to see...of all people, Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, wearing twin expressions of wariness.

Oh fuck no.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "Petra, you're not serious. Jaeger and Kirschtein? You might at least have tried for one of the girls."

"Mikasa wouldn't come," Eren says helpfully, and then blushes, looking a bit awkward. "She has...uh, a bit of a grudge against the captain still, I think."

"Historia was busy, and I don't think you'd want Sasha anyway, sir." Jean, who's crisply attired in his military wear for whatever reason, looks mildly offended at Levi's brusque comment.

Levi tries to be polite.

"It's nothing personal. It's just that the pair of you don't have any experience with infants," he says, attempting to rearrange his features into that calm, reassuring expression Erwin makes whenever he's faced with agitated civilians.

Judging by their faces, he's still pretty far off the mark.

"Actually," Petra intervenes, "they do. Well, Eren does." She shoots him another warm, cinnamon-sweet smile, and he blushes again. "He said he used to babysit the neighbour's toddler with Mikasa. And Jean...well, it was between him and Connie." When the teenager chafes at the comparison, she adds hastily, "and he's always been perfectly responsible and conscientious, hasn't he?"

"We can handle one infant, sir," Eren pipes up. His face is a picture of anxious enthusiasm, reminding Levi sharply and uncomfortably of a particularly eager-to-please puppy.

"I mean, we kill Titans with no problem, and they're a heck lot more troublesome than a baby, I would think," Jean adds, casting a skeptical look over at the still-silent cot.

"You would think," Levi mutters darkly, and is about to put his foot down, no, absolutely, not, when Petra firmly loops her arm through his and begins to steer him towards the exit.

"See? Everything's fine. We'll see you in a couple of hours, boys! Thanks for doing this again!" she chirps, and frog-marches him out of the door.

"Bye, captain! Bye, Ms. Petra!" Eren calls cheerfully, waving. Levi turns (with some difficulty, considering his wife's very firm grip) to glare at him.

"She's a Mrs. now, you brat," he manages to snarl before the door slams shuts in his face.

==

Despite everything, they have a nice date.

It takes about four glasses of wine and a threat of bodily harm from Petra before he finally stops fretting about Ava—but, truth be told, the rest of the night goes as well as it possibly could have, considering.

"See, didn't you have fun?" Petra teases. There's a blush high in her cheeks from the cold and the wine, and with his thick coat wrapped around her slight figure, Levi figures she looks pretty damn adorable.

He grunts in reluctant assent, feeling unusually relaxed. It's been a long time since it was just the two of them, after all, and he's almost forgotten what it feels like without the constant stress of being responsible for a very small, very fragile human being who he loves with such fierceness that sometimes he feels as though his chest will burst.

He's still revelling in the niceness of it all—the cool night air, Petra's small hand in his—as they walk up to the door of their house. He's seriously contemplating if he should actually get Jaeger and Kirschtein something nice for their trouble—maybe a day off or something, he doesn't know—when he hears a sound that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Next to him, Petra stiffens. The sound fades momentarily, only to re-emerge with a vengeance, and there's no mistaking it: it's a scream.

Levi doesn't remember sprinting to the door and wrenching it open, his heart pumping so fast he can barely breath and Petra hot in his wake, but he supposes he does at some point because in a matter of seconds he's in the house, staring straight into the face of absolute chaos.

The living room is littered with toys and scattered pillows and, for some reason, a lone shoe. The stove is smouldering in a vaguely menacing manner, heavy smoke rising from the burnt remains of something completely unrecognisable. Meanwhile, their beloved daughter crawls quite cheerfully across the floor, beelining for Jean, who's slowly inching away on the ground, his face screwed up with equal parts terror and disgust. A familiar stink wafts through the room, and Levi instinctively wrinkles his nose.

And the perpetrator of the scream: Eren Jaeger, who's hunched over the basin, scrabbling blindly at the trickle of water from the tap, feverishly attempting to wash what appears to be spit-up out of his eyes.

Clearly, none of them have yet noticed their arrival.

"HORSE FACE, CAN YOU JUST MAN UP AND CHANGE HER DIAPER?" he shrieks across the room, his voice coming out noticeably higher than usual.

"WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT?" his comrade yells back, his eyes not moving from the effervescent infant, who giggles at the sound of all the shouting.

Behind him, Petra stifles a laugh.

"BECAUSE THANKS TO YOUR SHITTY BURP TECHNIQUE, I'M NOW BLIND, YOU—" The teenager proceeds to cuss him out quite colourfully, and Levi chooses that moment to intervene.

"What," he goes, lowly, "in the living fuck do you think you're doing?"

The effect is instantaneous, like the firing of a gun. Both boys instantly scramble to their feet and thump their fists to their chests in salute (Eren still blinking furiously).

Petra just giggles and strides across the hall to Ava, who's now babbling happily at the arrival of her parents. "Thanks for babysitting, boys," she goes, taking a cautious whiff of the baby's diapers and reeling at the smell. "Whew. I'll take care of this. Levi, be nice," she warns, before hoisting their daughter onto her hip and strolling away.

He can't help but notice there's a little amused bounce in her step, and his glower darkens.

"Captain—" Eren begins, but Levi lifts up a hand.

"I don't even wanna hear it," he barks. "You—for fuck's sake, go wash your face in the bathroom, the water flow is better there. And you..." he rounds on Jean, who gulps nervously. "You're dismissed. Just...go. Bye."

The boys slump over, looking at him with the big sad puppy eyes (although the effect of Eren's is somewhat diminished by his pained squint). And maybe it's the wine, maybe age or marriage or parenthood has made him soft, but he adds, with utmost reluctance, "Wait. Uh...thanks." He clears his throat. "Take a day off next week. If you want."

It takes a while for them to realise that it isn't a trap of some sorts (seriously, he doesn't get it; why do cadets always think the worst of him?), but eventually, he manages to shoo them off with wide eyes and thank-yous and maybe some mild trauma on Jean's part, but hey, this is the Survey Corps, after all. When he goes back to their bedroom, he finds Petra waiting for him, Ava sleeping peacefully in her arms, a mischievous, smug grin on her face.

"Don't even say it," he snaps.

Drabble challenge!

[the-darklings]

SANTINOOOO AND V “bite your lip once more, i dare you” 🥺🤩🤠🥰 (ms trying to cope hoping s is still alive)

⤫ prompt: “bite your lip once more, I dare you.”

⤫ pairing: santino d’antonio x v (coa)

⤫ warnings: a bit spicy because it is hour of the wolf

He won’t stop staring at your mouth. 

It takes you years of carefully forged self-control to stop yourself from smirking.

The deafening bass of the nightclub washes over you, strumming through your blood, and you take another slow sip of your drink. Your eyes purposely wander around the dancefloor as well as the booths surrounding it where over the kaleidoscope of colours you can see your friends—family—dancing, laughing and relaxing. Looking at them like this, it’s hard to imagine every single one of you can effortlessly kill a person with your bare hands. 

In your case hands won’t even be necessary. 

Your tongue swipes over the rim of your glass and from the corner of your eye, you see Santino shift in his seat again.

You look good tonight. You know you do. 

Sofia had taken one look at you, at the brilliant red of your mouth, and snorted loudly. “That’s a Blowjob Red if I’ve ever seen one.”  

Ares’ reaction had been no better and Hector had shaken his head and muttered an amused, “Poor bastard, doesn’t know what’s coming for him” under his breath before he drove you to the club.

Santino, with his pristine white Armani suit, looks no less delicious himself. His dark silken shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing just enough underneath. Teasing you with the curve of his collarbone and that smooth, delightful skin beneath. 

Oh, you have come with a plan and you’ve been executing it to perfection all night. 

Santino had taken one look at you and forgotten about his drink that was halfway to his mouth, staring at you wide-eyed for an entire minute before blinking out of his stupor.

But you’ve kept your distance. Barely exchanging a few words with him, dancing with everyone but him all night, nibbling on your bottom lip, purposely brushing against him, touching his thigh or arm, laughing and leaning into his side. All fleeting, tiny seconds and all deliberately spaced out to drive him wild. And they have. You could see and feel his chipping self-control. Especially after your last little display.

He had watched your every dance, never once taking his eyes away from you. Practically devouring you despite the distance. Sofia and Hector—two beloved assholes who you hate to love and love to hate—have been more than ready to put on a show, always eager to see Santino squirm. Hand in hand, hip-to-hip, the three of you had been a sight that has turned many heads. 

Sitting opposite to him now, you feel like he’s seconds away from shattering the whiskey glass in his hand. His death grip on it is so damn amusing. Such an arrogant man but god do you get under his skin just so.  

“You okay, Santi?” you call out with an innocent little smile, leaning your chin in your open palm. You blink, too; for added effect. This is probably the most fun you’ve had in ages. You want to savour every second of it. Besides if his shallow breaths and the hooded, dark stare are anything to go by the rest of your night is going to be fun. “Whatever did that poor glass ever do to you, grumpy?”

He doesn’t answer.

The amount of effort it takes to stop yourself from laughing out loud causes you to softly bite on your lip instead. The Italian’s stare slides downwards painfully slow. He lingers on that sinful red, on the slight, sensuous curl of your mouth. You release it carefully under his suffocating scrutiny, let your teeth scrape against it deliberately, and his gaze consumes you. 

“Bite your lips once more,” he growls, his voice gravel and a shiver crawls down your spine at his tone. “I dare you, (Name).”

“You mean,” you whisper lightly. “Like this?”

You bite your lip again, slower, your tongue swiping over the flesh and you smother a grin. 

The glass slams on the table loudly and Santino rises sharply, rounding the table. “Come with me.”

You blink. “Right now?”

“(Name).”

You rise smoothly and his arm locks around yours immediately, leading the way. He pushes past everyone, unconcerned, and you try to control your knowing expression. His hand on yours feels large and familiar, and you both barely manage to round a darkened nook of the club before he slams you against the wall. His mouth is on yours at once and he swallows your appreciative gasp, his other hand holding you tightly by the back of your neck. 

“All night,” he breathes hotly against your mouth and pushes you harder against the wall, his fingers releasing your neck and snapping to your bare thigh instead, sinking deep before he drags his hand up your hip and waist. “All fucking night, amore. Did you have fun, hm? Playing your little games with others? Driving me insane with that dress and that mouth of yours. Did you, bella?”

He exhales the last question right into you ear and you arch against him, tugging on his hair, reaching for the corner of his mouth with your own. He pulls back with a rumble from deep in his chest before your mouths can touch and you grin. “Oh, darling, that was just an appetiser though,” you muse teasingly and tug him closer by the hair, baring your teeth. “You’re my main course, Santi. I may play but it’s only you.”  

Hidden by the shadows you can only see a sliver of his features but his pupils are blown so wide that the dark has almost devoured the green. You meet halfway, tangled in each other, and this time you let him hear the soft moan and delight at his own barely controlled groan. His hips press against yours and you gasp at the hardness already there humming in delight. 

“Someone’s eager,” you point out with a smug grin. “You’re going to fuck me right here, Santi? Is that it?”

He grabs your jaw, tilting your head slightly before shaking his head. “No, amore,” he divulges lowly, ghosting his lips over your own, his other hand roughly dragging over your body, making your lower stomach flutter. He knows exactly where to touch to turn you into this. “I plan to fuck you in our bed. Where I can enjoy you fully. Your pleasure is mine, (Name). You know I don’t like sharing, cara mia.”

“If I’m able to walk tomorrow, I’m going to complain.”

His fingers flex around your jaw and his thumb flutters over the corner of your mouth. Despite his raw desire, the motion is gentle and you notice red now staining the pad of his finger. He leans into you, hovering, and you shift—restless, eager to have him close again—but he doesn’t move.

“After your little show, hmm, after that,” he begins tightly and ghosts his lips over yours again, once, before grabbing your lower lip between his teeth. Your eyes flutter shut and you get lost in the familiar heat of him all around you. Your own dangerous cacoon of safety. “You’re not leaving that bed for at least a day, bella.”        

[neerasrealm]

Trick and Treating

In which Laughing Jack finds a boy crying while taking his daughters trick or treating. He decides to try and cheer the kid up and make his Halloween a little better. wdym its november 3rd halloween lasts two months because i said so

Word Count: 2869

"C'mon pops!" 

"Awrigh', awrigh'! Slow down!"

"C'mon Slendra! This next neighborhood is always really good!" 

The two girls, Slendra and Sally, a pair of sisters, ran as quick as they could around the block. Though it was dark out, the night was full of life and laughter. Kids, younger and older than them, made their way from house to house, picking up candy from strangers. Everyone around them was dressed in a costume of some kind. Super heroes, spiders, skeletons, you name it. Of course, the girls were dressed in costumes too. Slendra, the taller but younger of the two, was dressed as a witch. She wore a long black dress with a purple band tied around her waist, fastened with a silver buckle. Her hat was much the same, and it sat atop her head of blonde hair. Sally, on the other hand, was dressed as her favorite cartoon character. The skintaker. Her face was covered in makeup to make her look like a skeleton, and she wore a long robe that was quilted together with different coloured patches. She had a hat that was the same pattern as her robe. Both of them had been handmade by her other dad, and she adored it. 

‘’C’mere ye li’le rascal!’’

‘’EEK-!’’ Slendra was grabbed by the back of her dress and yanked back into big, soft arms that hugged her tight. She shrieked and giggled, thrashing in the hug. ‘’Pops! Lemme go!’’

Of course, the girls weren’t alone on Halloween. No, they had their pops with them. Laughing Jack. Looking at him, you’d assume he’d managed to find the coolest scary clown costume one could hope for, with sharp bony hands, wispy black hair, jagged teeth and bandages wrapped around his torso, but no. He looked like that year round. In fact, Jack hadn’t even bothered with a costume. The only thing he had added to himself tonight was a white bird mask strapped to his face. It obscured the top part of his face, which really just made him scarier. 

He laughed a bit and squeezed his daughter in his arms. ‘’Stop runnin’ off on me! If ye ge’ lost yer da will kill me.’’ he replied with a grin. Slendra giggled again and looked up to see her sister Sally. However, instead of standing in front of them waiting for Jack to release her sister, Sally was sitting on the sidewalk a little further up, talking to someone. ‘’Eh?’’ Jack withdrew his arms and stood up. He and Slendra walked over to Sally and stopped next to her.

She was sitting next to a young boy, dressed in a blue ripped jacket, a black and white striped shirt and black pants. The green face paint on his face was smudged, especially around his eyes. Sally pat his back and frowned. ‘’Hey, it’s okay.’’ she said gently. ‘’What’s wrong?’’

The boy sniffled and let out a breathy sob. ‘’I-I was chasing these b-boys that stole my ca-candy a-and now I’m l-lost-’’ he inhaled sharply before breaking into tears again. Sally frowned and hugged the boy. Jack crouched down beside him and pat his head. 

‘’Calm down kiddo…’’ he murmured. The boy looked up and stared at him in surprise. ‘’Some’ne stole yer candy?’’

The boy nodded. ‘’I was with my friends b-but they went to another neighborhood and I wasn’t allowed go with them s-so I started walking home but then these boys on bikes came by and took my bag,’’ the boy whimpered and wiped at his eyes. He seemed to be calming down significantly, thanks to Sally. ‘’I chased them but...now I’m lost.’’ he curled up, hugging his knees. Jack looked horrified that someone would do something like that, and to a small kid no less. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a packet of tissues.

‘’Ere, kiddo,’’ he took out a tissue and gave it to the boy. He sniffled and wiped at his face. ‘’Ye’re lost?’’

‘’Mhm.’’ the boy looked around. ‘’I don’t know how to get home…’’

Jack looked from the boy to his two girls. He looked back at the boy and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘’We’ll take ye ‘ome, kiddo.’’ he said, reaching into his sleeve. He pulled out some candy and held it out to the surprised looking boy. ‘’Ere, i’s no’ a lo’, bu’ i’ should make up a bi’ fer th’ stuff ye lost.’’

The boy looked at Jack’s outstretched hand and broke into a grin. He took the candies, shyly unwrapping one of them and tossing it into his mouth. ‘’Thank you.’’ he murmured. Jack smiled and grabbed the boy, lifting him up and putting him on his shoulders. The boy blinked in surprise. 

‘’Can ye see okay up there, lad?’’ Jack asked. The boy grinned.

‘’Uh-huh!’’ he glanced around. ‘’You’re real tall, mister.’’

‘’Jus’ call me Jackie, kiddo.’’

As the four of them walked the boy talked with them more. Jack learned that his name was Jeremy, and he lived with just his mother. He hadn’t gone trick or treating last year, or the year before. He’d been sick the past couple of years, and still wasn’t fully recovered, so trick or treating was a big thing for him. Which just made it worse when you considered what had happened to him. Jack knew he had to do something about it- he wasn’t going to let this poor boy have his halloween ruined for him.

‘’There’s the place!’’

‘’Ah!’’ Jack looked up to where the boy on his shoulders was pointing. The neighborhood they were in didn’t have many decorated houses. The one Jeremy was pointing to, however, was covered in decorations and bright lights. Jack smiled a bit as he walked up the garden path after Slendra and Sally. The girls knocked on the door as Jack put Jeremy down. The door was pulled open, and they were greeted by an older lady with brown hair that was starting to grey at the roots. She wore a long black dress, a big collar around her neck, and a pair of fake fangs. In her hands she held a large, flowery bowl that was filled with candy. She smiled sweetly at the girls for a moment before surprise crossed her face. Then she broke into a wider smile.

‘’Jeremy! Oh there you are, I was starting to get worried!’’ she put the bowl down on a table inside the hall as her son stepped forward and hugged her legs. She pat his head lovingly. ‘’Did you have fun?’’

‘’Mmm…’’

She frowned and looked up, finally noticing Jack. He waved a tiny bit. ‘’Heya, I’m Jack,’’ he murmured. ‘’We found ‘im a couple a blocks away...some older kids stole ‘is bag.’’

Jeremy’s mother looked horrified. ‘’They did...?’’ she asked. Jack nodded. ‘’Oh that’s terrible-!’’ she looked down at her son. ‘’Oh pet- are you okay?’’ 

‘’I’m okay…’’ Jeremy murmured. He pointed up at Jack. ‘’Jackie brought me home, and he gave me some candy.’’ he smiled a bit. Jack tilted his head.

‘’I was wond’rin’, miss, if maybe I could take yer lad wiv us fer th’ nigh’. ‘E can ge’ sum more candy an’ stick aroun’ wiv sum kids ‘is own age.’’

‘’Oh?’’ Jeremy’s mother looked surprised for a moment. She looked down at her son, a little worried. ‘’I don’t know…’’ 

‘’Please?’’ Jeremy asked. He stared up at his mother hopefully. ‘’Jackie is real nice! And he already has kids with him so we should be okay!’’

She looked up at Jack for a moment, then sighed. ‘’...okay. But don’t take him too far away from home! And I want him back before nine.’’

Jack gave a nod. ‘’Absolu’ely.’’

After cleaning and fixing up Jeremy’s makeup, Jack, Sally and Slendra wasted no time raiding every house in the surrounding neighborhood. Jeremy quickly learned that these three took Halloween very seriously. Constantly on the move, trying to get the best candy possible, they talked about what house they’d target next like it was some kind of big important mission. It was actually exhausting, especially for him, but the girls excited energy was contagious. It didn’t take long at all for Jeremy to fill up the bag LJ had given him. Then a second one. Then a third. He walked slowly, dragging the heavy bags with him as the girls ran ahead of him and LJ. 

‘’Ey kiddo?’’ LJ asked above him. Jeremy looked up. ‘’Ye want me ta take yer bags fer ya? They look ‘eavy.’’ Jeremy stopped and nodded, giving LJ two of his bags. He took them, holding them like they weighed nothing. It was weird- Sally and Slendra both had five bags each yet they didn’t seem to struggle at all! Maybe Jeremy was just weaker than he thought- 

‘’Pops!’’ Sally called ahead of them. Jack looked up at the girl, who was pointing ahead. In the distance, they could see a large fire. She grinned. ‘’There’s a bonfire! Can we go see it?’’ 

Jack smiled a bit. ‘’Sure kiddo.’’ he replied. The girls ran forward, with Jack and Jeremy sauntering calmly after them. The bonfire was surrounded by tons of teenagers who were yelling, hollering, dancing and drinking. Jeremy stuck close to Jack’s leg. Bigger kids had always scared him, and these ones looked like they were what his mother would call ‘hooligans’. 

‘’Hey! Jack!’’ someone called from a bit further away from the bonfire. Jeremy looked up and over at where the voice came from. He saw Slendra and Sally run off away from the fire.

‘’Shoulda known…’’ Jack murmured above him. He turned and started walking off after the girls. Jeremy followed quickly, not wanting to be left alone around so many older kids. Jack stopped in front of a small group of kids. Four boys and one girl. They all looked to be in their mid to late teens, and were sitting in a circle with a bag of candy in between each of their legs. In the centre of the circle was a box filled with cans of beer. ‘’Evenin’, kids.’’ Jack greeted.

‘’Hey guys!’’ one of the boys, who had blonde hair and was dressed in a Luigi costume chirped. His eyes were a bright, shiny blue that looked almost like lights. 

‘’Hi Ben!’’ Slendra greeted, bouncing on her heels. Sally abruptly dropped her bags and looked at the group, her hands on her hips.

‘’You guys can have anything you want from these bags in exchange for your butterfingers. Except the m&ms, sour patch kids and twixes. Those are mine.’’ she said, sounding more like a bossy older sister than a ten year old girl dressed as a cartoon character. The group all rolled their eyes and began digging through their bags. 

‘’Evury year…’’ another of the boys muttered. He had ginger hair that hung over one of his eyes, and was pretty skinny. He was dressed in a Mario costume that matched the other boy’s. He also sounded like he was drunk. Or maybe it was an accent. 

The boy sitting across from Ben, the boy in the Luigi costume, took a swig from his can of beer and looked at Jeremy for a long moment. He was intimidating. His skin was pure white, probably makeup, with big scars on either side of his face. His eyes were deep and sunken, but stared straight into little Jeremy. He was wearing a vampire costume, with a big collar and everything. His scary eyes flicked up to LJ. ‘’You’re stealing kids again?’’

‘’I’m no’ stealin’ ‘im, ‘is ma wuz givin’ ‘im away wiv th’ candy!’’ Jack retorted. The boy cracked a smile and barked a laugh. He looked at Jeremy and smiled. 

‘’Nice costume kid.’’ he said. Jeremy blinked in surprise.

‘’Y-you too,’’ he murmured. ‘’Your makeup is great...you’re really scary.’’

The teen smile. ‘’Aw, thanks!’’ he grinned. ‘’I’m Jeff, by the way. Uhhh-’’ he turned to his friends. ‘’That’s Ben, that’s Bryce,’’ he gestured to the boys in the Mario and Luigi costumes. ‘’That’s Emily,’’ he pointed to the girl, who was dressed as Princess Peach, complete with blonde wig and everything. ‘’And that’s Ethan.’’ he pointed to the last boy. He wore a white hoodie, black shorts, and a backwards baseball cap. His skin was green, and looked rotten. His purple hair hung over one of his crimson eyes. He must’ve had contacts in or something.

Jack frowned. ‘’Wha’s yer costume supposeta be, Ethan?’’

‘’A dead teenager.’’

‘’...oh.’’

"It's nice to meet you all." Jeremy murmured. Jeff looked back at him and smiled. He held out his hand.

"You too kid." The two shook hands. When Jeremy pulled his hand away, he realised Jeff had managed to slip a small piece of candy into it. Oh! Wow- these older kids were...nice. 

"So wha're you's all doin'?" Jack asked as he watched Sally raid the other kid's bags for butterfingers and reese's cups. 

"Oh, the usual," Ben replied as Slendra traded him a small box of smarties for a bag of jellybeans. "A bit of trick or treating, hanging out by a bonfire, doing a little drinking…"

"A lot of drinking in Bryce's case." Ethan added as he dug through his own bag of candy. He pulled out a bag of peanuts and sighed defeatedly before reluctantly opening it.

"And after," Jeff continued with a wide smile. He reached over and grabbed a black duffel bag from beside him. "We're gonna cause a little chaos. Some tricking with our treating, if you will." He added with a wink. 

Jeremy's eyes widened. Oh- he should've expected that from them honestly, but still. Trouble-making teens were something his mother always told him to avoid. Jack pursed his lips. "You's be'er be careful. You's don't 'ave fireworks, do ya?"

"Nah, nah." Ben shook his head. "just harmless stuff. Eggs, toilet paper, spray paint-"

"We go' fiirecrrackerrrsss." Bryce slurred out. Ben shot him a glare. Jack sighed.

"Be careful, awrigh'?" He murmured. The teens all nodded. Sally turned and walked back over to her bags. She deposited the results of her trading into a couple of them and gave a satisfied 'hmph!'. Jack looked down at her. "Ye finished, girlies?"

"Yep!" Slendra and Sally both chirped. Jack chuckled a bit. The teens got to their feet, slinging their candy bags over their shoulders. Jeff picked up his duffel bag and caught Jeremy's anxious stare. He smiled and winked at the boy reassuringly.

"We'd better head out," he said. "It's getting late." Jeff gestured to Jeremy. "I think you should be heading home kid. All the teens will be hitting the streets soon too. Don't want you getting hurt or picked on."

Jeremy gave a slight nod. He still wasn't sure if this older boy was nice or a troublemaker. Slendra turned and looked at the bonfire. She smirked, then pulled her hands up. She clapped them together loudly, and with a louder 'fwoosh!' the massive bonfire suddenly extinguished itself. There was a chorus of shocked gasps and general confusion from the teens that had been enjoying the fire's warmth moments prior. Jack whirled around and stared. 

"Slendra!" He hissed, looking down at the girl. "Don't do tha'! No' 'ere!" 

Jeremy stared at the blonde girl. "How did you do that?!" He gasped. She turned to him and gave him a wide smile.

"I'm a witch." She replied with a sly wink. Jeremy's eyes widened. He thought it was just a costume! Jack sighed above him and looked around at the group.

"Nobody tell Slender abou' this." He said, pointing a boney black finger at nobody in particular. 

"We won't as long as you don't tell him we were drinking and playing with firecrackers."

"Deal." Jack replied. He reached down and picked Jeremy up, putting the boy on his shoulders again. "Now make yerselves scarce, ya 'ear me?"

The teens smiled and nodded. As they began to walk away Jeff turned back one last time and gave the four of them a wave before turning around and jogging over to catch up with the others. Jack looked down at his two girls. 

"C'mon you's two. I fink we've done good t'nigh', eh?" 

"Awwwe- but it's only eight thirty!" Sally protested. Jack shook his head.

"Sorry lass, bu' ye know we go'a ge' our friend back b'fore nine. And if ye come 'ome wiv more'n five bags yer da will flip 'is lid." He replied. Sally sighed defeatedly. "C'mon." Jack turned and began walking off. Jeremy looked down at him.

"Hey Jackie?" He asked softly.

"Yeh, kiddo?"

"...are you guys monsters?" He asked. "Real ones? That come out on Halloween, like in the movies?" 

Jack looked up at him for a long moment. He smiled a bit. "...ye're a smar' one, ain'tcha?" He said softly. "Yeh, we are. We usually 'ide away from you's 'umans. 'Alloween is th' nigh' we stop 'idin'." He smiled up at the boy. "You won't tell any'ne, righ'?"

Jeremy nodded. "I won't." He murmured. He rested his head in Jack's soft black hair and smiled tiredly. "Thanks for letting me spend Halloween with you."

"Anyfin' fer you, kiddo." Jack replied softly. "I'm glad ye 'ad fun."

[caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma]

Map of the Soul, Chapter Three

For the @btswritingcafe​‘s Map of the Soul: 7 Workshop

Pairings: OT7 x reader (kinda); Taehyung x reader, Yoongi x reader

Series Summary: If you give a piece of yourself to everyone you love, at some point, there will be nothing left for yourself. While feeling lost and alone in your adult life, a strange box falls onto your head in your own closet, and you take an unexpected walk down memory lane wondering where everything went wrong.  Was it the romances that fizzled out, the friends & loved ones you left behind, the “what could’ve been” moments, the brush with Fate that never quite connected? Could the strange map you find have the answers you are looking for?  Determined to feel complete once again, you embark on a journey to reclaim the missing pieces of your soul.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Just a Smidgen of Smut

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: cursing & vulgar language, sexual innuendos, mentions of previous sexual encounters, nerdy soulmate things, mentions of suicide, mentions of depression

Chapter Three: The Beautiful Music We Used to Make

March 19th, 6:27pm

“Tae, I need an opinion,” you shouted from the bowels of your closet. “Can you come here a minute?”

You were digging through your unbelievably small collection of cocktail dresses trying to pick out something professional, but still flattering. There was no way you were going to attend this event without looking your absolute best. You already had the most gorgeous plus one ever, but it would take more than the great Kim Taehyung to make you feel confident in the presence of your ex-fiancé.

Min Yoongi.

You tried in vain for many years to forget about your failed engagement to him, but it haunted you nonetheless. Case in point, this fancy university function to honor Min Yoongi for his recent contributions to the Music and Performing Arts Department. Because of his generous donations, they were able to purchase a new grand piano and upgrade the stage and orchestra pit in the auditorium.

I guess becoming a successful musician is worth ending a five year relationship after all.

You swallowed the bitter thoughts and pulled another dress off the rack. Taehyung popped into your closet and actually felt the angst seeping out of your pores, and it aggravated him to no end. The breakup with Yoongi almost broke you, and Taehyung did his best to keep you in one piece. It was difficult from afar, but he managed to keep you focused on school and other things until you were healed enough to move on.

He hated that Yoongi kept slipping back into your life, and he wasn’t about to let this opportunity to confront the guy pass him by. He’d insisted on accompanying you to the event, and he intended to put every other man in the room to shame with his charm and good looks, including Min fucking Yoongi.

Taehyung took in the desperation mounting on your face and he decided to step in and help the damsel in distress before him.

Prince Taehyung to the rescue!

“Ttalgi,” he said softly. “Get your shoes on. We aren’t going to find what you need here. For an event like this, you need something special. Come on, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” you pouted. “It’s already 6:30, Tae. Where could we possibly go at this hour to find clothes?”

“Omela’s, of course,” he grinned. “Where else?”

March 19th, 7:07pm

“That one,” Taehyung breathed out sharply. “It’s perfect.”

You glanced down at the glittering black gown you were wearing and you pursed your lips doubtfully. You’d tried on at least three other dresses, but for some reason, Taehyung was convinced this dress was the winner.

It was beautiful, you had to admit. The slinky material was accented with delicate beadwork and sequined appliques which wrapped up one side of your body and dipped down the other. The slit across your thigh was just revealing enough to still be in good taste. The halter top was a little dated, but Taehyung argued that vintage looks never go out of style.

You turned back around to face the mirror and your gaze met Taehyung’s in the reflection. The confidence etched across his features calmed your anxiety little by little. You twisted back and forth to inspect the different angles of your body and you had to admit, the dress looked pretty good on you.

“Oh, you look gorgeous, honey,” a sweet voice piped up from the racks. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You and Taehyung looked out across the cozy vintage stores and saw a lilac bun of hair bobbing between the aisles of clothing. Omela’s was a jewel of a store located just beyond the hustle and bustle of downtown. The big display windows housed a hodgepodge of mannequins adorned with eclectic vintage clothing from many different decades.

Ms. Omela herself was the very definition of eclectic, always dressed in mismatched clothing from various different styles. She just wore whatever made her happy, and Taehyung absolutely adored her. You stopped in when you could, if only to say hello to the bouncing ball of sweetness that was Ms. Omela. She emerged from between two racks of clothing carrying two more dresses, but when she saw you, she set them aside.

“Now that’s the one, isn’t it?” Ms. Omela sighed happily. “Oh, Taehyungie, isn’t she just a vision?”

“She certainly is, 아줌마 (ajumma/auntie),” Taehyung breathed out, his eyes boring into yours in the reflection.

“Thank you, Ms. Omela,” you replied sweetly. “I’m so glad you were still open. I didn’t realize I needed something this fancy until this afternoon. Bless you.”

“You know I’m always here, honey,” she cooed. “Besides, it’s always a treat when I get to see my favorite customer.”

She leaned over to pinch Taehyung’s cheeks and he blushed under her praise. The old woman had a soft spot for him, and he worshiped her. His love of vintage clothing was kindled in this very store on one of his visits to see you when you were both still in college. He’d seen a shirt in the window and once he got to the second rack in the store, he was hooked. They’d become fast friends and she never hesitated to set items aside for him, knowing that he’d love whatever she found.

“By the way, Taehyungie,” she remembered. “I have a few things you should look at.”

She disappeared through another set of clothing racks and made her way to the back of the store, and Taehyung stepped forward to pull you into a back hug. You both looked at each other in the long mirror and you leaned your head against his broad chest.

“So this dress, huh?” you murmured. “You really think this is the one?”

“Totally,” he replied while placing a kiss on your exposed shoulder. “You look stunning, babe. I can’t wait to see his face when you step in the room.”

“I’m not ready to see him,” you whined slightly. “It’s been almost 10 years, Tae.”

“I’ll be right there with you,” he assured you with a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry. We just need to figure out which item is his.”

“It’s probably the kazoo,” you scoffed. “You know Yoongi and his musical instruments.”

Ms. Omela waddled back in with a large duffel bag. Taehyung stepped forward to take it from her and she patted his cheek lovingly. You smiled and stepped back into the dressing room to change out of the dress. By the time you exited, Taehyung was already in the room next to yours trying on the clothes she’d brought him.

“I can’t believe you still have this shop open, Ms. Omela,” you grinned. “How do you manage to collect all this amazing clothing?”

“My son, gods bless him, is to thank for my success,” Ms. Omela frowned. “Sometimes I think that he suffers through his terrible corporate job just to keep me happy. Ever since his father died, he’s made every effort to keep the shop open for me. I keep telling him that we should just walk away and let it close, but he refuses to let my utopia die.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you said. “You’re lucky to have such a devoted son.”

“I really am,” she sighed sadly. “Thank you for saying so, sweetheart. You know, Taehyung reminds me of him so much. Maybe that’s why I love to see his smiling face.”

You smiled earnestly at her and thought of the joy Taehyung brought into other people’s worlds. There really was no limit to the golden effect he had on them.

“Ms. Omela, I think I’m going to take this dress,” you told her. “Do you have any accessories that would go with it?”

“Of course, dear,” she squealed. “I always have accessories for every occasion.”

She wandered off to gather up some items for you to peruse. You could see her small hands reaching up and pulling items from shelves and baskets throughout the store, and you couldn’t resist smiling at her enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Taehyung emerged from the dressing room in a deep green suit with golden accents. The matching silk shirt underneath made his caramel skin glow in the shop’s soft lighting.

“Wow,” you gasped. “You look amazing, Tae.”

Taehyung struck a pose and flipped his hair out of his eyes dramatically. When he shifted his eyes to meet your own, he smirked and lifted a flirty eyebrow at you. You rolled your eyes in faux annoyance and smiled at him. The man could probably make an old paper bag look good.

“Oh, Taehyungie,” Ms. Omela cried out from somewhere in the shop. “You look divine, my love.”

“Thank you, ajumma,” he called out. “You always know what will look good on me.”

She emerged from behind a large rack of coats with a small basket full of glittering goodies, which she handed to you before stepping forward to get a better look at Taehyung.

“I knew that suit was for you,” she breathed out happily. “The moment it came in, I set it aside, knowing you’d come back in for it. I’m so happy you like it, sweetheart.”

After selecting a beaded clutch and matching jewelry, you and Taehyung bid Ms. Omela goodbye, promising to stop back into the shop before he left town. You noted that Taehyung was also sporting a few more bracelets on his wrist that weren’t there before. The woman spoiled him rotten.

Spoiled brat. Gotta love him though.

March 20th, 5:47pm

“Stop messing with your dress, ttalgi,” Taehyung commanded. “You’re going to ruin the beading if you keep twisting it like that.”

You couldn’t help it. You’d only been in the university ballroom for ten minutes, and you were already a nervous wreck. Everyone was automatically charmed by Taehyung, and you were happy that the attention was on him and not you. You just couldn’t get your mind off of Yoongi and his imminent arrival.

This was a bad idea.

You had strategically placed the five unclaimed items in your clutch along with your wallet, phone, and lipstick. It was an odd assortment, but you had a feeling that you would be leaving without one of the items tonight. The conversation in the room suddenly rose in volume and your heart dropped in the opposite direction.

“There he is,” you whispered unknowingly at Taehyung, who immediately scowled at the entrance.

“Min fucking Yoongi,” he growled. “I should wipe that fucking smile off his face.”

You released a shaky exhale as you took in the overall appearance of your ex-fiancé. He looked glorious in his crisp black suit and silky ash gray hair. He was accompanied by a bodyguard and his manager, and he made his way through the room shaking hands with the administration and meeting other important figures from the university.

“Damn,” you muttered sharply. “Why does he have to look so good?”

“You look better,” Taehyung insisted. “No one can compare to you right now, babe.”

You nodded at his comment, but it lacked conviction. You were entranced by Yoongi’s subtle grace and the enigmatic smile he gave everyone in the room. It wasn’t a big smile, just a slight pull on the corners of his lips. It was his polite smile, his professional smile. Only a few people ever saw his real smile.

I used to be one of those people.

The president of the university stepped up to the podium and properly introduced Yoongi, citing all of the wonderful contributions he’d made to the university over the years. Yoongi stepped forward and spoke a few words to the crowd, but his composure slipped slightly when he locked eyes with you from across the room. Taehyung must have noticed because he chose that moment to slip his arms around your waist and lean his chin on your bare shoulder.

“Yeah, he saw you,” Taehyung gloated, while kissing your shoulder. “How could he not when you look this incredible, babe?”

“Tae,” you hissed quietly. “Stop.”

“No way, babe,” he chuckled darkly. “If you want to talk to him, this is the best way to get his attention.”

The speech ended, the applause resounded, and everyone was encouraged to enjoy the open bar and hor d’oeuvres.

“I’ll be right back,” Taehyung suddenly announced. “Meet me on the balcony in a few minutes. I want to take in that amazing view with my lovely soulmate before we head out for the night.”

With that, Taehyung wandered off, leaving you alone at the table. You grabbed your drink and made your way onto the large balcony overlooking the city. The twinkling lights were indeed breathtaking, and you released an airy sigh as you focused on the horizon point between the city and the night sky.

You leaned on the ornate metal railing and swept your gaze across the dazzling view. From this perspective, you saw beyond the subdued university buildings and the monotonous drone of academia. The landscape dipped and revealed the lush wooded area surrounding the university grounds. Just past the trees, the horizon was speckled with multicolored lights from the rest of the town. Your entire field of vision was consumed by the twinkling lights, resembling an intricate galaxy of stars.

The gentle breeze whisked across the balcony, ruffling your curls away from your shoulders. You closed your eyes and leaned into the calming zephyr, hoping it would sweep away the anxiety building in your gut. You couldn’t understand how the tension on the balcony felt stifling, but it was steadily growing with each passing moment.

“Hey, stranger,” said a deep voice behind you. “Long time, no see.”

Yoongi.

That voice was unmistakable. The gravelly rumble, the delicate timbre, the playful bounce of his words crushing you under a mountain of anxiety. What exactly do you say to someone you once saw as your happily ever after?

He pulled up on the railing next to you and let out a breath full of an emotion you couldn’t quite place. You turned slightly to look at him and immediately regretted that decision. As soon as his eyes caught your own, he unleashed a devastating gummy smile which made your knees weak.

How does he do that every time?

“Can I just say that you look amazing in that dress?” he grinned. “I don’t know where you got it, but it suits you perfectly.”

“Thanks,” you grumbled. “Taehyung picked it out.”

His expression shifted to annoyed at the mention of your soulmate. The two of them never really got along, but they put up with each other for your sake. Now that you and Yoongi weren’t together, there was no hiding the displeasure in either of their eyes.

“Ah, yes,” Yoongi scoffed, scrunching his nose slightly. “The infamous soulmate. I remember. I guess it makes sense that you ended up together. I never could compete with that asshole.”

“Yoongi,” you admonished. “It was never a competition. Tae and I aren’t together like that. We never have been.”

“So you say,” he muttered coolly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous right now.”

“Of what?” you snapped. “You have nothing to be jealous of, Yoongi.”

He nodded at that, then turned to look out across the landscape. After a few moments of awkward silence, you decided to broach the topic of the evening.

“So,” you started simply. “How have you been, Yoongi? I know you’re doing well career-wise, obviously. But what about everything else?”

He smiled softly and let out a sigh.

“Always concerned about me,” he chuckled. “I always loved that about you. You never hesitated to think about my well-being.”

“Someone had to,” you challenged. “You were always so focused on music, you would forget to take care of yourself. I worried about you. I still do, if I’m being honest.”

“You do?” quipped playfully. “Why is that, pretty girl?”

You buckled slightly under the pet name he used to call you, but you were determined to address the issue at hand before you lost your nerve.

“Because despite everything that happened between us, I still care about you, Yoongi,” you admitted freely. “I will always care about you, even if you don’t feel the same way.”

His grin evaporated at that, and he furrowed his brows slightly. With a huff, he reached over and put his hand on your waist to pull you closer. Your breath caught in your throat at the proximity, and you released a small gasp as he leaned forward to rub his nose against yours.

“It was never about that,” Yoongi murmured quietly. “I always cared about you. I still do. I just couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you deserved.”

You trembled slightly as his fingertips wandered up and down your sides tracing over the curve of your hip and then up to the swell of your breast. Your resolve was weakening under his expert touch, and why wouldn’t it? The man knew every inch of your body and knew exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a whimpering mess.

“Yoongi,” you whined softly. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” he teased lightly. “I’m not doing anything to you...yet.”

You reached up and stopped his hand from moving any further. You couldn’t allow Yoongi to ruin you yet again with his touches. You’d come too far and there was no way you were regressing back into the mess you used to be.

That’s over for me now. I’ve moved on.

“I can’t let you do this to me again, Yoongi,” you explained firmly. “The last time I did, it almost broke me completely. I won’t put myself through that hell again.”

His face softened and he nodded in understanding. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and noted the glossiness of your eyes. He winced slightly and you saw him gulp in response.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really am. I wish I could be the man you want me to be. I just can’t. Not when I’ve come this far.”

“I know,” you replied softly, reaching out to hold onto one of his belt loops. “I’m really proud of you, you know? You’ve done some amazing things with your music.”

“Thank you,” he smiled genuinely. “That means a lot coming from you.”

You hesitated, but felt like you needed to say one more thing before you lost your nerve.

“He’d be proud too, y’know,” you ventured. “If he was still here, he’d be over the moon for your music.”

Yoongi stiffened against you and let out a huff of warm air. He knew what you were talking about, but you couldn’t tell whether he was comfortable talking about it. He pulled away slightly and your heart broke when you saw his glistening eyes.

Oh no. I’ve gone too far.

While you were both still in college and still figuring out what your futures would be, Yoongi’s best friend was involved in a horrible car accident which left him partially paralyzed from the neck down. They’d both been music performance/production majors: Yoongi, the pianist and his best friend Dae, the percussionist. After the accident, Dae fell into a deep depression knowing he’d never be able to play an instrument properly again. He tried to regain his strength through physical therapy, but in the end, his desire to make music just died along with his desire to live. After a year of despair, frustration, and overwhelming anger, Yoongi found Dae in bed, overdosed on his own sleeping pills.

Needless to say, the whole thing wrecked Yoongi. You stayed by his side, trying to ease the pain of his loss, but it didn’t do any good. Yoongi withdrew into his work, determined to succeed at music, no matter the cost.

You suddenly remembered what Yoongi was always telling you when you begged him to take a break.

I can’t take a break right now, pretty girl. I don’t have a second to waste. I need to do this before I can’t anymore.

Yoongi cleared his throat and shook off the discomfort at the mention of Dae. You thought Yoongi might be retreating again, which you couldn’t blame him for. Dae would always be a tender point of discussion, and you felt bad for even bringing him up. You started to pull away, but he reached forward and grabbed your hand, entwining his fingers with your own. He pulled your hand closer to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against it.

“You’re right,” he sighed heavily. “Dae would probably be talking shit about the stuff I’m writing now, but he’d still like it. He was a bastard sometimes, but a supportive bastard nonetheless.”

You both chuckled at that, and then you settled into another moment of silence. Yoongi was one to break the silence this time.

“I’m sorry,” he pouted. “I was fucking horrible to you after Dae passed. You didn’t deserve that, especially from me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was slipping away from me. There was just this big black shadow following me around and it didn’t matter where I went or who I was with, I couldn’t get rid of it.”

“It’s ok, Yoongi,” you soothed. “You were in a lot of pain. I just wanted to be there for you.”

“I know,” he admitted sheepishly. “But it was definitely not ok. You were so patient and loving and I treated you like shit. I neglected the one person who was trying to make me happy in the midst of all that pain and angst. We just kept going back and forth and I figured it was better to stop everything before I ruined your life completely. It was a shitty thing to do, and I should’ve been a better person for you.”

“You’re better now,” you reminded him. “Are you happy with your life, Yoongi?”

He looked you in the eye and gave you a lopsided smile. You knew that smile. It was the smile he gave people when he wanted them to believe that he was fine when he really wasn’t. You weren’t falling for it, and he knew it. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing that you were calling his bluff.

“I’m not unhappy,” he admitted. “I love my job, and I love the freedom that comes along with it. It does get a little lonely sometimes, but I deal. The hardest part is dealing with writer’s block. I’m actually in the middle of a block right now.”

“You? Blocked?” you teased. “The unstoppable writing machine is blocked? How is that possible?”

“Don’t tease me,” he whined cutely. “It’s a serious condition. I have a deadline coming up and I’m just stuck. Nothing sounds right and my mind just goes blank when I try to put beats together. It’s so frustrating.”

“I know,” you agreed. “Remember what Dae would do when you got stuck? He’d start banging on everything in the studio trying to inspire you. A random smack of a chair or the reverb off of the cabinets would catch your attention and then you were off and running like a madman.”

You both cracked up at the memory. Yoongi flashed another gummy smile at you and you felt blessed to be in its presence.

“I remember,” he chortled. “There was even that stupid purple kazoo he brought in once. He swore that even though he didn’t play a wind instrument, he could still outplay everyone in the building.”

You froze as he guffawed at the ridiculousness.

Purple kazoo!

Yoongi caught on to your sudden stiff posture and the panicked look in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked, eyes full of concern. “Was it something I said?”

You flashed him a look and tried to swallow, but your throat was inexplicably dry. You gulped down the rest of your drink and set the glass aside on a side table on the patio.

“Stay here,” you pleaded. “I have to show you something, but it’s in my purse. I’ll be right back.”

“Ok, I’ll wait right here,” he agreed, although still concerned about your shift in demeanor. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I promise,” you replied shakily. “Just wait, give me a minute.”

You rushed back inside and grabbed your clutch. Taehyung was talking up your friend Gina in the corner, so you dashed back to the balcony without a second thought. Once you reached Yoongi, you thought it prudent to explain yourself.

“So, I have absolutely no way of explaining this, so please don’t freak out,” you prompted. “I found this in a box in my apartment, and I didn’t know it belonged to you until just now.”

You opened your purse and pulled out the purple kazoo. Yoongi’s eyes lit up with recognition and his jaw dropped.

“What the,” he sputtered. “Why do you have Dae’s kazoo? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for that?!”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Like I said, I have absolutely no idea where it came from or how it came to be in my possession, but here it is.”

You handed him the kazoo and he took it gingerly from your fingers and just held it, his face full of wonder and disbelief. His eyes watered as he looked at it, and you tried to soothe him by rubbing his arms.

“This is the last thing Dae ever gave me,” Yoongi explained. “He’d left it in my studio and I took it to his apartment the night before he...the night before he-”

The words caught in his throat and he took a deep breath to combat the onslaught of tears pushing at the back of his eyes. You pulled him into a gentle hug, hoping to assuage his grief, if even a little.

“We talked for hours that night,” Yoongi croaked into your shoulder. “He even played on this stupid thing for me. Before I left, he handed it over and said I should record some kazoo for my next track. He said it would be the next big thing in hip hop.”

You continued to rub soothing circles on his back, but Yoongi just kept trembling in your arms. If you’d known how emotional this whole thing was going to be, you would’ve waited until you weren’t around crowds of people to unveil this sensitive information. Yoongi took a deep shaking breath and shuddered against you. He clutched at your back briefly and then slowly pulled away from your grasp. He pulled the silver pocket square out of his lapel and wiped the tears from his face.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmured softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just realized what it was when you mentioned it, and I thought you would want it.”

“I do,” he sniffled. “I don’t know why you ended up with it, but I’m glad you were able to bring it back to me. Thank you, pretty girl.”

“Don’t mention it,” you smiled. “I’m happy to help.”

“I just wish I had something to give you in return,” he sighed. “But I don’t have any-”

Yoongi suddenly paused and cocked his head sideways at you with a perplexed look on his face. He pulled up his sleeve and undid the cuff links holding his shirt together. He unveiled a bracelet of red silk thread woven around a silver eternity symbol. He pulled the adjustable strings to loosen it and then slid it off his wrist.

“I found this in my accessories collection the other day and I’ve been compelled to wear it every day,” he told you. “I don’t know where it came from, but every time I look at it, I’ve thought about you. It’s the strangest thing.”

He pulled your wrist up and adjusted the strings so the bracelet fit snugly against your wrist. He grinned at the sight and pulled your wrist to his lips.

“It suits you,” he murmured against your wrist. “It’s like it was made for you, pretty girl.”

Your cheeks were dusted pink at his words, but you returned his smile anyway. His eyes traced over your face as though searching for the answer to a question he had yet to ask.

“I can never apologize enough for what happened between us,” he proclaimed. “But just know that there is not one day that goes by where I don’t think about you. I know I made my music career a priority, but that was only because I was afraid of losing it like Dae. If the tables had been turned and I was the one who had ended up in his position, I don’t know if I would’ve survived either. Music is everything to me, and the thought of losing that terrifies me, even now.”

“I understand,” you sighed out sadly. “I just wish that losing me scared you just as much. Our relationship suffered because of that fear. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you, Yoongi. It just sucks that you didn’t want the same thing with me.”

His hand twitched against yours and he seemed to hesitate for some reason. He suddenly released a huff of breath and licked his lips.

“Fuck it,” he whispered.

Yoongi leaned forward and captured your lips with his own. The Universe stood still for a moment and you melted against his chest. The kiss wasn’t harsh, but just firm enough to give you butterflies and make your knees weak. You leaned into the kiss and pushed back just enough to elicit a needy hum from Yoongi.

You parted your lips and you felt Yoongi’s tongue sprint forward into your mouth, taking complete control of the kiss. The heat levels increased between you, and your mind flailed uselessly against the magnetic pull of Min Yoongi. Awash in a torrent of longing and nostalgia, the two of you sunk into an all too familiar passionate embrace. He pulled away from your lips, too soon, and leaned his forehead against your own.

“Music may be my first love,” he admitted openly while sinking his fingers into your hair possessively. “But I swear you will always be my last. No one will ever compare to you, pretty girl. Many have tried, but none of them even come close to you. If I couldn’t make a relationship work with you, then there is absolutely no hope for anyone else. I would rather go the rest of my life loving you from afar than trying to fake it with someone else.”

“Yoongi,” you gasped. “Please don’t say that. That sounds so lonely. I don’t want to think about you being all alone. It hurts my heart to hear that.”

“I’m not alone, pretty girl,” he assured you. “I have my music, and let’s be honest. With my busy schedule, a relationship isn’t going to be a real possibility for a very long time. I have no intention of slowing down any time soon. I’ll worry about that when the time comes. Until then, I have my memories of you to keep me smiling every day.”

He reached down and pulled your wrist up to run his fingers across the infinity bracelet. You watched as he traced out the never ending loop over and over again.

“That’s what this is, pretty girl,” Yoongi murmured softly. “Let this be a reminder that no matter what, my love for you is infinite. The memories of what we shared will always be a comfort to me, even when darkness falls.”

“How can that be enough?” you insisted. “They’re just memories, Yoongi.”

“Hey,” he said while reaching up to hold your face between his glorious hands. “Just knowing that you don’t hate me and that you still care about me is more than enough for now. I promise that if I ever need more than that, I will be giving you a call. Not as an ex, but as a friend. Before anything else, we were friends. I’d like that to still be true, if you’re willing.”

“Of course,” you breathed out in relief. “I would love that.”

You wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck and he returned your tender embrace. You both sighed out happily, and then you heard approaching footsteps menacing across the balcony.

“Well, well, well,” Taehyung drawled. “If it isn’t Min fucking Yoongi, my old nemesis.”

“Kim Elizabeth Taehyung,” Yoongi gloated cheekily as he turned to face him. “Still with a flair for the dramatic, I see.”

“Hey,” Taehyung shot back angrily as he pointed a long finger at you. “Only she gets to call me by that name. That is a soulmate trademarked nickname.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget?” Yoongi teased. “My pretty girl and her annoying soulmate, always joined at the hip, even from far, far away.”

“She isn’t your pretty girl anymore,” Taehyung reminded him. “You lost those privileges a long time ago, or don’t you remember breaking that pretty girl’s heart into a thousand pieces?”

Yoongi winced at that, but you rubbed his arm reassuringly. You glared at Taehyung who only smirked back at you triumphantly. He noticed your sudden tenderness toward Yoongi and his smirk morphed into a confused pout.

“That’s enough, Tae,” you announced. “Yoongi is not my enemy, nor is he yours. Back off.”

Taehyung recoiled slightly and ruffled his hair, trying to shake the confusion out of his curling tendrils. He shifted his weight to his other leg and looked Yoongi up and down, as if to assess any changes or hidden transformations he’d missed earlier. With narrowed eyes and a brief lift of his chin, Taehyung glanced back to your softened gaze.

“We don’t hate him anymore?” Taehyung questioned carefully. “Are you sure?”

You leaned over to kiss Yoongi on the cheek, drawing a flash of red across his cheeks and ears. You grinned at his embarrassment and shook your head at Taehyung as his jaw literally dropped in astonishment.

“No, we don’t hate him anymore, Tae,” you continued. “We’re good.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Taehyung breathed. “Finally.”

Much to your surprise, Taehyung stepped forward and took Yoongi’s hand in his own. Taehyung’s boxy grin made an appearance as he shook Yoongi’s hand and started talking a mile a minute. Yoongi went into mini panic mode with Taehyung’s abrupt advance into his personal space and he shot you a questioning look. You just shrugged.

“Can I just say that your last album was fucking incredible?” Taehyung blabbed. “I mean, your beats are fire, man, and don’t even get me started on those lyrics you write.”

“U-umm, thanks, man,” Yoongi stuttered. “I worked really hard on them.”

“We totally need to hang out sometime and just shoot the shit, y’know?” Taehyung persisted. “I would love to sit down and just watch you work. I bet it’s amazing.”

A deep voice broke up the love fest erupting all over Yoongi.

“Mr. Min,” his bodyguard announced unceremoniously. “It’s time to go. We have that flight in the morning, sir.”

“Yeah, ok, I’m going,” Yoongi assured him. “Just give me a second.”

You and Taehyung both looked at Yoongi and giggled at the awkward tension that dispersed now that the guard had intruded on Taehyung's moment of fawning over your ex.

“I gotta go,” Yoongi shrugged, while handing both you and Taehyung his business card. “But let’s catch up when I get back. I have to do a small promo tour over the next few weeks, but I’d love to get dinner with you guys when I get back.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Taehyung pouted. “I don’t actually live here right now. But hey, if you ever need a new marketing guy, let me know. I would quit my job in a second to work with you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Kim,” Yoongi chuckled, shaking Taehyung’s hand again. “Do me a favor and take care of this pretty girl for me. I know she’ll be in good hands if she’s with you.”

“Of course,” Taehyung breathed out. “It’s my mission in life to keep her safe and happy.”

“Then she’s lucky to have you,” Yoongi said with a grin. “Very lucky, indeed.”

He turned to face you and you couldn’t resist the puppy dog look on his face. You leaned over and offered him one last kiss on his pouty lips.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him sweetly. “We’re fine. Go on and break through that mental block of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before you know it.”

He pulled the kazoo out of his pocket and unleashed yet another gummy smile.

“Now that I have this,” he mused. “I’m sure something will come to me. Thank you. I mean it.”

After giving you one last gummy smile, he turned away and walked over to his bodyguard, leaving both you and Taehyung on the balcony. Taehyung put his arm around you and leaned his head on yours, deep in thought.

“Everything went well, I’m assuming,” Taehyung casually commented. “You both seem to be in a good place now, better than you were before at least.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Better than you anyway. What was with that full blown fanboy you busted out on him? Stan much, Tae-bear?”

“Come on, ttalgi,” he retorted. “The man is a musical genius. You cannot deny the man’s talent. I would be remiss not to recognize and respect the full power of Min fucking Yoongi.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling him that?” you giggled.

“Never,” he proclaimed. “That will always and forever be his name. Now, I say we take this party elsewhere. You look too damn good in that dress to waste away in your apartment.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Bar?” he suggested. “With karaoke? I’m buying.”

“Who could say no to that?” you gushed. “Lead the way, Elizabeth.”

You linked your arm in Taehyung’s and made your way out of the ballroom, your steps a little lighter than they were before.

Another successful exchange, Universe. Keep them coming.

Author’s Note: Man, I love me some Min fucking Yoongi. This was a shorter chapter, but it doesn’t diminish the impact on the rest of the story. We’re getting into the heart of the adventure, y’all. I hope everyone is ready to jump into the next chapter. KARAOKE WITH TAE!! Let me know how you’re liking the story so far. Until next time!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Chapter Two: Soulmates are a Forever Kind of Thing

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Chapter Four: Just Filter Out the Bad, Keep the Good

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​‘s MASTERLIST

[langdxn]

infamy | outpost!michael x witch!reader

SUMMARY: It’s Michael’s birthday and you have a surprise for him. He has one of his own.

WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, breeding kink, daddy!Michael, vaginal sex, choking, sneaky Xavier reference, cockblocking David Bowie.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k (I am so sorry, I’m new to this smut thing)

You knocked gingerly on the colossal wooden door to Michael’s office, your heart catching in your throat with trepidation. Your previous attempts to dissuade Michael from his work were never 100% successful, it was a risky game that could end in either your clothes in tatters hanging from the ceiling or a terrifying threat to incinerate you and your soul.

You nervously fiddled with the hem of your mini dress, a skintight black velvet number reserved specifically for special occasions when Ms Venable’s purple regalia was not enforced.

As his incessant typing ceased abruptly, the door creaked open by itself. Your eyes lay upon Michael sat forward in his desk chair, his hands studiously clasped over his laptop which swiftly closed the second the door opened.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He grinned as your silhouette emerged lit by the roaring fire in his office furnace.

“It’s your birthday, Mr Langdon.” You sashayed agonisingly slowly toward his desk, making sure your stilettos made a satisfying clink with every choreographed step on the polished floorboards. Supermodels walk with less sass, you thought to yourself, but this wasn’t the time for half measures.

“You remembered, my little witch,” he beamed his signature sinister grin across a corner of his lips, touched by the fact that your stay in the Outpost hadn’t robbed you of your sense of time. His oceanic eyes pierced through yours as you perched on the edge of his desk beside him,

As he prepared to lift himself from his seat to join you, you placed your hands atop his. Instead, he reached out to touch your leg where your suspender stockings met your bare skin, but you swatted him away again.

“Not so fast, sir.”

With a blink of your eye, his laptop bellowed a familiar tune. You’d heard Michael playing David Bowie’s Fame in his office weeks ago, dismissing it at the time as an accidental email popup but the mental images of him strutting around his quarters was too good to pass up.

Despite flinching at the sound, Michael’s smile eked across his countenance as he recognised it, even further when he clocked the tone you were setting with the song choice. The groove made you involuntarily roll your hips towards Michael, seductively sliding across the table edge to line yourself up with Michael.

Looking you up and down, concentrating on the height of your skirt, his eyes coursed their way up to meet yours, burning with desire and equal resentment at not being allowed the freedom to touch you.

Fame, makes a man take things over…

Hitching your dress up to reveal a glimpse of your blood red lace panties, Michael’s pupils burst as he realised they were the same panties he gifted you on your birthday. You protested they weren’t necessary, that clothing barely lasted seconds on your person around him, but he assured you they would come in useful someday. They lay, unused and unloved, in your closet shelves for months.

Until today.

Fame, puts you there where things are hollow…

Planting one stiletto on the seat beside his leg, your skirt exposed your core flush against your panties, already damp from your arousal. Being so close to Michael without feeling his touch sent your hormones into overdrive, your arms were desperate to cling onto him and draw him between your legs.

Lowering your eyes to glare into his from under your eyebrows, you caught a low growl escape his lips as he took in the vision of you, his little witch, nothing he could do about it.

But there was always something he could do about it. He’d proved his powers were beyond yours on numerous occasions, overpowering your attempts to dominate him every time without even a flick of his wrist.

This time, he wanted you to control him - the only question was for how long.

Fame, what you like is in the limo…

You slipped the thin straps of your dress over your shoulder and let them drape down your arms as you clung the main body of the fabric to your chest with tightened elbows. A gasp thinly veiled as a moan poured from Michael, driving you to reach over and place a gentle yet demanding finger atop his lips. As you leaned forward, your dress pooled around your waist, completely exposing your naked breasts in a happy yet nonetheless accidental seduction.

Something compelled you to turn and check you’d closed the door behind you, knowing full well the rest of the Outpost shouldn’t see or hear what comes next. As you half-heartedly waved a hand to close it tight, a much stronger force swung it open again.

You snapped your head back to find Michael, his hand gesturing in the air and a painfully intentional azure wink hit you.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it Mr Langdon?"

You already knew he liked the rest of the Outpost discovering your antics with their one chance at salvation. Knowing that you were the Cooperative’s only priority in the underground sanctum, that you were the solitary owner of the one guaranteed place in the Sanctuary. Knowing that the formidable Mr Langdon was directly responsible for the vicious bruises and welts peppered across your skin on a daily basis. Knowing that the blood-curdling screams that echoed through Hawthorne’s halls were yours, brought on by his relentless late-night punishments on the Outpost inhabitant he referred to as his little witch.

His plan to annihilate all the witches was doomed to fail from the onset because he fell for you. The last survivor of your kind, the final remaining Robichaux legacy. Owning you and your existence was a dominance you accepted gladly, having metaphorically sold your soul to him the second you met at a school exchange. The Boy Wonder was yours instantly, you were part of his survival plan before you were even aware there was something to survive. Now he had initiated the apocalypse, all he had left was to make your connection official.

Fame, what you need you have to borrow…

“Fuck this,” Michael snarled as his hips shot forward to stand, both hands grabbing at your legs and wrapping them around his waist before you could flinch. His palms gravitated towards your breasts, kneading away at both simultaneously as he leaned in to plant a searing kiss on your lips.

As you opened your eyes, you saw Michael towering over you, his eyes bore down on you like a ruthless predator that could tear you limb from limb at any moment. Instead, he tugged at the waistband of your panties, snapping both sides of their restrictive fabric before you could raise your hips to remove them. Casting the lifeless lace into the air which lands in a heap across the room, Michael’s eyes darted to their landing spot.

“Ignis,” he spat as the panties burst into ferocious flames on the floor behind his desk, his eyes snapping into their pitch black form with a blink. You knew in that instant that once his eyes have descended, there was no time for foreplay.

You were his now.

Is it any wonder I reject you first?

Grappling to unbutton his dress pants, he unleashed his member from its velour incarceration, leaving you questioning how much magic it took to encase his hard length in fabric. As he lined up his cock with your entrance, you clocked his girth which seemed to increase every time you saw it, fleeting ideas passing your mind of how much pain you’ll be in after this session.

The one predictable action Michael committed every time you made love was his habit of clutching at your throat just as he entered you for the first time, ensuring you struggled to breathe as well as concentrate. As the tip of his cock neared your folds, you instinctively looked down at his hands, palming away at the beads of precum lacing the head as his signature statement rings glistened in the dim light.

Gazing at the slick black shirt covering his chest, you concentrated on its obstructive buttons and they disintegrated into pieces, then the seams popped on your command and within seconds, Michael was completely shirtless.

“No, little bitch,” he barked as you felt a force strike you across the jaw making you gasp sharply before it clenched around your throat, an invisible iron grip on your airways.

“S—sorry, daddy,” you pleaded as you fought for breath. You felt his member suddenly stretch your entrance with one hard thrust, your walls aching on contact while your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Is it any wonder you are too cool to fool?

Michael rolled his hips deep into you as he deftly hit your g spot instantly, noticing your illicit moans of pleasure he tightened the force against your windpipe with a grunt and an accompanying grin spread across his cheeks. His hands trailed determinedly from the base of his cock up your thighs and spread them open as wide as you could take, the burn of your inside leg muscles mirroring the scolding heat inside you as Michael’s thrusts intensified.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned as he let go of the force on your throat and poured every inch into you, his own eyes journeying to the ceiling as he bottomed out inside you.

Regaining control of his sight, he wrapped your legs back around his waist and grabbed the back of your neck with both hands, pulling you in to crash your lips against his. This kiss was not his average dismissive clinch to remind you who you belonged to; this was a meaningful, deep connection that told you he needed you.

Got to get a rain check on pain…

Tearing his lips away from yours and leaving you whimpering at the loss, he looked you square in the eyes and caught his breath, his trademark red eyeshadow transforming into a burning crimson in the light.

“Sweetheart, I think daddy needs to fill you up,” he slammed further into you, “more,” again, “than,” again, “this.”

You knew exactly what he was getting at, but it pained you to leave the exact words unspoken in such a passionate encounter across his weary Outpost desk.

“What do you mean, Mr Langdon?” You questioned feigning innocence, tightening your walls around him and reaching out to dig your nails down his back in anticipation. Michael growled and pulled you closer.

“You didn’t think you were the only one coming here with a surprise tonight, did you?” he emphasised by pounding into you as if it were punctuation. “Daddy needs to fuck a baby into you, little witch."

“I thought you’d never ask, Michael,” you cried breathlessly, your voice firing up decibels and your back arching as Michael hit your cervix. You’d been impatiently waiting for him to finally bind your relationship and further his father’s plan.

“Oh I think you’re mistaken baby,” he hummed under his breath, towering over you like every word you said made him a foot taller. “I wasn’t asking.”

He plunged every inch of his cock inside you harder than before, if that were even possible. Your walls constricted around him and you felt the familiar ticking time bomb about to explode inside you.

“I can’t wait to see you growing with our baby, watch you swell with our new life, everything my father planned for us.” He held his palm flat on your stomach suggestively. “The whole Outpost will see you every day, blossoming with our child, knowing that I did this to you.”

His words poured into your ears like petrol on the fire burning inside you, both in your heart and your womb.

“G-gonna cum daddy, fuck,” you exhaled, scratching his back so deep you could feel the skin ripping beneath your fingertips, your personal time bomb almost at implosion and white spots dancing across your eyes.

“Go on little witch, cum for me,” he commanded, wrapping his arms around you tightly and protectively as you shook and writhed uncontrollably in his embrace. “I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you.”

With another thrust against your walls, Michael came undone with his own orgasm, releasing his cum right up against your cervix.

His eyes slowly returned to their gorgeous cerulean, gazing into your soul through your own irises. He kept his length deep inside you as he leaned forward to plant a haunting kiss on your lips.

“What the hell, daddy?” You chuckled, pressing your forehead against his as you waited for the erotic haze across your vision to dissipate.

“I want you to carry our baby, Y/N. The apocalypse has come, we need to repopulate, also it’s about time the rest of this pathetic Outpost realised you belong to Mr Langdon.”

You weakly nodded in agreement, too exhausted to form a more coherent response. Michael’s cock slipped gently out of you, pouring the wetness from your combined orgasms through your swollen folds and pooling onto his desk.

“Every year on this day, I’m going to get you pregnant. Right here on this desk, just like that,” he detailed as he buttoned himself back into his dress pants as if no further explanation was required. “Any objections, little witch?”

“None at all, Mr Langdon,” you obeyed as he gently pulled up your dress for you, planting the shoulder straps carefully in their rightful places. Michael stared down at his torso bewildered at his loss of shirt, before a quick transmutation to reach into his closet in his quarters across the hall swiftly rectified it.

“Funny, I didn’t notice the music had stopped,” you laughed under your breath, desperate to fill the silence as you composed yourselves.

As you took to your feet to pull your dress down, you stood flush against Michael, now fully clothed, his gentle breath grazing your cheek. A soft peck fell upon your lips as he gently placed his palm over your velvet-clad abdomen, examining his work.

“So… same time next year?”

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, ashenbloodandscarletspirit

July 22- Redeemed!Killmonger/Storm, something smutty with the prompt "You're very sexy when you're angry" maybe him seeing her for the first time during one of his black-ops missions and then seeing her again years later in Wakanda and making this comment (to T'Challa's horror), for @ashenbloodandscarletspirit

Written by @ozhawkauthor

“Wait a minute,” Erik blurted out, in the middle of the diplomatic reception, “I bloody well know you!”

The stunning white-haired Black woman arched a regal eyebrow. “I don’t think so,” she said in quelling tones, but Erik wasn’t about to be deterred.

“No, I fucking well remember.”

“N’Jadaka,” his cousin muttered repressively.

“Y’all don’t know who she is, do you, T’Challa? ‘Ms. Ororo Munroe’ here is also known as Storm.” Erik nodded when Ororo’s perfectly molded lips tightened. “Oh yeah. Yeah, you can’t fool me, Ms. Munroe.”

Ororo traded glances with T’Challa, and the next moment the Dora Milaje were closing around them, escorting them into an anteroom off the main reception room.

“Whatever this is about,” T’Challa pointed first at Erik, then at Ororo, “settle it between you. I don’t have time for this, and it’s definitely not convenient for the two of you to be making a scene.” Turning on his heel, he strode back out again, and the Dora Milaje went with him. Okoye paused only to shoot Erik a warning glance before closing the door behind her.

Ororo didn’t appear remotely concerned to be shut in a room alone with him, which only cemented Erik’s certainty that he was correct about her identity. And considering T’Challa’s reaction, he was pretty sure his cousin already knew.

“So what’s this ‘school’ of yours you want to set up a campus of here in Wakanda really about?” Erik demanded, folding his arms.

“Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” Ororo folded her arms and shrugged, her expression serene. “It’s exactly what I said.”

“Gifted, huh. Gifted like you’re gifted?” Deliberately, he mimicked her pose.

“None of our current students have my particular gift. When exactly did you say we met, Prince N’Jadaka?”

“I didn’t, and we weren’t exactly formally introduced. I don’t even know what it was you were about, but you and some of your gifted friends raided a military base I happened to be stationed at.” It had been fifteen years ago, and the memory was still as fresh as though it had been the day before. He’d been a few scant months out of basic training, already tapped for Special Forces but not yet part of that elite brotherhood.

“What military base would that have been?” Ororo asked, and he had to wonder just how many she’d raided over the years.

“Area 51.”

The words dropped between them like stones into a pond, causing ripples even across Ororo’s serene facade.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“That’s the woman I saw that night,” Erik said.

“What you didn’t see that night were the three children my friends and I rescued from Area 51’s laboratories. Children the US military were actively experimenting on. Gifted children.”

She was angry, Erik could see, her white hair beginning to bristle, the lightning flashing in her eyes. The thunder rumbled again, closer.

“I had no idea that was going on,” he said honestly.

“It’s still going on, and it’s why we need King T’Challa to agree to open a satellite campus of the school. We need a campus outside the US where we can transfer vulnerable students. Somewhere the Accords hold no sway, and the American military doesn’t get to throw their weight around.”

She was angry, Erik could see. Angry for those vulnerable, victimized children, and maybe for others she hadn’t been able to save.

“You’re very sexy when you’re angry,” he said, without even thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Ororo’s lightning-spangled eyes flew wide, her mouth dropped open, and the thunder stopped mid-rumble.

Erik grinned.

“What, ain’t nobody ever called you sexy when you got your mad on before?”

“No,” she said, apparently stunned. “Nobody has ever had the audacity.”

“First time for everything.” Boldly, he raked his gaze over her, head to foot. “Did you like it?”

“Do you know,” she smiled suddenly, and he swore it was like rays of sunshine bathing him, “I think I do.”

“You’re hella sexy when you’re smiling, too. Just so you know.”

Ororo laughed. “You might just be the most audacious man I’ve ever met, Prince N’Jadaka. Which is really saying something, considering the company I often keep.”

“Call me Erik.” He extended an arm courteously. “We’d better get back before my cousin sends Okoye in to make sure we’re not breaking the place up. Y’all might have the storm do your bidding, but believe me, you don’t ever want to make Okoye mad.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ororo put her hand on his arm, slender bare fingers curling around his muscled biceps, and a shock fizzed through Erik’s whole body.

“What was that?” he gasped, only to see his shock reflected in her expression.

“I don’t… that wasn’t me!”

It had felt quite a lot like being struck by lightning, only in the best possible way. His cock was straining at his pants, and there was no way he could go back out into company in his current state. He could hardly walk.

Reaching out his other hand, he caressed his fingertips tentatively down her bare forearm, sucked in a breath at the sensation.

“Oh,” Ororo said, her pupils blown wide, “oh my.” And she raised her hand to grasp onto his locs, pulling his head down to hers, and pressing her lips against his.

Erik retained just enough presence of mind to fumble for the lock on the door and turn the key in it, before devoting his full attention to Ororo. She gave a little jump, hooking her legs around his waist, making him groan desperately before he wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the padded bench on the other side of the room, setting her down on it and coming down atop her as she refused to let go of him.

“What are you two doing in there?” Okoye rapped sharply on the door.

“Fucking,” Erik freed his mouth for long enough to yell.

Ororo laughed throatily, and ripped his shirt open. “Not yet. But soon.”

“We literally cannot take you anywhere, N’Jadaka!” Okoye called back, obviously disgusted with him, but Erik knew she’d keep anyone from trying to barge in on them, for a while at least. Long enough, he hoped, for him to satisfy the woman in his arms well enough that she’d consider a repeat performance later that evening.

Ororo’s dress was made of some soft, stretchy fabric. She lifted her butt and held her arms up, making it easy for Erik to peel the dress off over her head and discard it to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra under it, and she stripped off her panties herself with a quick flick of her wrists, leaving her long, limber body bare to his eager gaze.

Erik couldn’t get a single word out. Only a strangled, hungry noise which made Ororo smile and hold her arms out to him in welcome.

They ended up missing the entire reception, sneaking out of the anteroom giggling like kids while all the dignitaries were at dinner. Ayo, obviously left by Okoye to guard the door, rolled her eyes at them, but said nothing as they ran past her, hand in hand, carrying their shoes, Erik’s ripped shirt hanging open and Ororo’s hair wildly rumpled.

“Terrible taste in men,” Ayo muttered under her breath, but she was also smiling, because it was the first time since taking his place in the Wakandan court she had seen Prince N’Jadaka, also known as Erik Killmonger, actually smile. And if the lady of the storm could make the prince smile, well then, she would always be welcome in Wakanda.

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (Chapter 30)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut. Chapters 1-29 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language, dirty talk, sex, tension, angst. This is all @yagirlcammmm’s fault. 😂

Word count: 4.1k

-||-

“You’re not really going to make me wait all through dinner, are you?” Your voice is tight and pained and he grins at you from the driver’s seat. “I was just trying to do something nice for you,” you protest and Brendon pats your thigh gently.

“You look pretty, baby,” he comments, ignoring your pleas and moving his thumb down to rub over your knee. “I told you to just feel sexy, and damn, you did not disappoint. But be that as it may, you teased me so much with that voicemail and got me so fucking hard.” Your hand shoots out to cup him through his dress pants and he carefully moves your hand back to your own leg. “No, honey. Nothing before dinner. We’re going to have a nice dinner out where we behave, and then I’m going to take you home and then we can be as filthy as we want. You wanna ride my cock or tongue? Do it. You want me to eat you out for hours? I will. You want to suck me off until I can’t see straight? God, please. You want to be breathing hard, sheets sticking to us with our cum and sweat? I want that. We can do all of that. After dinner.” He smiles at you adoringly. “I love you, you insatiable little freak. I really do. Let’s have a nice dinner because of the food and conversation and company, not because my fingers are up your skirt and your hand is down my pants.”

You sigh resignedly but smile back at him. “Okay. You’re right. You’re right.”

“I know.”

-||-

“So what makes Iago so bad? I mean, Macbeth isn’t a good dude. Claudius isn’t a good dude. Why does Iago get so much hate?” Brendon poses the question as he takes a sip of wine and your eyes light up at the thought.

“Because Iago has no motive. Macbeth and Claudius kill for power. Not justifiable, but understandable. There’s a clear motive. Iago just puts all of this into action to be a dick and fuck with Othello.”

Brendon laughs delightedly. “Please tell me you phrase it that way with your students.” His eyes are sparkling and you blush and shake your head. “No? They’d love it.”

“I’m sure, but I love my job and I have a feeling calling a famous literary character a dick, even if he is the worst Shakespearean villain, and using the word ‘fuck’ would get me in some trouble.” You make your point as you slice into your salmon. “And as much as I’d love to get fired and stay in bed with you all day, A, you’d still be working, and B, I’d like to have the option to come back to work after our kids are old enough.”

He grins and leans over to steal a bite. “Fair enough.” He pops the fish into his mouth and smiles at you. After he swallows, he says, “I’m glad we share food.” He goes for another bite and you block him with your fork playfully.

“Before you steal anything more, let me ask you this: why are you so into Iago?”

He laughs and tries to sneak his fork around yours. “I’m not. But you love talking about Othello, and I love watching you talk about Othello. You get so excited; you literally wiggled in your seat when I asked. I love seeing you talk about shit you love.” You make an ‘awww’ noise and he grins as you move your fork and he can snag another bite.

“Such a romantic - ‘talk about shit I love,’” you tease and he shrugs, stabbing a piece of duck off of his plate and bringing his fork to your lips. “Thank you, baby,” you say before accepting the bite.

“Well that was cute,” a voice drawls good-naturedly from behind you. You turn and smile. Jennifer and 8-Minute Rick (as you’ve taken to calling him in your head) are currently following the hostess but have paused by your table. “How are the lovebirds?” She turns to her husband and explains. “Ms. Milton here teaches British literature next to me and Mr. Urie is the band director. They’ve just gotten engaged.”

“Congratulations,” he offers, and his voice is lower than you expected for some reason. You suppose you assumed that because he lasts about as long as a teenager, he’d sound like one too.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “We’re doing well. And yourselves?” The hostess is shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as she waits for Jennifer and Richard to be done talking.

Brendon catches your eye and raises his eyebrows, asking the question silently. You shrug and nod, and he speaks up. “Why don’t the two of you join us? We’re in a booth for four people; there’s plenty of room.”

They exchange looks and smile back at you. “We don’t want to intrude.”

“Not an intrusion at all,” you argue, sliding over. “Please, join us.” This is a great idea, you realize. Having your coworker and her husband here will force you to think pure, chaste thoughts about the walking, talking, breathing sex across from you.

It is a good plan, a great plan even; the conversation is flowing freely and pleasantly between the four of you, and it’s only after Richard has popped the cork on the fourth bottle of wine between the four of you that things turn arguably south.

Jennifer leans across the table conspiratorially towards Brendon and beckons him closer. “I hear,” she says, and her words are only slightly slurred, “sex with you is fucking phenomenal.” Richard’s eyes go wide, you feel your face get hot, and Brendon just looks stunned. “Don’t look so modest,” she continues, her smile widening. “From what I hear, you’re excellent at being in control and you just give and give and give...Richard,” she snaps suddenly, getting her husband’s full attention. “You and Mr. Urie here should exchange numbers so you can learn something.”

“Okay,” Richard says sharply, “you’re cut off.” He moves her wine glass and you are still frozen, flushed, and a little furious. You give Brendon a glance and you can’t read his face. “We’re going to call it a night. So sorry about this,” Richard apologizes, looking chagrined. “She’s normally-“ he shakes his head. “Sorry.” Jennifer looks disgruntled as he guides her by the elbow out of the booth and she’s saying something but Richard talks over her. “I’ll take care of the check with the waitress, you two enjoy your evening. So sorry.”

Jennifer waves at you both, mouthing something unintelligible, and you wave back weakly. Brendon turns so his full focus is on you. “Phenomenal, huh? Good at being in control? And I just give and give and give?” His tone is level and you want to disappear. “Where would she get that idea?”

“They were hounding me at lunch; I had to give them something,” you protest. Brendon looks somewhat amused now at least, you recognize in muted relief, and you continue. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.” Your voice is earnest and he sighs, taking your hand across the table.

“It just surprised me, that’s all. I’m so...well, I figured you understood that I’m incredibly protective of you and everything involving you, including - especially including - our sex life. I don’t want other people thinking about you like that.”

“And I don’t want people thinking about you like that either,” you say quickly, squeezing his hand. “It was just...they were incessant. I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I tried to be as diplomatic as possible and say enough to get them off of my back; I didn’t think they’d remember…” you trail off, eyes meeting your husband’s. “I’m so sorry. I just didn’t think-“ you break fall silent, at a loss for words.

Brendon smiles a little, his thumb moving in circles over the back of your hand. “Well, it could have been worse. You could have said sex with me was a chore and tedious.” You give him an incredulous look and he nods in mock-seriousness. “How do I know you actually enjoy it? How do I know you’re not just humoring me?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No,” he says and his lips twitch a little as he tries to keep a straight face. “No, babygirl, I’m being quite serious.”

“Take me home,” you tell him, standing from the table. “And I’ll prove it.”

-||-

“Do you,” and you pause to catch your breath and get your hair out of your face with a quick jerk of your head, “believe me now? Gonna stop holding out and come in me?” You’re straddling him, hands gripping his shoulders as you rock on top of him in quick circles.

“I might,” Brendon pants, reaching up to cup your breasts, “if you come on me first.”

Your eyes widen comically and your fingers dig in a little tighter. “Again?”

“You say that,” and he grunts, eyes sliding shut, as your hips drop down with force, taking him deeper, “like seven is a lot to ask for.”

“I mean…” your voice trails off as you pick up your tempo. “I honestly thought five was a lot; I’m surprised you - ooh, that felt good,” you gasp in surprise, looking down at him. “Surprised you got five out of me in the first place; six was a miracle. Now you want a - oh fuck - Jesus - Brendon, god, please fuck - seventh?”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” he grins from under you, “if I’m interpreting your words and tone accurately.” His thumb brushes over your nipple again and you shiver, rolling high up his length before sinking down with purpose. “Come here,” he murmurs, and you lean over to accept his kiss. “God, you feel incredible,” he whispers against your lips before kissing you earnestly again, clutching you closer while his hips buck under you.

“Incredible enough that you’ll believe me?” You ask hopefully, breathlessly. He shakes his head with a grin and grabs your ass with both hands, thrusting up into you roughly. “God, Brendon,” you sigh, kissing him again, moaning into his mouth when his tongue meets yours. “I feel fucking everything, holy fuck, your cock...”

“Yeah?” He’s breathing hard, sweat rolling down his forehead and chest, eyes heavy. “You gonna come for me, so I can come in you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, squeezing around him. “Yeah, fuck yeah. Oh, God, oh shit Jesus fucking Christ my pussy - I’m gonna - gonna - gon- oh fuck,” you squeal when you come hard, shaking all over.

Instantly, his hands close over your hips and he rolls you both so he’s over you; hips pumping hard as he fucks you through it. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “Let it all out. Go fucking wild.” You’re thrashing under him now, whimpering and moaning and clutching his back. “Yes, baby,” he grunts and you feel him, hot and fast, the sensation so pleasurable.

“There you are,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him against you. “Come in me, fuck me hard, fill me up, god Brendon you’re so- oh fuck, you feel so good,” you tell him, clinging to him desperately as his hips thrust forward in sharp, short movements.

“You like that?” His voice is tight and breathless. “You like feeling my cum in you?” You nod eagerly, kissing over his neck and jawline. “God, I love you,” Brendon finally sighs when he pulls out of you. You whimper at the loss and he kisses your forehead. “Get some rest, baby.”

-||-

The rest of the week passes quickly until it’s Friday afternoon and you’re headed down to the field to observe their last practice before the competition tomorrow. Brendon waves at you from the tower absentmindedly and you wave back, smiling up at him. When you reach the foot of the tower, he beckons you up and you ascend until he’s helping you through the opening and pulling you close. He maneuvers you to stand in front of him and he rests his chin on your head. “Hi honey,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek before moving back to his chinrest.

“Hey,” you sigh, a little distracted now that the day is over and you can fully process everything. You’ve got so many Othello tests to grade and not nearly enough time. Not with the competition this weekend and everything Brendon is going to need from you. He’s been equally distracted and short and overfocused on the band and their various issues; you wish you could make it better but this is out of your control. It’s up to the kids.

“You okay?” Brendon asks, and you can tell from his tone that he’s not ready to deal with your day too.

“Yeah,” you say unconvincingly. He makes a disbelieving sound, so you cave. “I’m just so stressed about this Othello stuff. I have so much work to do and I’m so tired and today was just -“

He kisses the top of your head distractedly and turns back to the band. “Y/n, I can't really do anything about this right now. Love you though,” he murmurs, but his voice is far away.

Your body stiffens for a moment but you force yourself to relax. You knew he couldn't focus or listen and you talked anyway; you were just setting yourself up for failure in a way. “Love you too,” you tell him, leaning back against his chest. “Is it gonna be another late night?” But he doesn’t answer; he’s fully engrossed in the field.

When he finally relinquishes control of the band and allows them to pack up, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s only 7:30; there’s still time for normal dinner and maybe some cuddling on the couch after a hot-in-both-ways shower together. As the kids leave, he turns to you. “You head home, honey. I’m gonna be here a while, getting stuff ready for tomorrow.”

“But,” you protest, “you need to eat. I was gonna make dinner and suggest we watch a movie and just relax after a hot shower.” You run your fingers up his arm coaxingly.

He smiles faintly. “That sounds nice, baby. Maybe Sunday after everything.”

-||-

When your alarm goes off at 4am the next morning, you swear and reach for him but he’s not there. “The fuck?” You mutter, patting the bed. “Where the fuck-“ and realization dawns on you, so you scramble for your phone. Sure enough, he texted you at 11:45pm, but you were already asleep - not on purpose, you did try to stay awake. You don’t even remember falling asleep. Hey honey, it’s late and I don’t want you driving to come get me. I’ll just sleep here. Will you bring me a change of clothes? My band polo is here; don’t forget yours. “Brendon, you’re gonna work yourself to death.” You swear again, dropping your phone and rolling out of bed, throwing things into a large tote bag. His change of clothes, your change of clothes, his toothbrush and the toothpaste, his glasses and contact lens case, and your hairbrush. As you breeze through the kitchen, you grab a handful of granola bars and an apple for him, eyes scanning the counter. “Oh!” You exclaim to yourself. “That’s important.” You snatch the Manila folder up, drop it in your bag, and head out the door.

He greets you sleepily at the field entrance to the band room, rubbing his eyes. “Stop rubbing,” you tell him, holding out his contact case and glasses. “Take them out,” you urge gently, and he nods wordlessly, beckoning you inside. He gets his contacts out and puts his glasses on, running a hand through his hair. You pass him the brush and he looks at you softly.

“Thank you baby,” he mumbles, fixing his hair. You pass him a granola bar and the apple and he pulls you close to kiss your hand. “You’re so good.” You kiss the top of his head, breathing him in. “I love you.”

“I love you too. The kids are gonna be here soon,” you say through a yawn. “You need to change still.” He nods and takes the change of clothes you offer him.

“Hey,” he turns in the doorway, his face gentle and warm. You get a soft fuzzy feeling, sure he’s about to promise you time and attention. “Will you make sure you grab the registration packet? It’s in a Manila envelope.” He walks away and your shoulders drop. Once today is over and you both relax, you tell yourself, it’ll be better. As for the registration packet, you already have it - it’s the one you snagged from the kitchen.

“I’ve got it,” you call after him, but he obviously doesn’t hear you.

-||-

The bus ride is quiet; everyone, Brendon included, is dead asleep. Except you. You can’t manage to fall asleep. His head is heavy on your shoulder and he’s letting out these soft sighs every so often. “Louder,” he says in his sleep at one point. He must be having a sex dream, you muse, and he wants to hear how good he's making you feel, even in his dreams. “Saxes, louder. I’m not kidding.” He mumbles something else and falls silent and you sigh, a little disappointed, brushing your hand through his hair. He needs the sleep. When the bus pulls into the parking lot of the high school hosting this weekend’s competition, Brendon jolts awake. You stifle a curse; you were just drifting off to sleep. The student volunteer from the high school climbs on the bus and Brendon turns to you. “We need the registration packet,” he tells you, and you nod sleepily, digging through your tote and producing the envelope. You pass it to him and he passes it to the student, who opens it, stares down at it, then looks back at Brendon, confused. An icy feeling hits you. Wait...why would he have had the registration packet at home? Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck. The student passes it back to Brendon, who glances at it and then turns to look at you. “I thought you grabbed the packet,” he says calmly. You pale.

“I did,” you try and his eyes flash with something. “Did I not…?” He hands you the envelope and it’s a pile of Othello papers that you brought home to grade. Your normal “to be graded” folder was full, so you improvised and must have dropped this one on the counter when you got home last night. Fuck.

Brendon just gives you a long look before turning back to the student. “So what needs to happen?”

The kid sighs. “You need to fill out new paperwork.”

Brendon nods, processing this. “Okay.” He looks at you. “You’ll take them to the warm-up area and get them running through the opener. Once that’s done, they’ll need to change. Our class goes first, and we’re the second slot, so there’s no time to waste.” The kid is shaking his head. “What?” Brendon practically snaps, and you wince.

“You can’t gain access to any competition areas without hand stamps.” This poor kid. He looks petrified. “And I’m not allowed to stamp any hands without completed paperwork.”

“So you’re telling me that these students are going to sit here on this bus, doing nothing, while I fill out paperwork I’ve already filled out?” His voice is tight and he’s clearly pissed. “That’s absurd.”

This poor kid. “Brendon,” you interject, your hand on his arm. He tenses at your touch. “It’s not his fault.”

“No,” Brendon agrees calmly. “It’s not.” He stands up and gives you a cool look. “I’m going to go fill out paperwork. Again.”

-||-

Time must be moving at double-speed, you reason, because Brendon is still not back and the kids’ warm-up slot is rapidly approaching. They haven’t changed yet, and they’re starting to get antsy. In the 45 minutes between now and their performance slot, they need to eat, change, and warm up. Fuck. How have 45 minutes already gone by? How is half of your pre-performance time gone? Brendon climbs back on the bus at that moment and your shoulders drop. “Oh thank god,” you breathe, and he gives you a look.

“Okay, hands out,” he tells the kids, and he steps aside for the student volunteer to move down the aisle, stamping hands. “Get off. Eat. Change. I want you ready to warm up in 15 minutes.” You go to protest that that’s not nearly enough time for them, but you stay silent instead. Probably for the best.

The parent volunteers stumble off the bus after the students and the bus driver must have read something in Brendon’s eyes when he came back up the stairs, because he leaves too. Brendon meets your eyes and you want to cry. “What the hell were you thinking?” He asks in a low voice, obviously restraining himself.

“I wasn’t - I didn’t - I saw the envelope at home and didn’t remember putting my stuff in it and just assumed -“

“That seems to be a pattern for you, Y/n, not thinking. Not great from an English teacher. Your entire job is to think.” You're shocked into silence. He keeps going. ”You just grabbed something - you didn’t even check?” He snaps at you and you feel sick.

“No,” you snap back, “I was exhausted and you were just barking orders at me,” that’s not exactly true, a voice in your head argues, but you’re on a roll, “and I was relieved to have this one thing already done, proud of myself for grabbing it from the kitchen counter and -“

“I cannot believe you,” he mutters, staring past you and out a window. “I knew you were stressed about your Othello shit and I knew I hadn’t been giving you my full attention when you were complaining about it and that bothered you, but this?”

You freeze. “Do you think I did this on purpose?” Your voice is shrill and you’re stunned. “Do you think I did this to make a point to you about not listening to me?” He goes to open his mouth and you hold up a hand. “No. I love you, Brendon, but you need to think very carefully about the next thing you say to me.”

You’re both breathing hard and he levels a glance at you. “I think,” he says slowly and clearly, as though you might not get it, “you realized your mistake sooner than you let on. And I think that while you didn’t intend to do this, you let it happen because you knew it would get my attention.”

You feel the anger flare up inside you and you scoff. “I don’t need to get your attention with petty bullshit, Brendon. I’m your wife, not some freshman who doesn’t know how to get a guy’s attention. Your wife. Your wife, Brendon. Think about what you’re saying your wife did.”

“Y/n, first, this isn’t petty bullshit. You literally fucked with my job. If we don’t do well in this competition, our chances at State drop. If I don’t come through with championships, why would they keep me on staff? Second, don’t deny it - you were stressed about Othello and focused on it. God, Y/n, you don’t see it, but you’re careless at times and you’re focused on your own issues and you pushed mine aside. I love you, but you can be so careless and selfish at times.”

You shriek a little, stunned. “I’m sorry, what?”

“This, and then dinner with Jennifer and her husband? You didn’t have to tell your coworkers about our sex life, but you did, because you liked the attention.”

“Brendon,” you say simply, shocked. “Brendon, what the fuck.”

“Yeah, Y/n, what the fuck?” He looks at you a little sadly and turns on his heel.

“Brendon,” you yell, tears causing your voice to shake and then crack. “Brendon, wait-“ but he’s gone.

You rush down the bus steps but he’s already into the warm-up area. You follow him, but the volunteer at the gate stops you. “Sorry, no one without a stamp can access competition areas.”

You glance at your hand. Fuck. The kid didn’t stamp you. “Okay, clearly I’m with the Putnam High band,” you say frantically, gesturing at your polo. “Please.”

“Sorry ma’am, rules are rules.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all. You narrow your eyes at her sharply before turning back to the entrance.

“Brendon!” Your voice cracks again and you know he hears you because you can see his head twitch. He doesn’t turn. “Brendon, please!”

Nothing. You might as well go back to the bus to wait.

Fuck.

[jacobseedz]

Lovely Lady - Part Two

summary; after your meeting with Crawford he invites to for dinner.

pairings; Crawford Starrick x fem!reader

ps. i suck at writing smut or anything nsfw so i ain’t gonna do that lmao

A/N in part one Maxwell was so f out of character, like damn. I know he’s a maniac & idk I just made him a lil bit softer??? 🤣 yikes.

s/n - servants name cause I’m not very creative & didn’t know what to come up with lmao.

Part One

( gif credit to @sundomking )

“I cannot believe you left the Theatre, when I advised you not to.” Roth shouted.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m old enough to decide about myself, father.”

He stopped abruptly, his laughter booming suddenly. You stared at the maniac.

“You’re mental.”

“That I am, my daughter, that I am.” He grinned, doing the jazz fingers.

“What did my mother see in you? I can’t find anything normal within you, old man.” you stated, chuckling.

“Nothing, but she felt me.” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting.” you scowled. “I have a dinner to attend, au revoir.” you saluted, smiling from ear to ear.

You backed away to a room with your clothes, picking a beautiful blood-red gown. Your (h/c) hair was curled, sliding down your shoulders.

Your carriage was already outside, Crawford probably sent it earlier. You felt your insides tingle at the very thought of him.

The coachman greeted you, helping you up the three steps.

“Thank you.”

The ride wasn’t long, only few turns now and there. You quite enjoyed it, watching people chatting, drinking coffee and laughing together. It made you calmer, since you were practicing shaking, partly from stress and excitement.

You - a young lady as yourself having dinner with the most powerful (you even dare say more powerful that the Queen herself) man, Lord Starrick. The Grand Master of the British Order in London. How crazy is that?

However you must admit, he’s a very handsome man for his age. Oh you could just imagine his glorious moustache on you cli-

No. You shouldn’t be thinking about such things. You two just met the other day.

But a little fantasy before dinner wouldn’t hurt anybody, huh?

Just before you could imagine Crawfords big, rough hands on your thighs, making their way to the place that needed his attention most, you realised the carriage came to a stop and the coachman held the door open.

“We’re here, miss Y/N.”

“Oh, my apologies, sir. The beautiful nature must’ve taken my whole attention.”

“No need to apologise, miss. Now of you go, Lord Starrick is awaiting your arrival.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, which of course you returned with a quiet “Have a nice day.”

The Starrick mansion was very mesmerising, however the man himself was waiting for you.

Quickly you passed the glaring guards, you so shameless seduced last time and scurried of to find the handsome man.

“Ah, miss Y/N. Please, after me. Mister Starrick has just sat down.” one of Crawfords servants declared.

He brought you to a rather large room, where a long table stood in the middle, with Crawford Starrick sitting at the very head of it.

“My lovely lady, Y/N. You look marvellous. Good enough to eat.” he whispered the last part, looking hungrily into your eyes.

You stood practically paralysed, has he really said that.

“Huh, what?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I said, are you ready to eat? My cook prepared his special.” he exclaimed, looking at you in question though you could see a small smirk forming on his face.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“May I?” he asked, motioning your black coat.

When he looked at you again, now just in your dress, you swear you heard his breath hitch at the sight of you.

“My lady, you look absolutely beautiful, the most enchanting woman I’ve set my eyes on.” he complimented, eyeing you up and down.

“Thank you Lord Starrick, you look very handsome tonight, well, always.” you blushed.

The man wore a navy blue suit and a smirk on his gorgeous face. You nearly swooned when he grabbed your hand, leading you to the table. His touch was electrifying, your whole body buzzing with excitement from next events that’ll bring the evening.

Taking your gaze from his form, you sat down. His hand softly touched your collarbone, sliding it’s way to your neck, where you could feel his breath.

“Dinner may be served, S/N.” he exclaimed, straightening up and sitting at the head of the table.

“Tell me, my dear, how are you on this fine evening?”

“Oh, Lord Starrick, I’m very well, how about yourself?”

“My day was rather dull until you arrived, looking ravishingly.” he smirked seeing you blush.

Soon the servants brought the special dishes. Crawford poured you his finest wine, shipped directly from Italy.

______

You two moved to another room, it was his office. You were sitting in front of the fireplace, leaning back on the gold coloured couch. The man himself was playing with his skilled fingers a soft tune on his piano.

Just some time ago he told you everything about the Templar’s and Assasins, trying not to smirk proudly for telling you about his all successful missions. You watched him in awe.

“May I have this dance?” he stopped playing, now standing in front of you.

Nodding, you took his warm hand in yours, letting him lead you to the middle of the floor. He wrapped his hands around you, swaying with you from side to side.

“You must be a witch, my dear.”

“And why is that, my Lord Starrick?” he felt shivers at the name.

“You’ve cast a spell on me. I can’t seem to stop thinking about you. All I have in mind is you and your truly beautiful face. I couldn’t even converse with Ms Thorne, could you believe that?” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe. You inhaled sharply.

“Oh, what can I say, sir? I must be cursed.” you have him your best innocent eyes.

He smirked. “Well, why won’t I help you cure it?”

“Shall we move to the bedroom?” you rubbed your face against his neck, inhaling his cologne.

“Brilliant plan, my lovely lady.”

______________

want to write smut to it? feel free. hope you like it & im really sorry for errors or anything. thank you sm for reading 🥰

[daily-rubbersoul-redux]

what a dynamic duo

[wydobrien]

what we were before

AUTHOR: @wydobrien | requested tags: @maddie110201

PAIRING/S: stiles stilinski x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,107

AUTHOR’S NOTE: due to all the positive feedback i received from to the dress that never fit, i thought i would write a small prequel to it—something to shed some light on what the relationship was like between the reader insert and stiles, and, the pack as well. it’s a bit darker, but also lighter, than to the dress that never fit. i hope you all enjoy. i feel like i butchered the ending but :). yikes.

WARNING/S: depressing themes.

listen to me.

THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF TO THE DRESS THAT NEVER FIT.

There is nothing more meaningful someone can say to me than what the blank wall of a ceiling can. And while my eyes stare up into it, patiently resting on the palm of my right hand is my phone—black-screened, unbothered. I’m waiting for a call, or, more likely, a text from my best friend, just like I do every night. Deep down, though, I know I won’t get anything, just like I do every night too. But, still, I wait as my ceiling speaks to me, giving me the strength I need for another night of false hope and exhaustion in the morning.

Sometimes I wonder if thinks of me anymore. My heart still becomes filled from every empty promise he tells me, but my mind, my strength and my body are left to starve from them when they become due. It makes me question, right in the middle of the night when my hope begins to falter and I start to feel that awful sinking feeling in my chest, of how something that isn’t a person can be so cruel to me. The sense that I’ve done something wrong to deserve this becomes present and I’m left wishing I had slept instead of allow what a boy said to me before dismissal keep me awake. And the next day, it’s like he forgot all about it, and I forgive him. I forgive him each and every time.

Every single time.

My mind slips into fantasies—things I believed would’ve happened if I wasn’t the way I am; if I was like the same girl he gushes about to me. And I don’t know whether or not wishing for things that aren’t real helps me feel something in a wake of numbness or just brings me down further. I guess it’s the things that make us hurt are the things that make us feel. The downside of it all is that what I feel isn’t what I want to feel.

Rocking back and forth on my heels, I tuck my lips into my mouth, leg bouncing up and down with anticipation. I’m stuck in the same position almost, standing next to his locker as if I’m a guard protecting it. But when he comes into my view from down the hall, I feel everything in me sink as I also see that he’s not alone.

The way he smiles at her isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. How he was dying merely a month before, struggling within his own self and debating whether or not the struggle was even worth it, and now he’s beaming like he just realized his purpose of living is remarkable. I have to look away, or else I’m really going to feel more stuck than I already was. I only seem to move when I hear him approach, his laughs following.

“Hey, (y/n), what’re you waiting here for?” I gulp and peer up at him with wide eyes, a red hue falling over my cheeks easily. “Lydia just told me that you were still in the library.” Shaking my head lightly, I tuck some hair behind my ear nervously and grin. My grin has been so unnoticeably empty besides to me and Ms. Morrell that I hardly try to make it seem convincing.

“You said you would come over last night, but, you didn’t.” I watch as his face pales, his hand freezing from putting away his books. “S—So I was just. . . seeing if everything was alright.” Clearly you are, but, is it selfish to hope you aren’t? Why do I try anymore? Why do you continue to treat me as if 11 years of friendship meant nothing to you? What did I do Stiles? What did I d—

He sighs and for a few seconds, he looks down, his lips pressing together into a firm line. “I’m so sorry.” Stiles whispers, meeting my glossy eyes. I see regret laced in them, and I fall right into their trap again. “Things got too out of hand for me. On my drive home, Roscoe broke down in the mud and I had called Scott to take me home, but, he couldn’t make it either. I called Lydia, and she drove me home. From there, I. . .” You forgot about me because all you could think about the girl sitting next to you. “I was so tired after that. She brought me home and I went to bed instantly.” My heart aches, but I nod softly anyways, hearing a sound of relief come from Stiles in response. Stiles hasn’t ever wanted to go to bed immediately. “But I will come tonight, I promise! Eight o’clock sharp, I’ll call you beforehand.” I don’t really respond. Suddenly I feel one of his warm hands clutch onto my forearm. “You can hold me to it, okay (y/n)?” Silence still takes over me, dealing with all the yells of my head and the singing of my heart, until he gives my arm a small shake. “Okay?”

Licking over my lips, I continue to stare into his eyes, feeling my grin somewhat grow. “Okay.” I whisper, and Stiles nods with a smile, letting go of my arm to quickly put away his things and shut his locker hurriedly. It’s then he offers his hand to me, and I take it bashfully as we walk out the school and to his jeep. His clean jeep.

I fight back against tears. Crying makes me feel more pathetic than I know I am, and I know imagining holding his hand than other rarely in the school isn’t going to help keep the tears from spilling. My eyes finally break from the ceiling, and I sit up weakly, pulling my arms onto my lap with my phone screen facing my thigh. That memory from earlier today is still harassing my head, and his words of ‘You can hold me to it’ seem to replay consistently. I even find it myself to look at the time on my phone. 10:03 pm. I’ve never hated such a number.

Frowning sharply, I exhale shakily as I lean my head back onto my wall, my head turning to the right as I try to focus on impossible possibilities instead of what I would rather be doing, what I should be doing, right now. Leaning my head on his shoulder as I listen to him ramble on all his theories he’s already made on the movie we’re watching, his index finger gently rolling circles on my thigh as my own hand curls around his bicep.

How could I be so stupid? After the Nogitsune, I should’ve known we would never be what we were before. Or, in fact, since Freshman year we haven’t been the same. I used to feel so safe with him, able to tell him anything and everything, even when my anxiety made me shaky and panicked he would be there to help me through it. Now I’m lucky if I get a ‘how are you’ from him, or my other friends, anymore. They never question the neutral emotionalness expression on my face rather than the old sweet grin I used to have, they never stop to think that while everyone else has found their peace, I never found mine. I tried multiple times to sacrifice myself to the Nogitsune, I screamed, I plead, over and over again for him to take me instead. The pack was silenced as they watched in horror, but, no one has mentioned that since. As if when I cried hysterically to a thousand year old spirit to take my life instead of the boy who had continued to forget me never even happened in the first place.

Maybe I thought too much about it. I never expect anything in return for my actions, but, sometimes I wish my own friends would look at me and care at what they saw. Because what I saw wasn’t me, but what I had become instead. And no one wanted to change it—no one cared enough to.

Suddenly, my door swings open and the other side of it slams into my wall. I gasp as my phone flings from my hand as my hands when to brace the covers of my bed. My heart stops for a full second until I look up to see who had came barging in. Breathing heavily and clad more in sweat than his own clothes, Stiles continues to struggle to catch his breath. I spring from my bed and go to help him, but he holds a hand up to stop me, slouching to grip onto his knees as I stare down helplessly at him. My heart is beating rapidly, my mind unsure of how to react.

I almost smile as he looks up at me with a dorky grin until he starts to explain himself. “I was with the pack, a—and I almost forgot, but I ran here from Scott’s. My jeep wouldn’t start.” They were having a pack meeting? I look away for a handful of seconds, eyebrows knitting together till I gently reach for his arm, lifting him for him to stand and leading him to my bed. “I knew I was missing something when you weren’t there. Scott said he texted you, like, an hour before I got there.” My phone hasn’t gone off all night.

“Sit down, please.” I whisper, and he shuts his mouth and does as told. I stand before him as he looks up at me with curious eyes, right until I hear my phone buzz next to my bed. I walk stiffly to the phone and see a text notification from Scott. We had a pack meeting. I’m sorry that I forgot to remind you. I shakily sigh and Stiles sharply turns towards me. I set my phone onto my pillow and grab onto my arm. “I’ll go wash my face real quick. Movies are in the bottom drawer.”

My feet quickly pad across my room to lock myself in my bathroom, hurt residing in my brain and my chest. Unknowingly to me, Stiles checks my phone and sees the notification for himself, and the realization comes to him. In fact, I reach my own. My friends are forgetting me. They don’t want anything to do with me other than what I can help with. And by the time I get to the sink, my cheeks are already damp. Instantly I even regret starting to cry at all, embarrassed at the fact that I’m not alone and Stiles will see my blotchy face and reddened eyes. I’m afraid of talking to him about it.

But, for a surprise, when I come out the first thing he does is hug me. I haven’t been hugged in what feels like a crushing amount of time, so, when he does, I don’t know what to do at first. Hesitantly, my hands gently go to his back while his arms are firm around me. The most of our night is not movie-watching, but having to hear Stiles open up to how he feels terrible for lying to me, and him not letting me apologize for myself at all.

And as both his hands reach my arms again, and he looks up at me with such a real expression of empathy and want to do better, I convince him that it was all alright, when I knew that this apology was long overdue.

Even if I still can’t brush off the many nights I’ve had to spend left alone vulnerable and taken advantage of, the weeks I spent isolated from my friends, for now, things feel just a little okay. When it came down to Stiles, at least. As he pulls me for another hug, this time. . . I hug back just as firmly, and I don’t let go.

 — — —

 ONE MONTH LATER.

Clicking my tongue, I excuse Stiles as he gives me a small hug to the side, sputtering out a goodbye as he leaves the store. I toothily grin as he does, shaking my head as my hand latches onto my wrist, walking aimlessly as my eyes search onto the women’s section. I don’t see anything worth my time, right until my eyes land on something in the front of one of the newer collections they have out. It’s a dress, and I admire the pretty color it is as my fingers run over the smooth material, hand then going for the hanger as my eyes drift over to the try-on section.

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Enchanted By a Voice [Kyle x Olympia]

I finally, at long last, finished my last ockiss17 prompt! Took me long enough, sorry for the long wait, @nebularogue! 

So here we have for Day Six: Hesitant Kiss: my Kyle Shepard (again) and @nebularogue‘s Olympia King. I brainstormed some settings and decided to have this scene take place after ME1 and a little bit before ME2. I might one day to write a part 2 to this scene because Olympia is up to something but since this is from Kyle’s POV, he doesn’t know the inner workings of her mind. So hope I wrote her well, @nebularogue, and thank you for letting me use for this story. :)

While Kyle enjoyed a good drink every now and then, he was never fond of shady or sleazy bars that simply screamed out half their customers were criminals as well as the same message being extended to the owners and most of their staff. The more innocent or less nefarious employees were the ones that often got screwed over in terms of payment, benefits, and the types of customers they had to deal with. And as much as he wished to change their situation or uncover a way to bring the unsavory bars under more legal or fair ownership, he couldn’t save or help everyone. A fact his friends often had to remind him from time to time.

However, here he was, at another seedy club to find a thug who was extorting from a neighbor of his. While Ivy stayed with the Alliance as the first human Spectre after Sovereign's attack on  the Citadel, he, Izzy, and Ivan spilt up to work their own goals until Ivy would call upon them for support once more. Last he heard of Izzy she was in Omega with that mercenary named Nydo and Ivan was off doing God-knows-what. As for himself, Kyle travelled to Ilium and dedicated his skills set to help others. Ilium may be a luxurious, breathtaking place but there were often serpents lurking about in every nest of paradise.

One of these snakes was Billian Tulk, a batarian thug and loan shark who was known to prey on the desperate, the poor, and the needy. His rates were outrageous and his system was designed to eventually force his victims to concede and either offer up their services or someone else in their place for indentured servitude to work off the debt. It was Tulk’s way of receiving free labor for as long as he wanted. But compared to Kyle’s past experiences and meeting a Reaper, Tulk was small potatoes. Besides, he was use to dealing with low-lives like Billian Tulk.

As predicted, the said batarian was downing shots one right after the other, while making a pass at one of the bar’s singers and clearly failing. Unsurprisingly, he did not take ‘no’ for an answer. “C’mon, baby, is it the extra eyes?” he cajoled to the human singer, whose brown eyes flashed menacingly when he reached out to grab her.

“No, it’s because you’re a lout and won’t leave me and other girls alone when we tell you to!” She bent the batarian’s hand back, almost snapping his wrist if Tulk didn’t have the foresight to quickly draw his arm back in time, forcing the singer to releaser her grasp on him. “Excuse me, but I’m up next and I won’t let you make me late.” Tulk cut her a nasty glare and was about to try his luck one more time yet more aggressively when Kyle beheld the opportunity to step in and distract the thug.  

“Billian Tulk?” he voiced, making his presence known. “We have to talk.”

The said batarian whipped his head around, six four eyes boring murderously at him as he temporarily forgot about the human singer. “About what?” came the snarl.

“You know of a Miss Seveej? Received a loan from you and later paid you back, including interest. And yet, you claim she still missed a fourth of the payment?” There was no way Miss Seveej neglected to pay in full, she documented all her finances carefully and was known to be meticulous—if her small bonsai plants were any indications of her great attention to detail as well as patience.

The loan shark shrugged. “She made an error with her numbers so she still owes me 4000 credits. And that salarian is lucky I’m not ratcheting up the interest rate.” He gulped down another shot, continuing to keep a few eyes on him. Kyle then noticed the singer hadn’t let and was watching them both, curiosity etched on her fair, sharply structured features. “And what is all of this to you? The arrangement between me and Seveej is none of your damned business!”  

“First of all, Miss Seveej is my neighbor and a good friend of mine so when she became my client, your deal became my business too. Secondly, it’s common knowledge you’re involved in other illicit activities, which I am certain the Ilium authorities would love to hear about if they caught wind of your hidden behavior.” Tulk was a man of vices and besides alcohol, he was also fond of dealing with stolen property on the black marker and illegal gambling—mainly centering around two people duking it out on a fighting ring.

The lines in the batarian’s visage deepened as he scowled, a tic starting in his jaw. “Careful there, human. You’re treading on dangerous territory, threatening me like that. Who do you think you are, Commander Shepard?”

At the opening, Kyle had to grin amusingly. “Well, my last name is Shepard and I’m good terms with the Commander Shepard. Maybe I should have to stop by and see how everything is doing around in Ilium.” Out of the corner of his eye, the dark haired singer smirked, evidently pleased to watch Tulk be outplayed. She even shot a thumbs-up while mouthing ‘thank you’ to him. He smiled back in returned.

The enraged, crossed glower was immediately dropped and a more nervous, serious expression flashed on Tulk’s ridged visage, all four eyes a little bit wider than they previously were. “Wait, you actually know that Spectre? And you’re related to her too?”

Technically. He just so happened to share a last name with Ivy, Ivan, and Izzy but that was irrelevant at the moment. So Kyle continued to smile, unsettling the loan shark even more. He didn’t need to utter anything, the silence alone was enough to provoke Tulk to reconsider his offer. The batarian quickly rummaged for his datapad and once found, punched a few buttons before sliding the holographic pad over to Kyle for him to view.

“See, your friend Miss Seveej is off the hook now. Full payment to me, just like she claimed and you asked for.” Kyle would have been skeptical if he wasn’t witnessing the proof with his own two eyes and there was slight tremor in the thug’s voice when he spoke. Guess he didn’t have to go hard on the criminal after all.

“Good,” he replied, feigning indifference. “And if I hear you’re bothering Miss Seveej again, I’ll come back and next time, I won’t be so nice. Are we clear?” There was an edge in the last part, his dark eyes narrowing as a warning signal towards the rather anxious batarian.

“Crystal, as you humans say,” came the sullen reply. And without another world, Billian Tulk finished his remaining shot, paid his tab, and fled, not before shooting a lecherous fleer at the singer, who scowled in response.

“I’m so glad you chased him off,” she told Kyle promptly once Tulk was gone. “He has been an annoyance to me and all of the singers for about a week.”

“If he returns and continues to harass you or anyone else, let me know.” He handed her his business card and she took with an intrigued look, studying the glossy words imprinted on the front.

“Nice to see people doing good these days.” She ran her thumb over his card, brown eyes peering curiously up at him, as if searching for something. “So Kyle...Shepard, want to stay a little longer and watch my performance? I guaranty you haven’t heard a voice like mine.” The way she uttered his name seemed like there was a private jest between them but only she remembered it while he was in the dark. The corners of her lips tugging up into a playful, witty beam and despite his reservations, Kyle had to admit she had a lovely smile.

“Oh, you don’t have to do anything special and bes—”

She snapped her fingers at a server nearby and flagged him down. “Get this man a drink. It’s on the house. He scared Tulk shitless.” She then turned her attention back on Kyle. “What do you usually or prefer to drink?”

Rather reluctantly, Kyle sat down and answered. “Gin and tonic, please. Nothing too fancy.” The waiter departed briskly to fill out his order, rendering Kyle and the singer by themselves once more. “And I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name, Ms.—”

“Olympia.” She gifted him another smile, this one completely charming and purely arresting. He wondered why she was spending so much time with him, a virtual stranger who just so happened to shoo a thug and loan shark away? Surely simple goodness or kindness weren’t rare in Ilium, of all places. Or maybe he was reading too much into her behavior and getting him a drink was her way of saying ‘thank you’.

Once his drink arrived, Olympia excused herself to get ready for her shift, all the while telling him to enjoy the shower. After about ten or so minutes later, Oympia appeared on the stage, dressed in a stunning purple and white sequin dress with a matching flower tucked behind her ear.  While her arrival brought on countless of cheers, puckish hollars, and woohooing, all chatter and noise ceased instantly when Olympia began to sing and weave her melodious spell on them all. The song was peppy and sassy, matching her lively, upbeat, and straightforward voice and words, fitting the tone of the song oh so well. She didn’t portray herself as ‘the girl next door’, a sultry temptress, a rowdy, spunky rebel, or a force of nature who destroy you and everything you hold dear should you cross her—simply a young woman who wasn’t perfect nor pretending to be. He liked her style so much to his surprise, he ended staying until her warbling act was over and she had a break. Almost immediately, she made a beeline for him.

“I see you decided to stay longer. Was it just my singing?” Olympia bantered, sitting down across the table from. She flagged down a waitress, muttering her drink to them before returning her sparkling gaze at him. “If so, I’m flattered.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not one for music but I didn’t want to leave while you were still singing. I guess your voice entranced me.” Kyle chuckled, swirling the liquid around his glass prior to taking another sip. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed music like that.”

“Now I am even more flattered.” When her drink arrived, she thanked the waitress and took a huge gulp of champagne, a gasp of relief escaping her as she swallowed and savored the alcohol. “Nothing wets a dry throat better that this club’s champagne. You should try it.”  

“Maybe next time. I already had two drinks of gin and tonic and that’s my limit for today. Besides, I have to head back to Miss Seveej and deliver her the good news in person.” Olympia’s face softened when he mentioned his client’s name, an appreciative gleam in her chocolate brown eyes.

“Of course,” she agreed, nodding, “don’t let me stop you. I’m sure she’ll be happy to learn she’s no longer under that slimebag Tulk’s thumb.” She went back to drinking her champagne as he asked the server from earlier for his check, receiving the bill on his omni-tool. He paid promptly and started to rise from his seat when Olympia swiftly got up to sit down next to him, holding her arm out and halting his actions. Without explaining right away, she simply plucked the white and violet flower from her hair and secured it into his front jacket pocket, tucking the stem of the blossom firmly inside. “A little token to remember me and this club by, in  case you want to return for some fun instead of business.” Flirtation rang coyly in her tone but her winsome, genuine smile was what struck him more and seized him fully. And before he could even reply, she leaned in, hesitating at first, and brushed her lips against his cheek, the kiss light and soft like butterfly’s wings.

When she pulled back, there was a different impression flicking her unwavering gaze, one Kyle couldn’t place but decided not to dwell on the notion right now. The kiss was unexpected, but not unwelcomed. He was more surprised than anything else. “Well, thank you, for the flower and er, the kiss too,” he managed out, feeling his face flush for no reason at all. Why couldn’t he been smoother and in control, like he usually was? He never blushed at a kiss since he was a teenager. “And no worries, I’ll be back. Wouldn’t want to miss any more of your singing.”

Her assertive, amiable, and charming self reappeared, immensely pleased by his words. “I sing on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays and usually in the evening and nights until closing. I hope to see your face this Thursday.” She sent him a little wink and picked up her champagne flute, departing to converse with the singer who was proceeding her prior to waving him farewell as she sauntered away.

Shaking his head in amusement, Kyle exited the bar to find a sky car top head home and deliver the wonderful news to his salarian neighbor. Whoever Olympia was, she was an intriguing woman and probably the only reason he would step foot into that seedy bar again. He wasn’t even aware how much he was stroking or fixing the flower in his jacket pocket during the ride home, marveling at its softness and beauty. There the blossom remained until he finished his business for the night, placing the striking, vibrant flower on his nightstand, its faint fragrance filling the air and evoking memories of his jaunty encounter with Olympia, a singer from a shady club that didn’t deserve her talents. Thursday would come along soon enough.    

[multiversalmansion]

Meeting for the first time!

@pennedbypom

Ever wonder how Danielle and Blossom met for the first time? Well, this is how Danielle recalls the event! Who knows how accurate it is though when she’s spending most of the time gushing over Blossom in one way or another.

How did this all start? This strange relationship? If she was to cast her mind back far enough, she could probably recall the very first time they met. When she had met the red-haired angel that is sitting next to her now.

Now, if she is remembering correctly, they met by chance. Yeah, it was a bank robbery. Three thugs, well-armed and ready to deal damage to anyone who got close. Of course, she found them by complete accident. The alarms from that bank ruined her relaxing float, so she went down to investigate- though she wisely went invisible before heading down. Once there, she noted they were rather skittish for some odd reason. The fact they kept on looking up into the sky every three seconds really had confused her back then, but she paid it no mind. Rather, she silently floated up to them to quickly disarm them.

“Take a step further.” Those threatening words were the first thing she heard from the sweet girl she would come to know “I dare you.” It was enough to get her to turn towards the wonderous sight, and there she was. Her red hair was kept nice and neat by the large red bow in her hair, her pink dress flowed slightly in the wind, and her piercing pink eyes nearly pinned everything in sight to the spot. It was truly a memorable sight. So memorable, in fact, that it has yet to fade from the white-haired girl’s mind.

“S-stay back!” The frightened yells of the criminals were pretty effective at snapping her out of the trance she was in “These are loaded with incendiary rounds! We’ll burn these bullets right through you!” Okay, so the first thing that went through her mind was the question of if they truly made incendiary rounds for Shotguns- she can admit to that. However, the second thing that went through her mind was how she couldn’t let that happen. So, with invisibility and stealth by her side, she floated up to the sides of the criminals.

Now, there were several ways she could have dealt with them. She could have knocked them out with precision blows, overshadowed the leader into giving up the entire group, just straight up blasted them. However, each one of those ideas were discarded because of the flaws they had. Knocking out one could have caused a panic in the other two, thus making them start firing in their confusion. She really couldn’t tell who was the actual leader, so if she got the wrong one the other two would just assume that she was giving up and fire on the body she overtook. Plus, the underlings could have just done the same thing to the traitorous boss. And, the third option would have the same effect as the first one, but with the added bonus of having a general target to shoot at.

So, with all those options unavailable at the moment, she decided to go with the sneakier approach. As subtly as she can, the ghostly girl makes her way over to the front man with the shotgun. With a simple goal in mind, she reaches over near the base of the barrel and gently switches the safety switch on. Honestly, it took quite a bit of effort not to just start giggling at what she’s planning to do. Luckily, she managed to compress her amusement down to just grinning as she made her way to the two back-ups. With Lady Luck smiling on her, she found that they were too focused on the floating person before them to notice that their safeties were switched on.

That’s rather fortunate too, because almost immediately after she accomplished her goal the lead criminal tried to shoot off his shotgun. Why he decided to do so is beyond her, but maybe there was a conversation going on that she missed while she was doing her good deed for the day. Regardless, once it was apparent that he couldn’t click the trigger, Ms. Angel descended on them with such speed that even to this day, the young clone can’t figure out what happened. All she knows is that after that all the guns were basically bent into useless angles and the trio of burglars were frozen from the neck down.

It was an amazing sight to behold for sure. In that moment, as the other girl was beginning to leave, she knew she couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. Turning visible once more, she startled the criminals enough that they screamed in surprise. Naturally, the angel before her turned around sharply to see what the heck happened. Based on the surprised look on her face though, she wasn’t expecting the ghostly clone before her. So, with a wide smile and a wave, she floated over to her and offered a hand in greeting.

“Hi! My name is Dani,” She paused for a moment before looking a tad bit sheepish as she said the next part “That’s Dani with an I, by the way.” And ever since that fateful day, nothing has quite been the same. The two of them have done quite the number of things together. From simple valentine’s day stuff to having a confrontation about her ghost fighting habits, they have stuck side-by-side when they could, and she hasn’t regretted it since. Heck, their bond has saved her life at least once!

But the story of how Blossom rescued her from that spooky spector is something to be saved for another time- especially now that she’s leaned her head against the Powerpuff’s shoulder. Now, it is simply the time to savor the moments they have together.

[daily-rubbersoul-redux]

“Heh, oh Celari... All worried over nothing.  Things will turn out fine, that I’m sure of.  Now, what to get for lunch....”

[daily-rubbersoul-redux]

i have no caption for this