#second of all i wanted to watch waitress the musical cause it's finally on streaming but apparently it's the same case as with fls

[pardonmydelays]

why is nothing ever available in this shitty country?

[buckysbitch107]

I don’t know if requests are open, but if they are can I request a Steve Rogers x Reader where at the end of end game he goes back to his lover from the 40s but instead of Peggy it’s the reader(include any backstory that you want)? Like even his compass contains the picture of the reader and not Peggy. I love your wring so far btw, keep up the good work!!!

Home Isn’t Just A Place | Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When Colonel Phillips himself delivered the letter stating the love of your life (and best friend since 5 years old) was dead, you were more than devastated. You were still mourning the loss of your fiancé, mindlessly fiddling with the ring on your finger, when a much harsher knock rang at your door. You expected it to be perhaps your sister or a delivery boy. What you certainly didn’t expect was for your fiancé, who you were told was dead, to be standing at your doorstep.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Crying

Word Count: 2.38K

A/N: Hope this meets your standards! I tried my best with this one and i hope you enjoy it! Just a reminder that I will always be accepting requests! I will be writing a Part 2 to this, so stay tuned!

“It’s fine guys! I can cook something in the apartment!” You speak, the men on either side of you giving you a small glare.

“It’s our last night, (Y/N/N). We wanna make it special before you’re alone in the apartment.” Steve mentions, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’re still taller than him, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“That restaurant isn’t that good anyway.” You whisper, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice. You’d been looking forward to sitting in that restaurant since it opened, and when Bucky and Steve said they were taking you, that meant you could finally get a chance. That is, until you got there, and they didn’t have your reservation.

“Doll-” Bucky starts, soon being cut off by your voice.

“Guys. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not (Y/N)! We wanted to treat you to something special, and now it looks like we’re having cabbage fuckin’ stew for dinner… again.”

“Or,” You pause, lifting your arm to point at the sign hanging off of the corner store at the end of the street. “We could get some food from Stan’s. It’s still open and we have enough money for some hot dogs.” The two men agree shortly after and the three of you quicken your pace, eager to get some food in your stomach. The small bell above the door rings through the air as the three of you walk in, the owner walking out from the back.

“Steve, Bucky, (Y/N)! Nice to see ya! What can I get for you?” Stan asks, his smile always bringing comfort to you three.

“Three hot dogs and three cokes please!” You respond, offering him a small smile yourself. He nods and taps some button on the register, pulling the crank before turning his head back up to you.

“Thirty cents please.” You start digging in your wallet when a hand stops you, and your head snaps to meet Steve’s eyes before he starts digging in his own wallet. He hands the man 30 cents before discreetly grabbing your hand, a small chuckle leaving your lips. Stan walks to the back and returns with three hot dogs in hand. He sets them down on the counter before reaching in the fridge and pulling out the drinks. You take them and thank him before walking out the door, Steve and Bucky following you out with their own.

“Let’s go to the docks! Watch the lights in the city!” You propose, turning back to face the two men. They agree and you all walk down to the docks, finishing your food and drinks shortly after getting there.

“Sorry, it had to end like this, (Y/N/N).”

“Meh, I liked this ending better. At least this way I can say fuck.” You giggle, turning back to look at your boyfriend. A soft melody fills your ears and you search for the source of the music. You soon find it as a band plays at an oceanside restaurant, where people are probably dining on the finest steaks and champagne, but you’re happy right where you are. Steve’s hand grabs yours and he smiles, both of his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Dance with me, doll.” You nod before placing your hands around his shoulders, the two of you slightly swaying to the music. Bucky lets out a short laugh before leaning against a lamppost. Steve grabs your hand and spins you around, the blue dress flying up around your waist as he twirls you in his arms. Your eyes drift closed as he continues to spin you, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth, and you finish turning and open your eyes to see Steve on one knee.

“Oh.” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth and you see Bucky smiling out of the corner of your eye as Steve pulls out a ring.

“I know, I know it isn’t much, but it’s what we could afford.”

“Wha-Whe-How?” You whisper.

“Well, we saved up for a bit.”

“I think you’re supposed to give a speech now, Stevie.” Bucky comments. 

“I’m getting there!” Steve responds, making you let out a hoarse laugh before you start choking on your sobs. “Doll, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Buck being a close second. You’ve always been there for me when I’m sick, which is a lot. I wanna be with you forever. I want to have kids with you, I want to give you the best white-picket-fence life I can. I swear to love you for the rest of our lives, if you’ll be mine. What do ya say doll?” By this time, your hands have migrated from your mouth to your chest, and you wipe your eyes while nodding your head, choking out a short “yes” before Steve slides the ring on your finger. As he stands up, you begin to cry harder as you pull him into a bear hug. He pulls away and you place both hands on his shoulders, looking at him sternly.

“You better come back to me, you hear me?”

“I promise I will, doll.”

“No, I need better than a promise.”

“I swear on my life, dollface. Besides, I wouldn’t leave my best girl behind.”

~~~

You’ve seen all the adverts and movies about the one and only Captain America. People see him as a hero, as the man who punches Nazis straight in the face and kisses babies, but you still see him as the little guy from Brooklyn who couldn’t run the mile from fourth grade on. Yes, you missed your fiance very much, but you had faith that he would keep his promise and come home after the war. A few months after Bucky and Steve left, you picked up a waitressing job in a mom-and-pop diner on the weekends and weeknights alongside your job as a science teacher. Bills aren’t going to pay themselves, and Bucky and Steve aren’t here to help you. You walk in the door, returning home from your morning shift at the diner, planning on quickly changing clothes before running out and volunteering at the animal shelter, something you always did on Saturdays. You throw on a simple dress, the pale yellow glowing in the sunlight streaming in from the window. Your plans suddenly change when a knock rings at your door.

“One second!” You yell, finishing pulling up the zipper on the back of your dress before walking over to the door, opening it to see Colonel Phillips himself. “Colonel Phillips.”

“Miss (Y/L/N). May I come in?” He asks, the solemn look on his face causing an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

“Of course, sir.” You open the door a little bit wider and he enters the apartment.

“You may want to sit.” You follow his instructions and sit yourself down at the kitchen table, now noticing the letter in his hands. “I wrote it all out on paper, but I also figured I should tell you in person.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the ice to save the lives of millions of people yesterday morning. I would have gotten here earlier but there were some complications with the plane.”

“No.” You mumble, standing up to directly face the colonel.

“He has been declared Killed in Action, along with James Barnes.” Your head snaps up at his comment, tears already pooling in your eyes.

“What-what do you mean they’ve both been killed in action? What-” A sob rising in the back of your throat cuts you off and you have to steady yourself against the table. Phillips places the letter on the table as you try to quiet your sobs. He quietly nods his head before turning to the door, about to step out when you choke out a short “wait”. Colonel Phillips turns around as you compose yourself, wiping the tears off your face.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Am I allowed to give you a hug?”

“Yes ma’am.” You wrap your arms around him and place your head on his shoulder, the colonel hugging you back shortly after. The two of you pull away and you whisper a small “thank you sir” before he nods and walks out the door. You turn around and grab the letter, ripping it open before focusing on the words carefully typed on the page:

Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

437 West Clermont Street

Brooklyn, New York, USA

11201

I regret to inform you that both Captain Steven Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes have been killed in action in service of their country. As you know, Captain Rogers freed over 200 men across enemy lines in Azzano, Italy. He then formed a squadron, the Howling Commandos. That squadron took down more enemy bases than any other in history. It is with deepest condolences that we regret to inform you than on Saturday, February 19th, Sergeant James Barnes fell out of a moving train while defending Captain Rogers. On Friday, February 25th, Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the Arctic in order to save over three million lives from nuclear bombings. Not only has America lost a soldier, America has also lost a hero.

Deepest regards,

Colonel Chester Phillips

A loud sob erupts from your mouth as you throw the letter on the table, your hands quickly covering your mouth.

“No. Nonononono, they can’t be dead. I can’t- I can’t do this alone.” You back up against the wall, slowly sliding down as your fingers thread through your hair. It’s only when you look back at the ring on your finger that your tears of pain turn to those of anger. “YOU PROMISED!” You scream, not giving a damn if the neighbors can hear you. Your head falls into your hands as you curl up into a ball, your sobs echoing through the now eerily empty house.

“You promised.

~~~

It was a nice funeral. A lot of people you knew were there. Dum-Dum, Gabe, Jim, and Monty came, while Jaques sent his condolences. It was small, but Steve would have liked it. Yeah, you sobbed, but so did everyone else. You sit numbly in your house, the walls no longer filled with laughter, the floors no longer covered in flour and paint, now only scuff marks from your pacing panic attacks. You’re mindlessly fiddling with your ring when a knock sounds at your door, this one sounding louder and overall harsher than the other ones you’d been experiencing for the past week. You stand up and walk over, not caring to check the peephole before opening it. And standing there, is the man you were told crashed a plane into the arctic.

“Wha-”

“Hi, doll.” You slowly start shaking your head before walking away from the door, simply leaving it open.

“No, no. Nonono. You crashed a plane into the arctic. Your signal went dead. You were presumed dead! I’m going mad, I’ve gone absolutely bonkers and now I’m imagining the love of my life is in my living room when he’s buried somewhere in the Arctic!” You rant to yourself, tears slowly gathering in your eyes. You stop when Steve puts both hands on your shoulders, stabilizing you and forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“God, is this what happened after I crashed?” He mumbles, looking up and down at your frantic form. Your clothes have become a little looser, your hair a little thinner, the bags under your eyes just a bit more noticeable. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. You look at Steve and notice he looks… different. He looks older and more exhausted.

“You aren’t my Steve?”

“Sit down doll, I have a lot of explaining to do.”

~~~

“So you’re from-”

“Yeah.”

“But you still-”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m still-”

“Yep.”

“But wouldn’t this-”

“Nope.”

“Huh. And this Thanos dude he-”

“Eliminated 50% of all living beings. Yes.”

“And you’re back here because you’re delivering the stones back to their original places in time and wanted to see me?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“So, can I have this dance?” He stands up and reaches his hand out to you. You smile and take it, the man pulling you into him. You notice as the two of you start swaying that he’s suddenly more relaxed, and that he’s definitely gotten more muscular over the years. You dance for a little while longer before he tilts your chin up, meeting your lips for a gentle kiss. “God I missed you doll.”

“I missed you too.” The two of you stay silent a little longer before he pulls back slightly, a serious look on his face. Uh oh.

“Come back with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Come back with me. To 2023.”

“Stevie, I can’t. I have so many responsibilities, and it could mess up the timeline and-”

“Nope. Already checked with the Ancient One. Said it should be fine as long as no one knows about it.”

“Oh.”

“Plus, you can meet my friends, and we can finally get married, and Bucky will-”

“Wait what? Bucky’s alive?”

“Oh yeah, he was captured by HYDRA but we got him back.”

“You’re gonna need to catch me up on everything.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Fine. I’ll come with you, but if I throw up it’s your fault.”

“Deal.”

~~~

“I’m trying to bring him back!” Banner yells, flicking switches and pressing buttons on the dash. Bucky bites at his cuticles, something he does when he’s nervous, also something you used to yell at him for. The launchpad starts whirring again and both Bucky and Sam’s heads shoot up at the noise, not familiar with it at all.

“Um, is that supposed to happen?” Sam asks.

“Only when there’s more than one body being transported.” Banner mumbles, pressing a few more buttons. “Okay. Bringing him back in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

“AH-oomph.” Bucky’s eyes widen as his brain registers the yellow dress, the sparkling eyes, the dazzling smile.

“(Y/N)?!” He yells, giving both you and Steve a confused look. You sit up on the launchpad and look around, not familiar with any of your surroundings.

“Hiya Buck! Oooh, love the hair! Nice to see it change from the ol’ buzzcut.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101 @yaxamarvel @donutloverxo

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[avmisworld]

When BTS meet you for the first time:

Kim Seokjin:

Jin runs a pale hand through his short black hair, nodding absentmindedly to the staff he sees on his way down the hallway, his familiar polite smile spread across his face.

He has a long and intense day of dance practice ahead of him, a day he couldn't start properly without his daily cup of coffee and a sweet pastry from the company's coffee shop.

Pushing the simple glass door with the palm of his hand, Jin steps into the small, cozy restaurant, the small golden bell above his head signaling his arrival with a tinkle.

"Good morning", Jin says, bowing lightly at the different staff members and workers sitting around the round oak tables filling the shop, the space soon filled with various greetings towards him.

The room is filled with a strong smell of coffee beans and melted chocolate and sweet baked treats, and the young man breaths in the delicious scent with satisfaction, looking around the softly lit room, with the dangling yellow lights shining like stars in the sky and the colorful pictures and motivational quotes hanging on the walls.

Seokjin had always found this place calming and homey, with the soft piano music playing in the background and the wide glass windows showing off the busy street mere metres away from the shop, adding to the other-wordly atmosphere.

Sitting down at his usual spot in the edge of the cafe, Seokjin slips off his black jacket, revealing the simple white t-shirt under it as he carelessly flings the piece of clothing across the empty chair beside him.

It was hot inside the coffee shop, nothing like the weather outside, with the winter starting and the winds blowing, causing the people on the street to cuddle even closer into their thin coats and sweaters.

"Hello and welcome to our coffee shop. How can I help you?", Jin is surprised at the sound of the soft, feminine voice coming from in front of him, his head snapping upwards to stare at the young waitress in front of him with wide eyes.

Jin was a hundred percent sure that this waitress was working here for less than a week, since he hasn't since her before, and everyone here knew who Jin was and what he orders by heart thanks to his frequent visits.

Also, judging by her skin color and slight accent, the girl in front of him was a foreigner. Seokjin couldn't help but let his eyes linger one second too long on the girl's shiny, long hair, twinkling dark orbs, and plump pink lips, before clearing his throat loudly and smiling slightly.

"Hello", he replies, trying to stay calm despite the increasing race of his heart the longer he looked at the beautiful young woman. "I'd like an Americano and a purple sweet potato cake, please".

The younger girl nods, bowing her head slightly before turning to walk back to the kitchen, Seokjin's eyes following her lithe figure until it disappears behind the simple white door.

Staring outside, Seokjin stares at the people rushing past the window, their eyes trained on the ground underneath them or locked on their phone screen. The image of the girl doesn't fade from Jin's mind, unfortunately, and he wonders why he can't stop repeating the image of the foreigner's stunning smile.

"Here you go, sir", Seokjin's startled out of his thoughts at the sound of the soft, quiet voice, a steaming mug of brown liquid placed in front of him, the froth on top drawn carefully into the shape of a heart, and a pretty porcelain plate, holding a small, bright purple muffin, wisps of steam still coming out of it.

"Thank you", the dark-haired man says, eyeing the petite girl for another second, before clearing his throat nervously, causing the girl to stop just as she was about to leave the table.

"I'm sorry, do you want anything else?", the girl's pretty face is sporting a soft pink blush now, and she's fiddling with her fingers nervously, placing them on top of her simple turquoise dress shirt.

Before he can think it over, Jin is shaking his head quickly, making sure to send the girl a genuine smile to calm her down, before saying: "No, no, I was just wondering… Are you new here?"

The young woman seems to blush even harder at that, laughing sweetly in something akin to relief, and Seokjin can feel his own smile widen at the sound of the twinkling giggle. "Is it that obvious?", she mumbles, tucking a strand of dark hair that managed to escape her tight ponytail.

"It is for someone who's here nearly every single day", Seokjin says with amusement, finally catching the waitress' gaze when she lifts her head up to meet his eyes.

"I'm Kim Seokjin", he introduces himself, reaching out one of his long hands to the other, watching as she sends one of her own tanned ones to shake his, her smile now looking shy and bashful, yet just as beautiful.

"I'm Y/L/N Y/N", she introduces herself, and Seokjin can't help but smile even wider at the other's name, happy to get one step closer to knowing more about the mystery girl.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N", Seokjin says, trying to ignore the warmth seeping through the girl's hand, tightening the hold on her hand just a little bit more. "I think we'll be seeing each other a lot more from now on".

Min Yoongi:

Yoongi enters the music bar, pulling his black snapback even lower on his head as he shuffles through the bustling entrance, trying to draw as least attention to himself as possible.

Going to a packed bar by yourself as an idol was in no means a good idea, but Suga was having a serious writer's block that was killing him, and sometimes the best way to deal with that is to just be a normal person.

Nobody should be able to recognize him, not with the hat covering his shiny silver hair, the mask drawn up to his nose, and the simple black clothes, yet the young man could still feel the buzz of anxiety in his body, mixed with an unexplainable excitement.

Honestly, Suga could already feel some of his inspiration coming back to him just by entering the small bar, his eyes immediately scanning the dark space, the colorful lights hanging above the drinking bar, the assortment of chattering men and women sitting around long black counters and smooth round tables, or swaying lightly to the jazz music playing on the large black speakers.

Walking over to the ginger-haired barista, Yoongi asks for a bottle of soju, bowing in thanks when the woman hands over the ice-cold green bottle with a smile, and heads for one of the empty tables at the back of the bar, facing the small stage built for amateur karaoke singers and the occasional guest artist.

Sitting on the hard wooden chair, Yoongi takes a long sip of his drink, sighing with satisfaction at the burn of the alcohol in his throat, filling his stomach with the familiar warmth he was seeking.

He examines the groups of friends, probably university students celebrating the start of the weekend, talking loudly and laughing boisterously. He watches lone people like himself, nursuring glasses of alcohol to their chest, and imagines why they are here, their story. He stares at sweet couples with envy, admiring the way the man tightens his hold around his girlfriend's waist possessively, proudly telling the world who she belongs to.

The sound of a sweet, honey-like voice snaps Yoongi out of his thoughts, and he thinks he never turned his head as fast as he did right now, his eyes catching the girl standing on the stage immediately.

She's beautiful, magnificent even, and the bar seems to quiet down significantly when she starts to sing, as if the world itself was holding its breath. She's wearing a simple black mini dress, the sleeves hanging off her shoulders, and her hair is cascading down her shoulder like a waterfall of darkness, swallowing Yoongi whole.

Her stage presence is incredible, even the way she holds the small black microphone radiating some sort of silent power, and Suga can't help but stare with awe, letting the girl's soft voice sweep him away like the wind.

It feels like everything and nothing at all, and even though the song is English and he can't understand half of the words, the melodic voice of the mystery singer is enough to make Yoongi shake with emotion, his hands grabbing the bottom of the table to steady himself.

It seems like hours, or maybe seconds, before the girl is done, her sentimental expression changing into a beautiful smile as she bows to the cheering crowd bashfully, her aura nothing like the powerful, heartbroken one from seconds before.

Yoongi can't even stop himself from getting out of his seat, his feet unconsciously making their way after the young woman, his thoughts jumbled and he doesn't even know what he's going to say to her, for God's sakes. (Maybe, "you're my muse?")

Either way, he's walking, grabbing the other's hand before he can even think of the consequences, and she's turning around, even more bright up close, like a star in a sky full of clouds, and then he's saying: "I'm Min Yoongi".

The girl is smiling now once again, and it's a kind smile, even though it seems a bit confused, and she nods her head, Yoongi's eyes following her as if in trance. "Umm… Nice to meet you, Min Yoongi. I'm Y/L/N Y/N".

Somehow, even her name inspires him, and Suga can't help but break into a smile, pulling down his face mask to reveal the gummies peaking through his pink lips. "Y/L/N Y/N. It's nice to meet you, too".

Jung Hoseok:

Jung Hoseok strolls through the wide expanses of bright green grass, the white bucket hat on his head not doing much to hide the sunlight streaming through the tall oak trees in the park.

It's a nice day outside, the perfect day to take a walk around the lovely park next to the Bighit company building, and J-hope was enjoying the chirping of the birds and the warmth of the sun as he walks, letting his mind wander off his idol life and different responsibilities.

BTS was very busy lately, and being one of the writers and choreographers of their newest album, and an important member, J-hope could practically feel Bang PD breathing down his neck these days.

Humming softly to the song playing on the white airpods in his ears, "Make it Mine" by Jason Mraz, the brown-haired man matches his light steps to the upbeat tune, letting his eyes flutter shut when a refreshing wind brushes past him, ruffling his thin white t-shirt and loose gray knee-long pants.

A soft brush against his leg makes J-hope let out a shriek of surprise, his eyes opening at once as he jumps back, the hat on his head almost falling to the ground beneath him.

There's a small creature at the spot where Hoseok was a few moments ago, a cute white Pomeranian, tiny enough to fit in Hoseok's arms easily, looking like a female version of Yeontan.

The dog is looking at J-hope with interest, an almost confused expression on its face, like he can't imagine why the human in front of him would ever be scared of him, and J-hope lets out a sigh of relief, crouching down to the furry animal's height.

"Hey, buddy", he says with a gentle smile, running a warm hand through the dog's soft white coat, "Did I scare you? You scared me, too", he chuckles, examining the dog's well-kept appearance and light pink leather collar with a golden clasp. This dog obviously has an owner, and a good one at that.

"Where's your owner? Hmm?", Hoseok asks, raising his head to look around the mostly empty park and then back to the dog, who was still looking at him with intelligent black eyes, answering by licking the palm of J-hope's hand with his small pink tongue.

Before J-hope can check the collar, maybe look for a name or a phone number on the other side, there are footsteps approaching him quickly, and then a girl is crouching on the ground next to him, gathering the dog into her hands with mumbled apologies to J-hope and frantic kisses to her pet.

She's young, maybe a few years younger than J-hope, and a foreigner, if her appearance and accent were anything to go by. She was wearing a simple beige shirt tucked into faded mom jeans and mustard-colored sneakers, and her hair streamed down her back in dark waves, strands of it covering her face from her run a few moments ago.

"I'm so sorry", she repeats again, finally releasing the dog in her arms and turning to J-hope, her dark eyes wide with sincerity and a dark blush high on her cheeks as she bows her head multiple times, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of her.

"It's fine, really", Hoseok says with a laugh of reassurance, waving his hand to signal that he wasn't annoyed in any way. "Your dog is adorable. What's his name?"

The girl looks relieved, a deep sigh escaping her pink lips after seeing J-hope's gentle smile, and she smiles back, the shy gesture sending the young man's heart into a frenzy.

"It's a girl, actually.", she says with a grin, running a small hand through the dog's long fur, the pet purring in content at the feeling. "Her name is Bella".

"Nice name", J-hope says, blushing slightly before raising his head once again to look at the girl. "And what's yours?"

The girl seems flustered for a second, her eyes widening slightly before she smiles again, reaching her hand out towards J-hope's jittering figure. "I'm Y/L/N Y/N".

Breaking into a large grin at the sound of the answer, Hoseok doesn't hesitate to shake her hand back, feeling his body buzz with uncontained excitement at the feeling of girl's skin against his own. "Your name is even prettier. I'm J-hope."

Kim Namjoon:

Namjoon firmly believed that the best way to reduce stress was going book shopping, no matter how much teasing it earned him from the rest of the members.

Pushing his golden-rimmed glasses up his nose, RM runs his hand across the shelf of books, enjoying the feeling of the different covers against his skin, from old leather to fresh paper, the pages making a satisfying sound when they catch on his fingers.

Namjoon loves this. The smell of the wood shelves, the soft lamps washing the room in warm lighting, the flowery armchairs waiting to be sat on, the calming silence, the centuries of history and dreams this place is filled with.

He doesn't know what he's looking for, he never does, but he always finds it in the end, and right now his body is leading him deeper and deeper into the long aisles, where the books are older and thicker, the colorful book-covers fading into hues of black and brown.

As if on their own, his eyes are drawn to a particular book, bound in a thick leather cover, the words "Candide" engraved in the material in cursive writing, barely understood from RM's spot just a few metres away.

It didn't look any different from most of the novels in this section, yet Namjoon still finds himself fastening the pace of his walk, his hand reaching out to grab the worn out book before another hand appears in front of his own, a feminine hand with long, thin fingers and manicured nails colored a soft apricot.

Namjoon retracts his hand immediately from the warm touch before looking up, his eyes wide when he sees the pretty girl in front of him, smiling sheepishly.

Her hair is dark and long, falling over her shoulder in a simple braid. She's shorter than Namjoon, petite, with a small waist and baby face, and she's wearing a simple mint t-shirt with buttons, tucked into classy white dress pants and white sneakers.

"I'm sorry", she apologies with a kind smile, bowing at Namjoon quickly, "Take it. You were here first."

Namjoon is too fascinated by the girl to even answer, and he feels his face heat up when he realizes he's been staring at her dumbly for the past few seconds.

Laughing awkwardly, the tall man runs a hand through his chocolate brown hair, not even caring if he was messing it up, before gesturing towards the young woman. "No, no, it's fine. You can have it, I was just looking."

The young woman seems confused and slightly uncomfortable, staring at Namjoon with dark calculating eyes. "Are you sure? I've read this book already, so it's not a big deal."

'She's smart, too', Namjoon thinks, his heart racing even faster with the growing feeling that this girl was special.

"Me, too", he says with a dimpled smile, "But I get you. Masterpieces need to be read more than once", he jokes, enjoying the girl's gentle laughter in the quiet space.

"Exactly", she agrees, a comfortable silence falling between them before Namjoon clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Can I ask… What's your name?", he questions hesitantly, hoping the girl can't see the blush on his cheeks in the dim light of the room.

The young woman smiles, and maybe it's just his imagination, but Namjoon swears the library seems less dusty and old, as if the girl revived the tired room with her joy. "Y/L/N Y/N. And you?".

"Kim Namjoon", the older man says, reaching his hand out to shake the girl's delicate one, the electricity he felt the first time he touched her changing into something warmer, like a pool of fire in his stomach, yet just as powerful. "It's nice to meet you."

Park Jimin:

Jimin stares at the mirror of the changing room, trying to resist the urge to run a hand through his currently pink hair, already set to perfection by his hair stylist, who would very much not appreciate her hard work being ruined.

He's already wearing the clothes for their "Boy with Love" performance on the BBMA's: an elegant black suit jacket with a metal flower attached to the dash, matching dress pants, a simple white shirt, an assortment of silver jewelry on his ears and hands, and a pair of pink-tinted sunglasses to top it all off.

The only thing that was missing was his makeup, which was usually done as close as possible to the actual show, to avoid smudges and so on. In fact, the makeup artist should be here any minute now.

Jimin turns away from the mirror when he hears the sound of conversation outside his room, looking at the door curiously just as it opens and foreign girl enters the changing room, a small smile on her face.

She's pretty, Jimin notices immediately, with her petite yet curvy frame, the glossy, dark hair tied into a tight ponytail on the top of her head, the subtle makeup on her face, highlighting her delicate facial features, and her tanned skin.

She's wearing a simple black t-shirt, the kind you can find in any closet basically, tucked into ripped skinny jeans, and worn out white sneakers, yet she still looks better than Jimin feels.

"Hello, you must be Jimin-ssi.", she says in perfect Korean, bowing respectfully at the coral-haired man, who was still shocked at the fact that this beautiful foreigner is here, and knows Korean.

"I'm your new makeup artist, Y/L/N Y/N", the young woman continues, seemingly not noticing the idol's flustered state. "Should we get started?"

Jimin finally seems to get back to his senses, bowing his head lightly back at the makeup artist. His heart was still racing a hundred miles an hour, and he can't believe this girl will be mere centimeters away from his face in a few seconds.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N-ssi. Feel free to start whenever you're ready.", he says softly, smiling at the girl sweetly and feeling a small smirk form on his lips when Y/N blushes lightly, her gaze flitting to the floor when Jimin stares at her for a second too long.

Y/N nods, letting Jimin sit down at the black leather chair, in front of the mirror where bright lights are facing the young man, illuminating his skin and making it easier for her to see what she is doing.

Jimin can't help but shiver when Y/N crouches beside him, her head almost touching his own, and he resists the urge to scream because her dark, warm eyes are staring at him with so much focus, and he feels as if she can see straight into his soul.

He decides not to talk to the beautiful makeup artist right now, not wanting to distract her from her work, but he's relieved at the thought that she'll be working with them the rest of the time they're in the USA, guaranteeing plenty of opportunities to talk with the girl.

Y/L/N Y/N. Jimin knows he won't forget that name.

Kim Taehyung:

Taehyung was tired, even though no one would ever notice it. Although he usually enjoyed fansigns, their latest comeback, "ON", left him more exhausted than usual, and he hated himself for hardly being able to keep his eyes open.

Another fan passes by in a blink of an eye, squeezing his hands in her own tightly while shouting 'I love you' as she leaves, and Taehyung responds with his own wink and finger heart, making the young girl squeal, and for a second the young man forgets the exhaustion seeping through his bones, the immense love he feels for his fans overcoming all the other emotions, yet the guilt doesn't disappear.

He puts a cute flower crown on his hair, made out of an assortment of white and pink daisies, the colorful accessory looking even brighter against his curly black locks and black leather jacket.

Taehyung smiles when he hears his fans yell various compliments at the sight of him with the cute accessory, waving them hello and causing the screams to strengthen even more.

He's so busy with entertaining the fans, he doesn't even notice the girl in front of him until she's letting out a quiet 'hello', causing Taehyung to turn his head and face the young woman in front of him.

She's pretty, with a petite body tucked into a thin, tight white long-sleeved shirt and a short denim skirt, showcasing toned legs and a small waist.

Her hair is long and dark, falling to her waist in luscious waves, but the shiny curls don't look styled, as if this was her natural hair. Her eyes are big and dark, her face small and cute-looking, with a button nose and plump lips, and she's hugging BTS' newest album to her chest tightly, as if treasuring it.

It wasn't the first time Taehyung saw a beautiful fan at one of their fansigns. In fact, all of their fans looked gorgeous to him, but even when one catches his eye more than the rest, he was usually really good at hiding it, making sure to give everyone his equal attention.

But this girl, something about the look in her eyes, the way she tucks a dark strand behind her ear, the pink blush on her round cheeks, the way her hands shake when she hands the album over to Taehyung, eyes widening slightly when their fingers brush.

Taehyung was a professional, yet he finds himself smiling warmly at the girl, reaching out to her and intertwining their fingers, a feeling of euphoria rushing through his body when he feels the fan's soft skin against his own.

"Hello", he finally answers, tilting his head down slightly to try and catch the girl's eyes, which were continuously fleeting away from him. "Why are you hiding from me?"

The girl seems bewildered at the question, and Taehyung can't help but thinks it's adorable, the way her doe eyes widen slightly, pink lips opening in surprise to reveal a row of perfect white teeth, but he resists the urge to smile towards the girl, instead keeping a small pout on his face, pretending to be disappointed.

"I'm sorry, I'm just shy", the girl mumbles then, lifting her eyes up almost forcefully to meet Taehyung's, before they fall back to their locked hands after a second, making Taehyung finally let out a deep chuckle, his acting long forgotten.

"You'll regret it later if you won't look at me now. Plus, I want to see your face, too", Taehyung explains, smiling in satisfaction when the fangirl lifts her head once again after a moment of hesitation, keeping her eyes on the idol's determinantly, despite the darkening blush on her cheeks.

"Woo-hoo", Taehyung cheers, releasing their joined hands to clap them together loudly, and the young woman laughs, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, but V can still hear the giggles escaping her mouth, sweet and melodic, and he thinks how much he'd love to hear it again.

"Now that I can see your pretty face, I should probably ask for your name.", Taehyung says with a grin, and the girl bows her head respectfully before saying, "I'm Y/L/N Y/N".

Taehyung still doesn't quite know what he's going to do, but knowing the fan's name, knowing she loves him, lights a spark of hope in his chest. "To, Y/L/N Y/N…"

Jeon Jungkook:

Jungkook likes practicing at 5 a.m in the morning, even if it means waking up before the sun is awake, when it's still dark outside, stumbling into the elevator of Bighit and pressing blindly on all the buttons until he reaches the right floor.

But there is also some good in working out so early in the morning. On days like this, when Jungkook was practicing for BTS' upcoming album until 3 in the morning, it's pretty pointless going back to his apartment, only to come back a few hours later. It's a lot easier to stay in the building, sleep on the comfortable blue sofa, and wake up two hours later to do his daily workout, without any disturbances.

Pushing open the opaque glass door with the palm of his hand, Jungkook muffles another yawn in the sleeve of his oversized black t-shirt. He's still wearing his sweat-filled clothes from practice, with the black Nike sneakers and gray sweatpants, but it doesn't really matter if he's going to sweat again.

His eyesight is still blurry and filled with tears of sleep-loss when he hops on the treadmill, but after a few minutes of jogging with his mind in haze, Jungkook starts to come back to his senses, the familiar adrenaline pumping in his veins.

It's when Jungkook is doing his deadlift workout routine, the muscles in his arms and thighs straining and his black long hair matted to his forehead with sweat, that the door to the gym opens suddenly, and Jungkook almost drops the weights he was holding from the surprise.

Standing in the entrance is a young woman, around Jungkook's age or maybe even younger. Judging by the black leggings she's wearing, the white crop top and the matching white sneakers, all Nike, the girl came to workout, just like the maknae of BTS.

Her dark hair is pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head, strands of it framing her small face, and her eyes are wide with shock at the sight of the young, sweaty man in front of her.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you", she says quickly, before Jungkook can even think what to say, the dark-haired man too busy admiring the girl's obvious curves and now, the honey-like sound of her voice.

"I thought the gym would be empty at this hour… I'll go now, sir.", the girl exclaims, bowing to Jungkook deeply before she's turning around, and that's when Jungkook comes back to reality, placing the weights on the ground and ignoring the screaming pain in his whole body.

"Wait, don't go.", He shouts just as the girl steps outside of the gym, and she turns around, her eyebrows raised slightly in confusion when Jungkook blushes, scratching the back of his sheepishly.

"You work here, don't you?", he inquires, relief seeping through his veins when the young woman nods, responding: "I'm actually new here. I work as one of the producers for BTS."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm Jungkook from BTS", Jungkook says, a small smile appearing at his face at the display of horror on the girl's face, "And this gym is for the use of the staff too, so…", he gestures to the vast space around vaguely, hoping he doesn't sound too hopeful when he waits for the producer to answer.

To his slight surprise, the woman steps into the room after a moment of hesitation, shouldering off her black Nike duffle bag and letting it fall to the ground. "Thank you, Jungkook-ssi", she says politely, bowing once again, a cute blush covering her cheeks like fairy dust.

Jungkook can feel himself blushing as well, the need to turn his head when he sees the young woman start to stretch overwhelming, so he clears his throat, taking a long gulp of water before saying. "It's no problem, Producer…?", his voice trails off slightly, and the woman smiles at him through the mirrors lining the walls, her bright grin and sparkly eyes forcing Jungkook to look away, his ears burning.

"Y/L/N Y/N, sir", she responds, and Jungkook hums in understanding, putting the cap back on the water bottle and examining the slight shake in his hand in distaste. So much for being a worldwide famous idol, when he couldn't even talk to a girl.

"Well… Welcome to Bighit, Y/L/N Y/N. I hope we'll be together for a long time.", Jungkook congratulates with a sincere smile. 'In more ways than one', he thinks.

[sugar-petals]

Doc on a Date (m)

↳ You meet your former patient Namjoon on vacation in Italy. What begins as a bizarre encounter turns into an erotic thrill.

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre › smut | one shot | 7k

— warnings › vaginal sex (protected), doggy style, cunnilingus, masturbation, degradation, marking, dom!reader, sub!rm — a/n › motto: sex with obstacles. nams with spectacles. 

The waitress with the curly hair looks a bit flushed. It’s not the evening buzz and temperature, she’s used to that. Somehow, the circular tray won’t sit right on her palm either. A fresh cup of coffee and two empty wine glasses wobble back and forth on top of it, but without actually sliding out of place — it must be one of those fancy coated trays a waiter can do pretty much a somersault with sans losing any of the beverages. Or perhaps, this is just another urban myth of Venice at night. Your day has been busy.

Her accent is broken, yet still polished to a reasonable degree. You can tell that the Ristorante Dogaressa gets its fair share of foreigners. At one point you believe that she even sounds all too deferential.

“I’m sorry, Signora. Today’s packed. Would you still prefer a seat?”

You linger with your keys still in the right hand. The famed Hotel Belleza with its first-floor restaurant is just around the block and your second choice for the evening. A two-minute ride through not-so bustling traffic, it really is more crowded on the actual Canal. But the smell of calzone and antipasti alone, the antique decor framing the doors, the palace across the river, set in delicate spotlights—

You stuff the keys into your pea coat pocket. If you want to dine at the Dogaressa, this is the only chance. The onslaught of tourists is even harder to go against when the weekend starts.

“Yes, if that’s possible? It’s my fault, with the reservation system.”

Now that you’ve turned toward the dining room ever so slightly, and perhaps she did notice, the tray comes into balance again. Back to impeccable posture. The waitress smiles.

“Table 15 on the right still has one chair left.”

“Indeed, the section at the Canal?”

“There’s a signorino seated. I hope it doesn’t cause any inconvenience. It’s a double table we can separate for you. I’ll call my colleagues, it’s done in two seconds.”

“Alright, no problem, very kind.”

After helping you take off your coat, the waitress turns to the reception now. A bearded concierge calls for “Stella” and “Valentina” through a two-way radio. You pay the music night admission, 30€. Just a blink later, two waitresses arrive at the entrance on ever-so swift feet.

He peers up from the menu card. The brunette signorino in question wears Michael Cane glasses, Oxford shoes, and no tie — shirt buttoned down to expose more of his chest than your tour guide from Verona or anybody downtown would ever dare. Frivolous. Sexy. Or simply unaware? A certain feeling between your legs says it doesn’t matter anyways. If that button is open, it’s open.

You can tell right away that he’s not a local like you. There’s a map on the left side of his plate and some kind of book with Korean lettering on top of it. Something seems familiar.

Valentina detaches the table from one side while Stella, discreet between the rows of guests, comes to bring about a second tablecloth. Once you are seated, received a separate set of cutlery, including the menu card, Valentina takes your order for a chilled beverage, yet you mess up the name twice. It’s not because your Italian is so bad. 

The waitresses leave in haste toward the kitchen, leaving you with a view on the Canal Grande, the Doge’s palace, and a rather agitated desk neighbor talking without the slightest trace of an accent. That is familiar, too. Very, very familiar.

“I’m really sorry, I could have taken a single table earlier. I need to apologize. Sincerely.”

His way of speaking is as eloquent as you know it. Some things never change.

“No problem at all,” you counter. “It’s absolutely fine. You couldn’t have known in advance. I messed up with the online reservation.”

The gentleman looks empathetic now.

“I had to ask for a table by phone as well, the server didn’t take my data somehow. Said too many requests.”

“Oh really? The same happened to me!”

“I mean they fixed it this morning, somehow,” he shrugs. “I double-checked. It’s all very mysterious. I thought I’d miss out on it.”

“Yes, they bring out the band at quarter past seven, right? Everyone in my hotel’s been talking about it. I needed to see what was going on, they were recommended to me.”

He nods, smile brighter than ever. 

“The band. The band, yes! I’m so excited. They’ll be brilliant.”

“Yes.”

“I’m, I’m sure. You’ll enjoy the evening.”

The tone, the stammer, the face. It must have been five years or more. You struggle to put it into words. He’s so attractive in his attire that you can barely say anything without feeling the pulse in your lap take over. 

“So, is this your first time in Venice?”

“Uh, pardon. This might be a bit sudden. Do I know you—”

Stella pops up by your side with a filled tray. You clear your throat and notice that she has tightened her ponytail quite a lot.

The icy drink in a tall glass sizzles a bit, leaving sprinkles at the inside of the crystal surface, just how you like it. You eye the card fast and pick out the first things that seem to fit your taste. Talking to the gentleman left you no time to browse through even one bit of the menu.

With a quick hand, the waitress notes down a tagliatelle and tomato dish, iceberg salad, and a panna cotta. 25-30 minutes waiting time, she says, chef’s busy but the restaurant is prepared because of the music night, come to the reception to pay later on. You check your watch, it’s almost seven. The signorino orders an artichoke puree, the risotto with Marsala sauce, and an array of gelato with seasonal fruit for dessert. Extra large portion but a La Carte. Just, extra large, mille grazie. Stella rushes to the next guest in no time.

The woman at the next table gasps out before you can lean toward the signorino again. Several more heads turn. Only now do you realize that the restaurant has equipped a corner on the far end of the Canal terrace with a microphone, guitar, and drum set. To which now a young lean man appears to be headed to, straying through the rows of chairs in a golden waistcoat more gleaming than the Doge’s Palace, Willy Wonka shades, and black trousers. Two other men clad in red leather jackets follow him to the stage. Claps and cheers resound from the terrace with each entrance.

“Back home he’s a really popular performer,” the gentleman beams. 

Guitar noises drown out what he says next. The singer in gold announces himself as “Jung Hoseok and this is Seoul State of Mind! A—five, a—six, seven, and eight! Yeah!“

More applause. The drummer starts to step on the pedal, indicating a fast rhythm. Some visitors rise from their desks, take out their phones. A few tourists and locals already clog the space between chairs. The signorino tries to yell something to you across the table, but the howling guitar and upbeat cymbals overpower the sound. The people around you tap their feet to the beat, as does the signorino. You realize that the song itself doesn’t appear to be called “Seoul State of Mind”, but rather, is the name of the band itself. Several restaurant guests start singing along when an enthusiastic Jung Hoseok intonates the chorus. Now you understand everyone at the hotel breakfast raving about the music night and giving you the recommendation. Albeit tremendously loud, it’s a really catchy sound.

A new wave of frantic guests streams into the room, likely coming from the second and third floor of the restaurant. People from Romania, the US, Brazil. In the meantime, Stella, Valentina, and some other waiters squeeze through the crowd with their trays lifted above their heads, delivering plates and drinks. Point half past seven, the menu steams off on your table, spreading a rich scent of tomato sauce.

The sigorino barely focuses on his own risotto given that he has taken out his phone as well. Jung Hoseok, ever the Mick Jagger, prances around the terrace engaging bystanders with juicy dance moves. In between the next song, he loudly announces to give it up for Kim ”Rowdy” Seokjin on the guitar and Justin Jungkook on the drums who waves and twirls his sticks through the air right away, then giving the crowd a taste of his explosive skill. The gentleman keeps on filming every second of it. 

It appears to you that the sound technicians likely went for maximum volume so the people on the Canal boats could hear Seoul State Of Mind from afar, too. It’s so deafening that you can’t hear your own cutlery scrape on the plate while you eat, nor Stella placing the panna cotta on the table once you finish. The playlist goes by in a rush, and people start squeezing between you and the table of the signorino. It’s almost 8PM.

The panna cotta is tastefully portioned and drips with red fruit and chocolate decor, but you finish up fast. Several impassioned fans from Padua start to press against the back of your chair, and one particularly eager guy accidentally hits your elbow while you try to balance a strawberry on your dessert spoon. Jung Hoseok, still uproarious even after five exhausting performances, announces the next song. Busan Namja — Men of Busan. The crowd goes wild again.

“Rowdy” Jin descends into an impetuous, almost delirious guitar solo hitting more notes at once than you ever could on your own Dreadnought acoustic in 1998 that you decide to get up. With ten jumping and gyrating Venetians or more between your table and the one with the signorino, you fail to get through to him two times. As you do, finally, the table is empty. No trace. Just the book is left, open at the first blank page. It seems that he didn’t manage to read any further, and how could he, with Jung Hoseok rocking and thrusting his life away on the terrace.

A scraggly handwriting, however, catches your eye. At the top left corner, the page reads: “Kim Namjoon // 김남준”.

Yes.

Namjoon.

You knew it was him. It was the name on your patient’s file, the exact same signature.

Seoul State of Mind announces another song, “Birdz and the Beez, yeah!”, and a jolt goes through the masses. Before you know it, the crowd moves you along. By the very skin of your teeth, your feet bring you closer to the entrance. You look around, but the entire congested first floor goes into a frenzy with Seokjin’s roaring Hendrix hommage.

The bearded receptionist notes a 20€ tip for Stella and shakes his head at the question where the signorino Kim with the heavy glasses came from.

“Can’t give that information out, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And apologies for the hassle at the start,” he goes through the wardrobe and picks out your coat, sorted under a sign reading Tavolo/Table 15. “The online reservation base is a bit wonky nowadays. With the music night. You’ve heard them play. It’s manic every time. The restaurant owner is a big, um, admirer.”

“Ah. I was already wondering. A rock band in the Dogaressa.”

“Yes, it’s bizarre. People love it. The concept. Always steals the show. And sorry for signorino Kim again, I really can’t pass on any data.”

It’s three past ten. Your ears still reel with Birdz and the Beez and Busan Namja when you plop down on the neatly prepared mattress. Even a quick refreshment pulling out wet wipes from your suitcase doesn’t seem to give you a feeling of rest. Don’t these magazines always say to take a shower before bed to sleep well?

Winding yourself out of the sheets and looking into the rather petite bathroom, you realize you need more than that. You do remember someone at breakfast mentioning the sauna downstairs, and the pool on the hotel rooftop. Given how hot the Gondola ride on the Canal had been in the morning, and how chock-full the Ristorante Dogaressa was, you opt for heading toward the roof with your bikini under a bathrobe. Beforehand, you take up the telephone at the fringe of your nightstand and dial in the lobby number.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N from room 406. May I ask— whether there still is access to the rooftop?”

A rather tired-sounding staff member, Gianmarco Ricci as he introduces himself, answers.

“It closes in two hours, same as the sauna. Not too crowded right now.”

“Excellent, thank you.”

“Bene, no problem, Donna Y/L/N.”

The large metal sign of Hotel Baccio with a raven emblem looms above your head while entering the rooftop area. As Gianmarco had informed you — the place is devoid of hotel guests. All around, the air is reasonably cool and leaves a tingle. Finally. The area is well-cared for as you expected.

You drop the bathrobe on one of the green canvas chairs lined up around the pool. The latter spans across a third of the roof and stretches out alongside the panoramic view opening toward the gleaming Doge’s Palace, taking a corner at the right end of the area. It’s a modern design, sleek, without ornaments.

While dipping your feet in, you still let your thoughts trail off to Jung Hoseok, then further descend into the tepid water. A rockstar in Venice. Wearing Willy Wonka shades. Singing about Busan and Bees in a high-brow restaurant. There are things even you can’t fathom. It’s fascinating. The air is lukewarm enough not to make your wet hair feel gelid. So soothing.

You swim toward the edge of the pool that dons a glass front. Beyond, the palace turns dim under its fading spotlights. Some tourists are still in the cafes at the harbor. One or two Gondolas glide into the bay as you watch. A drunk guy sings in the street. Italia, Italia.

Then, a splashing noise makes you flinch. It’s barely audible, but given the silence of the rooftop, it sounds disruptive enough. You turn to the left. It’s a silhouette parting the water, gliding toward the surface with its back turned to you. The light coming from the Hotel Baccio sign illuminates the body from the side.

A large scar divides two prominent shoulder blades, and plunges deeper down a sturdy, tan spine line. As if lightning had struck the skin. You recognize the signature right away. It is that of your most favored knife.

Frozen stiff, you see the man fully emerge and prop himself up at the edge of the glass front. Still, with his back facing your direction. He puffs out twice, ribcage heavy. So naked and isolated in the clean lines of the pool design, the silhouette looks massive. You can tell that he’s working out. Huge arms. Toned, palpable trapezoids. He lets a hand rake through his hair, backwards, taming the wet strands.

You move from the edge of the basin toward the center.

And swim over.

“Um— Mister? Hello!”

“Oh!”

The silhouette turns.

It’s nice to see the signorino’s chest a little more bare.

“That’s a coincidence. I thought we lost each other in the crowd!”

“Yeah, 600 people or more in there. Nice to see you again! Same hotel!”

“I went back earlier, it was hard on the ears. I never knew you’d be, I mean, here!”

He shoves his hair back yet again. 

“Arrived yesterday, took a last minute flight from Ilsan. Yeah, pretty noisy, wasn’t it. The usual. Pool’s is nice to dive and rest.”

“It’s— And, about that. The concert. I wanted to ask you something. The music cut it off.”

“What do you mean?”

You feel your legs become a bit unsteady in the water now.

“It solved itself in the meantime, but, you probably didn’t remember. How do I put it.”

“Yes, no problem, go ahead.”

You take a breath deeper than Jung Hoseok must have done before performing the show.

“We know each other. It happened years ago.”

“What, we do? From, from where?”

He looks alarmed. You take another deliberately long inhale. Stay cool, Y/N.

“Fall 2014.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I was your surgeon. For the back.”

A moment passes. Judging by his wide-blown eyes, Namjoon does appear to realize. Your legs feel even more wobbly.

“You? You are Dr. Y/L/N?”

Two nods. 

“Can’t blame you. I had a mask on most of the time you saw me. And you were lying on your stomach.”

Which was probably a good thing with a handsome face like that. 

But it was just all work, professional, serious, focused, wasn’t it?

“Right. Yes, the, the examinations. I remember. 2014. Oh man.”

“I barely recognized you as well.”

“Glasses and all. Yeah.”

“You made it through the post-treatment alright the way it looks, how was it? Sorry, I. It was just the first thing I saw.”

“No, no. This is your job. Or is it, still?”

“Went into cardiothoracic two years ago. Settled there I guess. So, yeah. Kind of. Still the same branch.”

Namjoon strokes the back of his neck. The drunk guy on the street seems to have moved on by now.

“Right.”

“But I did enjoy neuro. I had many cases like you.”

“The pain, it never came back. After it healed. Took five months. Something like that.”

You hum. 

“It does take longer in some cases, I’ve had a colleague report eight months once with a sports injury, was similar to yours.”

“Means you did a good job. That was excellent. It feels very even. Kinda crazy.”

“Can I? If you uh, want to.”

“Oh, sure!”

You close the distance. He turns.

That scar. Covered in droplets of water. You place your hands between his shoulder blades. Press a little with the lower part of your palm, glide it over his spine.

“It is.”

“Even, yeah?”

“Your reflex was normal, too.”

“I told Doctor Park. My life would have been fucked. Without your hands. Was too dumb to recognize you, I’m very sorry.”

You retreat your hands all too fast, and he shifts back.

“Maybe it was better it was now. You could enjoy your evening. I really liked their outfits, by the way.”

“Damn, I should have taken you to the meet and greet,” he says, teeth half grit. The look on your face turns incredulous.

“The what?”

“I got the book signed later on. Took the flight just for that, I got cards from a friend.”

“Oh, neat!”

“I just, hope you had a nice evening as well. Was a bit rude to disappear, that was shitty. I’m dense as shit for a teacher.”

So he still teaches. You knew it. Some things never change.

“No problem, the crowd was all over the place. And we’re here now.”

“Still can’t believe it. Honestly. How’s the clinic nowadays, how are you?”

Letting go of the scar, you swim back to where you were. His eyes are luminous now.

“Well, uh. Enough that I can take a long vacation in Italy and my patients are still in good hands. You know the team. Park is still around as well.”

He nods, smile attentive.

“That sounds good.”

“He says I’ll like Rome, he was there in 2017. But I think I prefer Bologna. It feels cozy there. We travel to Siena in two days as well. You’re headed home to your students?”

“Flight goes next week. Monday afternoon. Korean Air from Milan. Nice cathedral. But busy at the airport.”

You puff out, all too familiar.

“Take your sanitizer and a scarf.”

“Yeah, hate flying. Always get a cold two weeks after I arrive.”

“Sleep before, drink enough, take a ginger capsule. And you might wanna do some exercises for your back. It’s a long flight.”

“Looks like I get a cold with good reason,” he laughs, “I’m clueless.”

“If you want to, I can show you some exercises and stuff.”

“Really? Just, unpaid? This is your vacation.”

“If I don’t care about my patient’s health without the payment involved I shouldn’t be a surgeon. Salary is just for my groceries and that. Most of my colleagues don’t get this. Defeats the purpose of the whole thing.”

Namjoon laughs even more.

“That’s why Park thinks you’re Houdini or something. And, the exercises, that sounds cool.”

“We could practice here for a minute if you don’t mind. Water has more resistance to train, it’s perfect. Hydrotherapy is powerful.”

“True. Why not. Unless you’re exhausted.”

You shake your head. How could you be. With him here. 

“Wide awake if you ask me. Ready if you are.”

“Okay, uh. Yes, then. What do I do?”

You position yourself at the pool’s fringe with both arms propped up.

“It’s similar to how when you work out, this way.”

Slowly, you let both of your legs ascend backwards. Namjoon watches intently, then takes on the same pose. However, his legs lift only two thirds as high.

“Need a hand?”

Namjoon huffs.

“Kinda.”

Although hesitant, you steady yourself next to him, lift him by the hip, gently. He doesn’t skip leg days as you now come to see.

“It’s more difficult since you’re tall. Keep the tension in the lower back now.”

“Okay— ah.”

He groans out twice. 

“Hurts?”

You let go of his hip.

“No, no it doesn’t. Just, need a moment, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong? Is it the back?”

Namjoon looks sweaty now. Panicking.

“Need, my robe, I apologize. Just a moment.”

“Hm?”

His face is blank.

“Will be right back. I forgot something.”

When he tries to turn upright, hasty, and brushes against your stomach with his crotch, you understand why. 

No need for you to even look down. 

He backs away so fast, you can’t do as much as blink.

“Shit, oh my god, shit! It wasn’t my—!”

Your tone becomes much firmer.

“Hey. Namjoon! Calm down. It’s something normal.”

“I’m sorry, it just, I didn’t want to bother, I...!”

He backs away further.

“I know which nerves go where and what they do, Kim.”

“That was creepy of me, I’m so sorry!”

Namjoon already scurries to get out of the pool once more, grabbing at the slippery edge twice without finding proper hold.

“It wasn’t, just, stop!”

His movements freeze. He glides off the edge.

“It wasn’t?”

Yeah.

“You’re very attractive. And, and I like you. I have no problem. Anatomy is my job. Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself like that. I don’t have a problem with it. Okay.”

He looks shameful now, one hand reaching down to shield himself. However, what was hurried motion a second ago, is now the deer in headlights.

“Really?”

“Yes. How can I lie. I know your body very well already. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Just say what’s on your mind. You’re the one with a fucking boner yet you’re making it hard for me. Metaphorically.”

A tinge of a shy smile blends into his embarassed expression.

“I uh, I think. Um.”

“Finally he says something! Thought he’d never do!”

“You are attractive, too. I hope I’m not rude, but—”

“Hardly. What do you want to say?”

“Uh...”

“My god Namjoon, don’t act like a teenager. We’re adults, we know each other. Seen you naked on the operating table three times and, goddammit, five times full frontal in the preperations.”

“Just thought, you’re really, sexier than ever. And your hands— I, actually, never remembered you like this at the clinic. 2014, I mean. I was really. Blown away right now. It’s been so long.”

You have to chuckle. ‘Sexier than ever’. Well, alright. Time to deliver that line.

“Surgeons age like fine wine. Cause we don’t drink it.”

Namjoon tilts his head back in a cackle.

“You know what it does on the inside.”

“Yup. You got it.”

He exhales. Looking more relaxed, at least. 

“Only thing I got right today. Gosh.”

He lets go of the pool’s edge entirely. You cross your arms.

“So you wanna owe up to that you liked the touch or not?” 

“What?”

“Maybe you did make it hard for me. Just, literally.”

“Not metaphorically I’m sure.”

“Oh indeed?

“Yeah. I guess.”

Now you’re the one laughing. Namjoon seems awfully bashful in his corner of the basin. You nod your head toward the exit. 

“Which one of our hotel rooms makes a better fucking, patient Kim?”

“Hah?”

“Can’t jizz up this pool, can we. Gianmarco would have a breakdown.”

He seems to gather himself a little more now. Nevertheless, he sweats.

“Patient care... is supposed to be in the doctor’s office.”

“I have no view on the Doge’s Palace or something.”

“Really?”

“Nope. As I said. The salary is for groceries. And the tour guide did a shitty booking.”

And you’d rather spend your money on the Dogaressa where people like Namjoon are, who are you kidding. 

“Then I have good news. If you make house visits for patients.”

“Oh, truly. Sure do.”

“You’ll enjoy the evening.”

At least you can scrub off the chlorine scent there with hotel-provided shampoo, yet the bathroom is equally mediocre as yours. But the glass facade beyond the bed showcases much more than just the palace itself. You can see the Dome, the Biblioteca, people coming from the Piazza San Marco, the Ponte, the Museo Diocesano. 

And Namjoon. Rubbing down his spiky hair with a towel and slipping a condom on. You hang up your bathrobe at one of the wardrobes where his unlaced Oxford shoes stand and join him on the bed. Against the light of the city, he looks even more sculpted. The heat and throb between your legs doesn’t lie.

“Doc on a Date, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

“Very much inclined for the Birdz and the Beez, who would have known.”

Namjoon barely has the condom on that he has to grin again.

“Okay. If you can do something with that cardiotho—something.”

“Cardiothoracic. Heart and lungs.”

“Both going pretty wild over here.”

“No problem, Mister.”

You pat the large pillow at the head of the bed, embroidered with the Hotel Baccio raven emblem. He reclines.

“Good thing I don’t have to see you all ventral nowadays, you know.”

“Too vertical to be prone tonight, I’m sorry, Doc.”

“Y/N.”

Namjoon rubs his face with both hands and sighs out.

“Damn, Park mentioned it once. Never realized. Y/N, right.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can we safeword?”

“Safeword is, I don’t know. Rome.”

He’s paid attention. 

“Milan for slow. Bologna for okay. Verona for faster. How about that.”

“And Ilsan. For please don’t go.”

You freeze. The look in Namjoon’s eyes is different. 

Much more gloomy. Or is it serene? You feel your heart drop. 

“Don’t say that, don’t, don’t remind me...”

“It’s not for you,” he shakes his head twice.

“Hm?”

Namjoon points toward his chest.

“It’s a reminder for me. Will make this count, Y/N. I’ve been dumb all evening. Gotta do something right for once.”

“Don’t pressure yourself.”

He frowns.

“Not with this opportunity. You stitched my life together. You did so much.”

The guy on the street starts singing again. Your fists clamp at either your knees.

“It was a car accident. And my profession. You don’t have to repay me with sex. What counts is you’re healed. Okay.”

The last Gondola passes the Hotel on the Canal now. Namjoon’s expression has turned grave.

“Maybe, maybe you’re right,” he rustles in the sheets, sits up.

“We can just sit here and talk about your students. Don’t think you owe me anything. Seeing the scar was what satisfied me.”

Another lie. But what can you do. He was right about Ilsan.

Namjoon reaches down to peel the condom off. It flops down on the nightstand crumpled and unused.

“You can look at it,” he bends forward just enough for the light of the palace to shine across his back. “As long as you want. I’m just a mess.”

You lay both hands on his shoulders. The shadows they cast are deep. Goosebumps form on his arms.

“Don’t hate yourself, Namjoon.”

“I’m ruining your evening, I’m stupid.”

“You’re just... maybe, awkward. There’s a difference. But I can’t blame you, okay. It’s alright.”

“You have to, I’ve been rude to you all day.”

The palace outside looks twice less radiant now. You clench your fists harder now, thinking it would not make you feel the sweat.

“We didn’t meet for five years. Caught you off guard, that’s it. Rude is when you do it deliberately.”

“The result is the same. I’m very sorry. I just bother you.”

Your voice turns more mortified.

“What?!”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t? I just said I like you fifteen minutes ago. And I don’t think that changed!”

“Don’t say that, look at me. I’m just a burden for someone like you. I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve anything of... this.”

The words take a long time to register in your mind. Your neck feels as if it’s about to burst.

“Joon! Get yourself together!”

“But it’s true.”

The singing on the street abates.

You throw yourself on the other side of the bed, rip open the nightstand’s upper drawer. Namjoon looks more than startled when you throw a condom packaging at him. It slips through his fingers and lands on the sheets.

“Put it on,” you point downwards. He picks it up, still unsure.

“Y/N?”

“I said put it on. Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. Fuck you, and your endless bullshit. I’m tired. I’ll bloody prove you wrong. Move it!”

Namjoons hands are too hasty to tear the wrapping open, so you take it from him and do it yourself. He squeaks when you roll it down on him.

“You believe it when I screw it into your brain? Stop talking shit. Looks like it’s not you who has to be the rude one.”

“I, I!”

“You’re right, you are a dumbass. Lie down.”

“Okay!���

Namjoon falls back into the pillow fast. You mount him faster, index pressing down on his chest.

“And now, be damn honest. And give me a whole sentence. Can you take a fucking and say you deserve it?”

His voice becomes even squeakier.

“Take a— yes! I mean! Deserve? Are you sure about this?”

“I see.”

You grab hold of Namjoon’s bathrobe that lies folded beneath the bed and remove its fabric belt.

“Is it okay you do me a favor and bite on this, you need to shut up. First, you talk crap, second, Gianmarco’s gonna call us up in two minutes if you can’t control your voice. We’re in a damn hotel, not the restaurant with Hoseok on stage.”

“Sorry, doc. I’m just rude and a prick.”

You roll your eyes.

“Pipe down, bite or not?”

You crumple up the fabric of the belt into a palm-sized ball. Eyebrows raised. Gaze fixed.

“Bologna.”

“Then open your mouth now.” And he does. For you to stuff the gag in. “Tap the mattress for Rome.”

“Mhm!”

“I like you better that way. Whiny patient. Or is it that,” you pause, then listen to any activity on the corridor. Then continue, “you like being so damn degraded?”

The igneous look in his eyes is all too telling. You’re getting hornier by the minute.

“I’m hitting more than one nerve today, am I. You’re acting so strange. Is it really that? Is it—”

The nightstand phone ringing so disturbingly loud makes both of you flinch so hard that the bed frame vibrates.

Gianmarco.

“Fuck!”

Without thinking, you pick it up in an instant. A nasal, but charming voice resounds.

“Ciao! Sir, this is Roberto from the kitchen service. You told us to ring back later, after you went to the rooftop? You’ve booked for special diet.”

You look at Namjoon wide-eyed. He just stares right back.

“I, I did, yes. I mean, my husband did. Namjoon. For us. What is it?”

“Oh, this is Donna Kim? It says single room here on the form.”

“I’ve booked another room. We’re, uh, currently divorcing. This is complicated.”

“Mamma mia! I’m sorry to hear that. We can still arrange the special diet for two as you said, the cook will know.”

“Right, right. Um. Just a second, Signore.”

After covering the speaker with a pillow, you fumble at Namjoon’s mouth to get at least half of the fabric out.

“What on earth, Joon! This Roberto guy wants something with a special diet! What the fuck!”

Namjoon leans forward to whisper in your ears as good as his gag permits.

“Vege—tarian!”

“Oh gosh, of course. Oh my god. Roberto?” you lift the pillow, grab the phone again. “Are you there?”

“Yes, Donna Kim? Is everything alright?”

“Vegetarian diet for both of us.”

“Noted. No problem! The buffet opens at seven. Call at half past six if there’s anything else you need.”

“Alright!”

“Good night!”

“Good night, Signore!”

You hang up, sigh out. Namjoon tugs the rest of the belt out of his mouth and chuckles. Either of your breaths go times as heavy now. At least the bed frame has calmed down.

“And I thought it’s Gianmarco ready to kick us out.”

“Yeah. Bad timing for Roberto. You made him call you that late, anyways?”

“Kind of, he was busy and—”

You yelp when the phone violently erupts with another loud ring. 

This time, Namjoon, after almost tipping over the alarm clock on the nightstand with his arm, grabs the speaker.

“Yes? Kim here?”

The familiar pitch resounds.

“Ah, Signore! I’m sorry to disturb you again.”

“No problem.”

“I didn’t ask for any allergies. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Hazelnut, and no milk, please.”

“Hazelnut, no milk. Okay, that should be it. Grazie!”

“Good night.”

“And I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Roberto. We’ll get through. See you tomorrow.”

The phone clicks back into its hanger. Namjoon collapses backwards into the pillow.

“Fuck, man.”

“This guy is gonna send me into actual heart surgery if he goes on like that.”

You nestle about your hair, the phone now all the more in the corner of your eyes.

“He probably will. He’s from Genua. These people are a different breed.”

“I don’t think a house visit was the best idea. Your room,” you point to the glass window, “has bad as shit Karma.”

Namjoon puts the belt aside.

“Should we go to your suite?”

“No, I have another idea.”

“Oh?”

“Grab your robe.”

You slide from the bed, check the watch on the wall opposite to the bed. Almost eleven.

“Okay, but where are we headed?”

“Downstairs. Grab a towel from the bathroom.”

“What, to the lobby? A towel?”

“To hide your boner. Come.”

The small bench of the sauna is less rough on either of your knees after you spread out the towel. A lot less. One quick gaze toward the wooden door ensures that the lock is still in place. Namjoon notices and his thrusts go invariably slower. 

“You alright Y/N?” he asks. You look back across your shoulder to meet his eyes.

“I think I’m enjoying the evening.”

“This has better Karma, you mean. Maybe it’s Feng Shui.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “And Joon.”

“Yes?”

“Your hip.”

“Oh!”

“Keep on moving. Don’t talk, you fuck. I want more dick. Verona.”

You grab hold of a board at the end of the bench, allowing you to lean forward better.

“Okay, Doc.”

He brings his pelvis forward to shaft you down on him. The small oven in the corner puffs out another cloud of steam while you moan out through gritted teeth. To your luck, to your pleasure, and even through the chaos of the last minutes — Namjoon is still erect. 

Holding onto its dear life, the condom’s seam dances up and down on his girth while he pumps into you, curving closer to your cervix, but not quite coming on a tangent to it. You press your hip back on him to see how he reacts. Judging by the choked noise, you might as well have started bouncing on him way earlier. A continued, gyrating arch, and you can feel him wind inside of you. The oven swirls another portion of clouds into the air while the bench creaks a bit.

“Wish they had a mirror here,” you huff out. “To see your scar.”

“They probably have one in the Museo somewhere across the street.”

A faster bounce on him. 

“You’re not just an idiot, you wanna become a burglar as well, huh. Grab my waist.”

He does. With the added support, you can let go of the bench with one hand and reach between your thighs. Circling in two fingers right in between. 

And so, his thrusts become shallow — again. 

“Y/N.”

“What is it now.”

“Do I not satisfy you? Because you’re rubbing your...”

“Can’t put it inside someone else like you do. Nature’s ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“A dick’s just a grown long clit. Never read a pregnancy book?” 

“Pardon?”

“We all start with one. I need to send your ass to Dr. Park’s new clinic department.”

“No, no... You misunderstood. I just mean, I want to please you, Y/N.”

You slide off your two fingers and seize the board with both hands again.

“No problem, rub away. Bologna.”

“Does it not feel good when I penetrate you?”

“If you talk nerve cells, there’s not much in there. Party is in the front.”

His hands disappear from your waist.

“You don’t feel anything?”

“Fool, of course. You’re quite big,” you wiggle your hips. “But not as much. As I said. Rub away. Makes it better.”

His voice drops stern. The oven stays still. 

“Rome.”

“What!”

You feel Namjoon slip outside of you. 

“If it’s not good by itself and you have to rub to make it better, it’s just... of no use!”

You sit up on the towel to face him. 

“Joon, I didn’t mean it was ‘bad’. I just said I want dick two minutes ago.”

“And ten seconds ago you said it could be better,” he reaches around his base and shoves the condom to the front, then glides it off entirely. “And before, that you’d rather see my back. Twice, even.”

“Joonie, that was nothing against you. I just don’t have a prostate inbuilt there, okay. And the scar. I just like seeing it, that’s—”

“It was. I’m just a burden again. You don’t have to ‘prove me wrong’. I don’t want that. I wanted a normal date and sex to make you feel good.”

You wonder how on earth since quarter past ten he didn’t manage to kill his own boner.

“Man, you suck.”

“I told you.”

“Because we can’t enjoy having sex for a damn blink of an eye without you talking shit. Tons and tons. The irony? First your Ilsan thing, now this. One time you say you make it count because we have no time, next moment you put yourself down and ruin the atmosphere. One time you say nothing, and suddenly you drown me in words. You make no sense! Where’s the damn gag?”

“I left it in the room, I’m sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake. Why are you suddenly like that? Where’s that guy from Table 15? I thought we could just have fun like that! I thought we’d fit together! Didn’t we, back then?”

“I don’t know. Back then is not what I feel now. I wish... I could please you.”

“Good, then we flip that around. I do the put-downs. Not you. You bury yourself— here.” 

After chucking away the condom from the towel at the expense of hotel sanitation and hoping not to forget picking it up later, you get up from your knees, then lean back, opening your legs toward him until he scoots closer at your beckoning. “Is that better, you little shit?”

The bench creaks again. Namjoon fumbles at your thighs.

“You know that I prefer dessert.”

He does. Who else orders an extra large portion of ice cream with seasonal fruit for music night. 

“Now you can talk as much as you want to, teach. Jesus Christ. You’re more complicated than Roberto and our divorce combined. Come on now, this is Verona. Practice some fucking vocabulary.”

As the little digital board at the door indicates— only a dozen minutes left until the spa closes. You realize that Namjoon’s tongue is more eager than his cock. As are his pillowy lips, delivering both suction, kisses, cushioning, lubrication. The towel has wetted through anyways, so you don’t care. He keeps on dipping in his tongue far with your hands tracing across his spine as low as they can wander. The rhythm of his jaw is pliant. You feel his breath brushing on your clit up close. Oh shit. A spill of gritted curses drops from your lips. 

You dig your nails into his shoulders. His bulging arms. His hair. His neck. Hard. Why use one knife when you have ten at hand. Works wonders. He licks faster. The heavy throbbing in your core makes the drum skills of Justin Jungkook seem vastly insignificant. ‘Rowdy’ Jin would be envious of the electric current zapping out your brain and making your legs tremble around Namjoon’s bulky torso. Maybe it’s Venice. Maybe you haven’t handled your patient properly. It’s the only explanation you have for him acting up in such a weird way once things turned sexual. The things that exercises do. He does know which of your nerves go where and what they do.

The steam keeps on infusing the room with chamomile fumes and some last hotel guests tap along the corridor outside in their flip-flops, past the lock firmly in place. They’re headed toward the Kneipp water-treading basin at the entrance of the spa where they gather. While Namjoon, marked down and ruined as he is, licks and nips away with his chin dripping, the last jolts of a climax bringing your core into a clench, you hear them trot up the exit stairs in the distance. Good timing. 

His back is too slippery to give your legs a place to cling to, so all you can possibly do is rest them over his clawed-at shoulders which are, thankfully, wide enough. One last deep inhale of the steam before the oven fades out. He kisses your labia, then reclines, nodding towards the condom that he goes to pick up. You can barely stand up and gather the towel. Please you indeed. Milan does have a nice cathedral. 

Do not translate, repost, or modify my work. © 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. All rights reserved.

[seungminty]

For granted //Jisung

words: 2.1k

genre: a n g s t 

It’s 1am and I’m trash for angst and Jisung, enjoy.

-mads <3

part 2

Friday, 11:54pm

I sighed when I saw the time as I checked my phone yet again. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I mindlessly clicked on another episode of Brooklyn 99, snuggling deeper into my blanket in an attempt to distract myself from the tears that were slowly gathering at the corners of my eyes. Jisung had said he would facetime me after rehearsals, but after 4 hours of radio silence, I was quickly losing hope. 

Not like I should be surprised.

This had become a regular occurrence in our relationship throughout the past few months; I’d plan dates, he’d cancel them. We’d hang out, he’d work the whole time. We’d argue, he’d come back a few days later, full of flowers and apologies, and I’d fall for him all over again. 

Don’t get me wrong, of course I knew that dating an idol would bring challenges, especially since Stray Kids were so well-known, as well as being self-producing. And for a while, we actually made it work. Yeah, Jisung worked most of the time, but I was also busy with college and my waitressing job. However, we always found time for each other, even if it was just Jisung popping into the cafe to give me lunch, or a pizza night with the boys. 

So yeah, I knew it would be hard, just not... not this hard. 

It wasn't like he’d gotten busier, he was always busy, so was I, but he just didn't make the effort anymore. Every time he cancelled on me to hang with the boys or ignored my good morning texts, my heart broke just a little bit more. We’d argue about his newfound attitude often, but it seemed to tear me apart far more than it did him. Before I could fully explain the extent of the loneliness I felt inside, he would cut me off and accuse me of being too clingy, with many insults thrown in too. He would later blame his foul words on stress, but I had heard that excuse so many times I didn't know what to believe anymore. One thing was certain, though, Jisung had changed. We had changed. I wasn't a priority anymore, and it was destroying me. 

 There had always been a small part of me that still believed this was just a phase, that we could go back to the old us. But I soon realized that that was impossible. I knew that Jisung still loved me, and I knew that he still had a heart of gold, but I couldn't figure out for the life of me why he didn't want to invest time in us anymore.

I guess we're just on different paths now. 

I was suddenly pulled from my depressing train of thought by my phone. Jisung’s name on my phone screen had become such a rare sight that I stared at my lock screen for several seconds before actually reading the text.

Sorry went to the studio after practice and lost track of time.

The studio. That damn studio. 

It was once a place filled up with happy memories, memories of Jisung giddily showing me a hook he’d finally perfected, or lyrics that he’d say I inspired him to write, which always caused both our cheeks to tint pink.

But now, it was the place my boyfriend chose over me, time and time again. I always admired his passion for music, and the last thing I wanted was to be one of those annoying girlfriends who want their boyfriend to only ever spend time with her, but was it really so bad that I wanted my boyfriend to make me feel important every once in a while?

These were the thoughts circulating in my head as I quickly pulled on my shoes and walked out the door towards the studio. By this point, I was so hurt and confused, I didn't have the faintest idea of what I was going to say to Jisung, I just knew that I had to see him. I had to make the pain stop.

I arrived at the studio sooner than I had expected, and a quick glance at the clock above the desk in the darkened reception area revealed that it was a little past 1am.

Wow, what a fun way to be spending your Friday night, y/n.

I sighed as I stood outside his studio door, doing my best to prepare myself for what was to come, whatever the hell that was.

Eventually, I plucked up the courage to open the door, and it creaked open agonisingly slowly to reveal a mop of tangled blonde hair, slumped at a mixing board. I walked up to him, thinking he was asleep, and was about to wake him up when he suddenly spun around towards me, eyes wide and mouth agape, clearly startled by my visit.

“Hey” he stated, his voice deep with exhaustion.

“Oh, hey” I managed to breathe out, my mouth had become dry the moment I walked in, like my subconscious knew that something big was going to go down tonight. 

We remained in an awkward silence for a while, none of us knowing how to react to this new dynamic. Life was Jisung was never quiet, ever. 

“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly. 

I looked him properly in the eyes for the first time that night, and I couldn't hide the puzzled expression on my face.

“Oh...uh, what for? It was just a facetime call, no biggie.”

No biggie? Really? Not like you wallowed in your sadness while finishing off a whole damn tub of ice cream, y/n.

Jisung looked even more shocked than me now, shaking his head and laughing lightly before speaking again.

“Oh, ok that’s fine then. Thought I missed a date or something like that. So how come you’re here then, shouldn’t you be asleep?”.

Even though I had played it off as nothing earlier, I still felt my heart sink at his statement. There was a time when Jisung would've apologised a hundred times over for forgetting to text me goodnight, now he’s so distant he doesn’t even really know what he’s apologising for.

“I, I uh, I just wanted to see you, and I don’t know, have a chat about stuff?” My words came out more like a question, and I cringed at how awkward it sounded. Jisung sighed, running his hands down his face.

“I guess, but I’ve still got this guide track to finish and its getting late, maybe some other time yeah?” He said, already turning back round in his chair.

“No, Jisung, I need to talk, and you need to listen to me,” I stated, my voice so loud that it startled both of us. 

“Right... Y-yeah sure y/n, um... what’s up?” He gulped, wide-eyed and still taken aback by my tone. I was never really one to raise my voice, but I was desperate now, trying to stitch up our fractured love before it disappeared forever.

But then, I realised. I don't think there’s any love left to fix.

I took a deep breath, trying my hardest to steel my nerves before saying the words I vowed I never would.

“Ji, this isn’t working. We... we aren’t working anymore.”

Those words hung Over the silent room like a thick black veil, suffocating me, and as I hesitantly looked at Jisung, it seemed like they were suffocating him too. He was frozen, staring at the ground in shock, before jerking his head up to search my face with panicked eyes as his hands began to shake.

“I-I... no, you can’t... we’re not, it’s fine-” He spluttered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. I watched with pained eyes as the man I loved unravelled before me, and it was all my fault.

His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to actually say anything, I began to speak, doing my best not to burst into tears.

“Things are just different now. You’re always so busy and that’s great, I'm so so proud of you, but there just isn't enough room for me in your life anymore. We never hang out, and when we do we just argue. And I'm sorry, but I just can't take it anymore, I can't take anymore cancelled dates or ignored messages, because it's destroying me, Jisung. And yes, maybe I am just weak and clingy, but I've got to put myself first for once because god-fucking-damn it Jisung, I've been so sad for so fucking long, and my own boyfriend has no idea!” By the end of my speech, I was nearly screaming, and I quickly realised that the dampness on my cheeks was from the many tears that were now uncontrollably cascading down my face. 

Now, the only sounds in the room were my slight panting and the occasional sniffle. Jisung remained unblinking, still frozen in the same position. It wasn't until I shook my head and turned towards the door that he reached forward and grabbed my arm.

“No!” he shouted, panic clear in his voice. I looked at him, he too, had tears streaming down now, the sight making what was left of my poor heart shatter.

“No... you can’t leave, I’m sorry ok? Really sorry. I-I took you for granted. You were always by my side so I guess I thought you’d stay there forever, because I honestly can’t imagine my world without you in it y/n, standing right next to me. I know I’m a shit boyfriend, and hearing how hurt you are because... because of me, kills me more than you’ll ever know. Honestly, this comeback had me feeling stressed out and down I didn't know what to do, but now I realise, that the only thing that could've made me feel happy again.. was you. Of course it was you. You are my heaven y/n, and I swear I’ll never desert you again. I’m such a fucking idiot, I was so sad that I pushed you away, even though you're the only one who can make me happy.” He laughed bitterly, but his expression quickly reverted to fear as he saw me shaking my head, tears still endlessly falling. 

“I’m sorry Jisung... but I just can’t fall for your apologies again. My heart can’t take any more of this, but I'm sure you'll find a-a nice girl... maybe an idol, someone who’s pretty and isn't so weak that they fall apart like me.” I began to walk away again, determined not to turn back again, in fear that I’d break down even further. 

Behind me, Jisung was really panicking now. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. He knew hed been a shitty boyfriend. But he thought that soon he’d feel less stressed and everything would go back to normal. They were Jisung and y/n, they were madly in love and everyone knew it, they couldn’t just break up like this. It was only when I had reached for the door handle did he react. 

“Angel, please.”

I hesitated at those words. 

 Angel. Even thinking of his pet name for me made me want to break down. It reminded me of happier times, when we were so in love we felt we were invincible, a feeling that was all but a distant memory now. 

Against my better judgment, I turned round to see Jisung slumped on the floor on his knees, head bowed and body shaking with sobs. 

I knew what I had to do. I knew what was best, for both of us. 

“I love you Jisung, and know that I’ll always be cheering you on, always.”

I took one last look at the boy who held my heart so tightly that he’d crushed it, before moving to the door, shutting it quietly behind me.

 FIN.

[anuschkalova]

No Words Needed (Newt x Reader) PART 2

A/N: Okay, so here is the Newt x artist!Reader series. Most of you voted for this story and I’m glad you like the idea. So to sum it up briefly: Reader is an shy artist who lives in London, but has a hard time becoming successful. However, through an incident she meets Newt and his friends and gets the opportunity to draw the illustrations for his book. Newt and reader grow fond of each other and spend a lot of time together. But after the celebration of his published book, something happens that gets them apart…

Enjoy! :)

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Artist!Reader

Words: 2,068

Part 1  Part 3  Masterlist

Previously…

“Excuse me, Mr. Scamander, but do you prefer black or gre…-” You stopped as you caught Newt riffling through your bag.

His alarmed look met your surprised one.

You pointed at the door without a second thought. “Get out! Now!”

___

“It’s… it’s not what it looks like. Please”, Newt tried to explain, raising both of his hands, but he failed.

You stood there with shaking knees and wide eyes. There’s was a thief right in front of you! Thousands of thoughts echoed in your mind, the loudest one was the one worrying that he could be armoured…

So you grabbed a vase close to you, the man followed your movement and he raised his hands higher.

“Please, there’s no need to…-” He was caught off mid-sentence as the object flew straight towards him. You watched as Newt ducked, his long coat waving in the air. The vase hit the wall and smashed.

“Get out!”, you screamed again, this time a table lamp in your hands. Newt swallowed, blinking repeatedly as he thought of a way to calm you down. But sadly he came to the conclusion that he had no experience in doing so, well, in relation to humans.

“Please, believe me. I was not robbing you, I … I was just looking for…-”. The table lamp flew across the room. In that very moment, something escaped your bag. It was fast but your eyes caught something black and furry. At first you thought of the cat that sometimes visited you.

“Oh no, you stay here!” The stranger scolded, trying to catch whatever was on the loose and got distracted. The lamp crashed against the man’s shoulder and you flinched a little witnessing the hit.

Newt stumbled and missed catching the furry thing that started to giggle in a high pitched voice.

“Bugger!”, Newt hissed quietly, jumping on his feet to follow the little troublemaker.

“What the…”, you mumbled puzzled. What on earth was that thing?! It was not a cat. It was super fast and made weird noises… and apparently it destroyed your apartment.

The creature guided the freckled man zigzag: Drawers were violently opened, paintings falling down and your easel being knocked over. Soon there was paint covering your wooden floor in form of tiny paw prints. You couldn’t believe the mess.

“No, no, no, no, no… Stop that”, you whispered wide eyed. Another painting of yours met the ground. “Stop it!” You finally raised your voice and took a step towards the chaotic duo.

All of a sudden, the black little creature ran towards your direction.

“No!”, Newt screamed and you shut your eyes, awaiting the coming attack.

But instead you heard the stranger calling “Accio!” or something like that, followed by a clicking sound.

When you opened your eyes again you saw the stranger bending over his case, just closing it. His reddish hair was a mess, more than it was before. His cheeks were faintly blushed and he breathed heavily.

Silence filled the room. You were still in shock, trying to process what just had happened while Newt stood with his back to you. He peeked over his shoulder to look at you, his gaze met your teary eyes.

“What… what have you done?” You fell on your knees, confronted with the damage of your hard work. All the months of painting, all the money spending for paint, brushes and canvas… all for nothing. You were pushed back to the beginning. Starting at zero.

Newt carefully turned his head and eyed the mess as if he saw it for the first time.

“I’m so sorry, I truly am! B-But you see my Nif…- well, my pet sneaked itself inside your bag in the café and I had to get him back. I’m really sorry for the trouble caused I will…-”

“You will leave! Leave! LEAVE!!”

Newt twitched and almost tripped as you pushed him towards the door. Tears streamed down your face, your lower lip trembling because of pure anger. But Newt managed to turn around and faced you.

Whatever he wanted to say, the sight of you made the words stuck in his throat. So he lowered his eyes, swallowed once and pointed behind you. “I can fix it, please. Let me help you”, he offered and you scoffed.

“This is nothing you can easily ‘fix’, Mister! You have no idea how much time and heart I have put into those paintings! You have no idea how hard it is for an artist to get the approval you deserve and…- Argh! Why am I even telling you this! Just leave!”

Your hand pushed hard against Newt’s chest, but he stood there like a rock. His lips were pressed into a thin line, making his full lips disappear. He seemed to hesitate.

“I know how it feels…”, he started.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

He lifted his gaze. “I know how it feels… not getting the approval you deserve. Being invisible to most people, the struggle and…-”. Your hand hit his cheek hard, leaving a red mark.

“Get. Out. Now”, you growled, emphasizing every word.

Newt’s head had been pushed to the side. He kept still for a few seconds, then he nodded slightly and turned away to leave. You shut the door close just to sink on the ground, starting to cry bitterly.

__

The days went by and your situation didn’t get better.

You had to use your savings in order to buy new paint and material. Also, all the lost paintings needed to be restocked, so you had to spend a lot of sleepless nights. It was exhausting. After you were done with painting, your job awaited you. Well, it was the best you could find in London at short notice.

You worked as a waitress in a small pub in the evening. It was usually stress-free, but today was Friday and that meant a lot of customers and stress.

You put on your coat and shoes and were about to head out of your apartment, when something made you stop.

There was a package in front of your feet, decorated with a red bow.

An Admirer? That was your first thought but you immediately shook your head. You had no friends and there was no way that you’ve caught the eye of somebody.

“Must be the wrong door”, you explained to yourself, but curiosity got the better of you and so you opened the package by lifting up the lit and were greeted by several tubes of paint and new brushes.

By high quality paint and brushes. Those were pretty expensive!

“No way…” You took one of the brushes to feel the soft bristles when you’ve noticed a piece of paper inside the package. You reached for it and unfolded the paper. There was a note written in elegant letters:

>> Dear Y/N,

I hope this makes up for the trouble I have caused you. Even if it’s just a little.I am truly sorry.

- N.S.

A small smile formed on your lips. This man… He must be really sorry for what he had done.

You remembered his expression after you had slapped him. He looked so vulnerable. You couldn’t help but to start feeling bad. Maybe you were overreacting, but you were so angry back then. With great justice! But you’ve also hit him with the table lamp…

You sighed. There was no denying that you were going to apologize to him. If you will ever meet him again. But now there was no time for overthinking, you hurried to your workplace after placing the gift inside your apartment.

__

You were right. The pub was crowded, as always on Friday nights. But that was not a surprise at all. It was loud, the many different conversations and the music melting into one big symphony.

You’ve just returned to the bar when you discovered new customers. It was a group of three people.

“Hello and welcome. May I take your order?”, you asked them politely, smiling a little forced.

It took a lot of courage to talk to strangers like that, but you had to earn some money somehow.

The only man of the group turned his head to you and you both recolonized each other. You looked at each other with wide eyes but it was him who broke the silence by laughing loudly.

“What a coincidence! You are the girl who drew my beautiful Queenie!”, he grinned and patted your shoulder.

“I… I…”, you stuttered, unable to form a sentence. Instead, the blonde woman at the table leaned closer to you, giving you the most heart-warming smile.

“I had no chance to compliment you!”, she said and the man nodded. You blushed.

“I-I’m really sorry… I didn’t ask you for permission and…-”

“Oh honey, it’s okay! I feel so honoured that you’ve chosen me as your model!”, Queenie giggled sweetly and pointed to the woman next to her. “This is my sister, Tina. I’m Queenie and this gentleman is called Jacob”, she introduced the group. You just nodded, totally taken aback by the open-hearted introduction.

“Nice to meet you… I’m Y/N”, you finally said, smiling nervously. Queenie’s smile turned into a wicked grin. “We know…”, she winked at you, causing you to frown.

But then it hit you.

There were three people in this group. One person was missing and judging by the sudden silence of them you knew exactly who was standing right behind you.

You didn’t dare to turn around, and you didn’t even flinch when Newt passed you to take his seat at the table.

You couldn’t bring yourself up to look at him and the atmosphere felt heavy.

Queenie seemed to sense your uneasiness and clapped her hands. “So, Y/N! Do you mind joining us?”

“Uhm… I don’t know?”, you didn’t expect this question and Jacob had to laugh because of your reaction. “C'mon! Allow yourself some fun! Besides, since you’ve drawn this lady you must draw all of us now…”, he joked and you had to chuckle.

“Alright”, you agreed. “My shift is over in 20 minutes. May I bring your order before?”

__ One hour and two cocktails later, you started to enjoy yourself.

Jacob, Queenie and Tina were really nice. You’ve learned that they lived in New York and were staying in London to visit Newt.

Said man gave them an awkward smile when they began telling about the trouble he had caused as soon as he had arrived in New York City.

Of course they didn’t tell the whole truth, they covered the story a little to make it muggle-worthy, but you weren’t aware of it at that time.

You laughed here and there, nodding when Tina mentioned the little black furred troublemaker. Newt didn’t talk much, he just listened carefully and let his eyes rush over you here and there.

Then, when the conversation started to die down, the blonde woman seemed to read your mind.

“Hey Y/N, I think this British gentleman wants to tell you something.”

Newt’s head raised and he looked over to Queenie with a blank expression. You could tell that he felt ashamed, playing with the sleeve of his blue coat when he talked.

“I’m… sorry. I know I said it before, but I really am.”

You nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have… slapped you.” You whispered the last two words, feeling more than embarrassed. But Newt just flashed a quick smile, his messy fringe hiding the crinkles around his eyes.

“It’s quiet alright.”

“No, it’s not! I also hit you with the table lamp!”, you suddenly outburst, the alcohol showing its effect. But not only on you.

Jacob whistled, followed by laughter.  

“What a girl, buddy! Definitely harder to tame than most of your beasts!”, the baker joked and wasn’t aware of his mistake. Tina became dead serious for a second and Newt just stared at his drink. You didn’t get it, assuming that Jacob made some kind of dirty joke there so you just laughed it off.

It worked as Tina relaxed a bit. Newt however didn’t move as if he was deep in thoughts, that’s when Queenie jumped off her seat all of a sudden.

“Y/N, honey, do you believe in magic?” A/N: I’m sorry that part 2 took so long but there’s a lot going on in my life (especially work), so please exuse me. However, I hoped you enjoyed it :) 

Part 1 Part 3  Masterlist Tag List:

@dorkly-nerd

@imthesnowinthedark

@superblylovingturtle

@sir-tuddles 

@lucifersnipnips​

@gotham-s-lover

[onebangtanstan]

Power Styles - Chapter Fourteen : The launch

I quickly turn off my alarm as Hobi is still fast asleep beside me. I gently leave my bedroom, letting him have a lay-in.

I check my phone while I'm waiting for my coffee to pour, and have a text from Jin.

« Hey Gina, just a bit worried is Hobi with you?»

I type « Hey Jin, yeah sorry he slept here, I didn't want to let him leave, he was a bit drunk and sad. »

The warm smell of coffee fills up my nose as I walk to the couch. I take a look at social media while I drink my coffee, and the first thing I see everywhere is articles about Namjoon's new hair color. Ughh, give me a break, I just woke up. Jin answers at the perfect time, just before I was starting to get angry again.

« Oh okay, thanks Gina. »

I don't have time to reply because a second text pops up on my screen.

« I've been meaning to ask.. Would you like to have dinner sometime? 🥺 »

I smile as butterflies invade my stomach.

« I would love too Jin 😌»

I open my computer to start working. My team has already started so I get updated on what has been done, and start editing the video clip. I prefer to do it by myself, so everything is perfect.

I decide to put on some music to not work in silence and figure I should get to know BTS before tour. I put on a random playlist and get back into working.

About an hour into editing, I start vibing to a bouncy song. It's so good that I actually start dancing in my living room.

I hear a laugh behind me, making me turn around and go red when I see Hobi.

« How long have you been there? » I shyly ask

« Not too long » He says « But long enough to see you vibing on RM's solo. »

Oh fuck. « Um I didn't know.. Coffee ?» I'm trying to divert the conversation.

« Yes please. » We head to the kitchen. « You don't have to be embarrassed, it's a good song. And it's healthy to have dance sessions. »

He smiles at me, presses play and turns the volume up.

Namjoon's voice fills up my apartment while Hobi starts jumping around, screaming the lyrics.

« I LIVE SO I LOVE! I LIVE SO I LOVE! LIVE AND LOVE, LIVE AND LOVE! IF IT'S LOVE I WILL LOVE YOU!»

« You should take that advice » I tell him.

« FIRST LET ME VIBE! »

I look at him dancing around my living room. First of all, wow, he's an amazing dancer. Secondly, he's so cute. He looks so happy in this moment, I can't help but smile at him. I must look like a proud mom.

He falls down on the couch when the song is over. I join him soon after with his cup of coffee. He grabs it from my hands as soon as I hand it to him.

« Did you sleep okay? » I ask him.

« Yes, thank you again. I really needed it. » He looks at me gratefully.

« Anytime. » I smile back at him. « Did you think about our talk? »

« Yes I did. » I look at him anticipatedly. « I'm going to tell him. »

« Oh Hobi that's amazing! » I pull him into my arms. « Just know that whatever you need, I'll be here to support you. »

« Brilliant, because I was thinking of a grand gesture. »

« How so? » I'm intrigued.

« Well we have the dinner on Monday and I was thinking a speech? So then the boys would know too. He's already out, so he wouldn't mind. »

« That would be epic. »

I get back to work soon after, and Hobi just stays with me all day, asking me questions about the editing. I eventually close my computer around 6pm.

« Right, that's enough for today. » I'm actually surprised, I got a lot done today and will only need to add finishing touches tomorrow. «What are we doing tonight? »

« Dinner and drinks? My treat. »Hobi says. I nod back, it's exactly what I need.

« Brilliant. Let me go back home to get ready and I'll pick you up at 8. »

« Perfect! » I say

I start getting ready as soon as he leaves. I take a long shower, allowing the water to rinse all the tensions away. I tie my hair up in a tight bun, put on my makeup and head towards my wardrobe. I feel good tonight, so I pick a nice outfit to match my mood.

My phone bings as I'm about to put my clothes on. It's a text from Hobi.

« Hey, I should be here in 30 minutes. Quick question, is it okay if Jin tags along? »

« Absolutely! » I text back, and think about how my outfit is a perfect fit for tonight.

Hobi calls me just as I'm putting my coat on. I quickly leave my apartment to join him and Jin in the black SUV.

« Wow Gina, you look amazing! » Hobi says

« Why do you sound surprised? » I tease him, and look over to Jin, who is just staring at me. « Hey Jin. »

He snaps back into reality « Um, hi Gina, how are you? »

« Good, thank you. » I'm amused by his first reaction, but he hasn't seen my outfit yet. This is going to be fun.

We arrive at barbecue restaurant in Gangnam. Jin, as a true gentleman, opens the door for us. A waitress brings us to our table, and I wait for the perfect moment to take off my coat. Jin's eyes almost pop out of his head. Mission accomplished.

« Oh wow. » Are they only 2 words that he can manage to say.

I act as if I didn't notice how he's looking at me. I sit down and start looking at the menu, feeling his gaze on me.

We decide to order a bit of everything and just share. We also order a nice bottle of red wine and some soju.

We start eating and drinking and talking. At first we talk about work, but as the drinks kick into our systems, the conversation drifts to nonsense. All of a sudden Hobi stands up.

« LOOK WHO'S HEEEEERE! » His glass is held up high towards the other side of the room. « TAE-TAE AND KOOKIE! » I giggle at the knicknames, turning my head to notice them coming towards us.

« Hey guys, what's up? » Kook says.

« Eating, drinking, talking, all that, you know?» Jin answers.

« Come have a drink with us! » Hobi tells them.

They sit down after a few minutes of us practically begging them to join us. They're both a bit tipsy but definitely not on our level. We take it upon ourselves to get them in the same state as us by starting a drinking game. They quickly catch up on us, causing general hysteria at our table.

We start sobering up after a while.

« Right, we're going to go. » Tae says, looking intensily at Kook.

« Sure thing. » Kook smiles back at Tae, almost blushing.

We all decide to leave and end up on the street to say goodbye.

Tae and Kook hop into a car, that soon disappears into the night. They seemed to be in a hurry.

« Come on let's go. Gina we're bringing you home. » Jin says, and I don't interject ; I'm still quite drunk.

I stare out the window the whole way back, seeing the city lights go past us. Seoul truly is beautiful at night, with all the signs lighting up the streets.

Hobi has fallen asleep by the time we arrive at my building. Jin helps me get out of the car and into my building.

He's holding me in his arms while we're on the lift. I can feel myself almost falling asleep leaning on him, his heartbeat sending soothing rushes through my body.

He takes my keys out of my hands after seeing the way I'm struggling to open my door.

« Are you good from here? » He asks.

« S-sure. » I stutter and trip at the same time.

« Right, let's get you to bed. »

He carries me into my room and lies me in my bed. His arms feel so good around my body.

« Will you manage to take off your clothes or do you need help? »

I simply groan, indicating him to help me. He gets to the top, and takes it off as I realize I'm not wearing a bra. I'm too tired to care, but he pauses for too long. I move under my covers to break the awkwardness. He walks up to tuck me in.

« Goodnight Gina. » He whispers. He kisses my forehead softly but I can feel the lust in his lips pressed on my skin.

I barely hear the door close, already lost in my dreams.

I have a hard time remembering where I am when I wake up, and how I ended up in my underwear. Flashbacks from last night come streaming in my head. Wow, I was really drunk.

I pull myself out of bed, throw a robe on and head straight to my coffee machine.

I sit on my couch with my warm mug, staring through the window, slowly waking up.

A text alert brings me back to earth

« How are you feeling today? » It's Jin. He's so thoughtful.

« A bit drowsy but okay. Thanks for last night, and sorry if I made you uncomfortable.. »

« Well I couldn't leave you like that by yourself.» A second text comes in straight after. « Uncomfortable wouldn't be the feeling. »

I giggle at his text before typing a reply. «Might I know what it was then? 🙄»

« I'd rather not tell you 😏»

I smile. I know exactly what the feeling was, I'm feeling it right now.

I force myself to snap out of it, I have work to do.

I open up my computer and start working on the video once again.

The day goes by as I finish the campaign. My team is also working really hard and we end up finishing everything before schedule.

I decide to text the boys.

« Hey guys! So quick update on the campaign : everything is edited and almost ready for the launch tomorrow. Get ready, it's going to be everywhere at 12. »

I put my phone down and head to the shower. I hear the notifications go wild. I pick it up as soon as I step out.

Hobi : I CAN'T WAIIIIIT 🤗

Kook : Yay! Thanks for your hard work Gina

Yoongi : Thanks for your update !

Jin : Brilliant!

As usual, Jimin didn't answer but strangely Namjoon did. And it wasn't a mean answer either. It reads « Very well, could you keep us updated tomorrow too? »

What? He's asking for news?

« Sure no problem » I answer.

I look at the time and decide to head to bed. I haven't slept a lot this weekend and I need to be in good shape tomorrow.

The next day, I get ready for work and stop once again for coffee and food for everyone.

We have quite a chill morning, since everything was done this weekend. We're just going over a few details, and even have time to talk about the tour.

We all gather in the conference room at 12 to see the official campaign. M. Yi joins us too.

The countdown starts on the screen and there it is. My team and I watch the final product of our hard work being sent out to the world. We're very proud of it. We put every effort into it in such a short time.

M. Yi starts clapping and we all join in.

We pop some champagne and stay there for a bit before I send my team away. I was able to get them the next two days of since I took up their weekend.

« You did well Ms Douglas. » M. Yi is now standing beside me.

« Thank you, sir. I promise the tour will be better, I'll have more time to be prepared. »

« Better than you pulled off here would be phenomenal. I made the right decision hiring you 3 years ago. »

« I'm very grateful sir. »

He proceeds to leave the room as my phone starts blowing up. It's the group. They're all congratulating me (almost all of them) and telling me how much they love it. I also notice a private text from Jin.

« Come downstairs. »

I gather my stuff with butterflies in my stomach and head to the elevator.

When I walk out, I see Jin standing there with a huge bouquet in his hands.

« Congratulations Gina. »

« Oh my God, Jin! Thank you so much they're beautiful! » I truly am surprised. « What are you doing here? »

« I thought we could spend the day together before heading to Tae's what do you think? »

« I'd love that. »

We leave the building side by side, my arm hooked around his, while feeling my colleagues' stares on us.

[ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie]

Fast Firsts and Sloppy Seconds Part 2

This is long overdue!! For @miladyaelin, who stayed up really fuckin’ late with me and really helped drag my ass through this chapter and is a literal angel - thank you!! For @highlady-casandra who was my reason for posting part one, and who I just love so so much! <3 For everyone who wanted it, and waited for it, thank you so much - @rowanismybae, @fictionalcharactersaremyreality, @feysandrowlien21, @throneofstars, @snaps7, @heirofthebookstore, @fortunatelycleverpaper, @sarahjmassbooks and so many more, thank you thank you thank you!!!!! Part 3 will for sure be out by next Tuesday <3 So so sorry this took me so long, hope the wait was worth it!!! Without further ado, happy reading!

Warning: it gets kinda smutty… ;)

Part 1    Part 3

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad!”

Manon barked out a laugh at the thought as she tossed back another shot of whiskey. “The only thing I can’t be is that drunk. No matter how much whiskey you keep handing me, you’re not gonna convince me to dance.”

It had been ten minutes of this. Ten minutes of her glowing golden eyes and flirtatious laugh and her gorgeous, bare legs pressed against his, with her hand trailing patterns on his arm and his desperate growing need to hold her against him and watch her lose herself in his arms.

His blue eyes shined as he watched her, and tossed back his own shot of whiskey. The alcohol burned his throat, cutting through the fog she’d created in his mind.

She leaned into him then. His heart stopped as her hand landed on his leg, and then slowly crept up his inner thigh, closer and closer to the growing bulge in his pants. Her breath was hot as she pressed into him, her lips nearing his ear, and her long white braid gently tickling his arm. “I don’t think you could handle me, princeling,” she purred, her fingers barely grazing him – just enough to cause a choking gasp to burst out of his lungs. His hands clenched around the arms of the chair, digging his nails into his palms as his fingers wrapped tighter around the wood, and his knuckles turned the color of her hair.

Fucking hell.

Fucking. Hell.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t survive it.

Manon suddenly pulled away coolly, a small smirk on her lips as she crossed her legs and leaned back in Aelin’s chair that she had pulled up next to him. According to the carefully built mask she was wearing, she was entirely unaffected. Even after 4 shots of whiskey, she was still very much on her game.

The same, however, could not be said for the boy. She was very much aware of the fact that he was well on his way into her bed, and couldn’t help but smile to herself at the thought. At the possibility of actually claiming the impressive bulge under his pants. And as if he could see that in her eyes, in the curve of her lips, in every beat of her heart, he shot up, stammering once again.

“I – uh – I have to – um – I have to go find Aelin.” He swallowed hard and dashed straight to the bar.

He spotted her right away, and immediately knew she would be pissed. He’d seen that look before. Her laugh rang over the sounds of the lively reel the band was playing. It was low and husky as she leaned over the bar, running a finger down the huge bicep of the bartender who looked like he was about ready to shit himself. Dude’s jaw looked like it was on the verge of snapping in half with how tightly it was clenched. His dark green eyes looked like they were trying to look anywhere but the blonde beauty. Dorian felt for the guy. He looked like the picture of aggression with his short white hair and tattoos streaming from his face down his neck and arm – on top of that, he had to be 200 pounds of solid muscle, and Dorian would bet he could bench at least that much, too. His thunderous green eyes were torn between falling directly into Aelin’s trap, and glaring at everyone other man in the bar who was falling with him. Damn, Aelin sure knew how to pick ‘em.

Then again, she had picked Dorian, as well. Even though they hadn’t lasted long.

Dorian and Aelin hooked up at a party the spring of their Freshman year of college. He’d spent the entire fall semester relentlessly hitting on her, but it wasn’t until he’d finally gave up that she gave in. The night of that party, she spent the entire night dancing in his arms and laughing just the way she was now. At the end of the night, he followed her to her dorm, and they made out for a while, before realizing that they were probably better off as friends.

It wasn’t too long after that when she and Chaol finally realized their feelings for each other. Dorian had known all along, but he wasn’t exactly going to say anything when he still wanted a shot. Of course, the couple had nothing in common, but that was okay. They had ended up loving each other anyways.

Until it was too much.

Until Nehemia.

Until Sam.

Dorian shook his head, stepping away from memories that were less than pleasant. Right now, he needed to talk to his best friend. And get more alcohol. Not necessarily in that order. He stepped up next to her at the bar and placed his hand on her back, immediately feeling her spine stiffen under his touch. Her gaze immediately snapped to him, cutting off the sounds of her laughter. “Dorian,” she bit out, glaring at him, “Can I help you?”

The bartender seemed to visibly relax the second those piercing blue-gold eyes moved away from him, though he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off of her. Dorian offered him a small smile, shaking his head at the reluctant need he saw there. He’d been there.

Hell, he was there right now – with that waitress, and her red lips that he would have done anything to taste – he tightly closed his eyes, desperate to remove the image. Aelin narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her already prevalent chest. “Well?” She raised an eyebrow in expectation, pretending not to notice the fact that Rowan’s eyes had not left her.

Well, if she’s already annoyed … “Can I get a shot of tequila?” Dorian finally opened his eyes, stealing the bartender’s gaze. Rowan nodded and quickly walked away, his fists clenched as he desperately tried to pull himself together.

Meanwhile, if looks could kill, Dorian knew he would be dead. “Spit it out, Havilliard,” she snapped. Her whisper was harsh as she continued. “Not only do you drag your ass over here and distract me from the hot bartender, you also intentionally get rid of him while at the very least he was still staring at me. What’s your issue?”

Dorian cleared his throat and grabbed her Guiness, chugging a quarter of it down before he could finally speak. “I need you to dance with me,” he ground out, staring at the wooden floor. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was probably caught somewhere between laughing at his insanity and strangling him with her bare hands. He forced himself to continue. “The witch is all but dragging me in with her charms, and I’m crashing dick first. And you’ve basically got the barkeep by the balls. Dance with me. Give me at least some semblance of an upper hand. Plus, if you think the guy who’s just about ready to rip off the heads of everyone else staring at you in that tiny tank top isn’t going to be crazy with jealousy, you’re dead wrong.”

Aelin had calmed down at all of this, a small smile growing on her lips. At the thought of Rowan seething with jealousy. Of course this was when he came back with the Tequila, poor guy. Faced with the delicate beauty of one of Aelin’s genuine smiles, Dorian could swear he watched the air leave the bigger man’s lungs.

Dorian tossed back the shot, wincing as it once again burned down his throat. He placed the glass back down next to Aelin’s beer and ran a hand through his messy dark hair as she continued to watch him, also paying close attention to Rowan out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were glued to every single curve of her body, completely in tune to every breath, every movement she made. He didn’t dare look away. Perfect. She couldn’t help but notice the tension in his shoulders from the minute Dorian arrived, and the aggravated glares he kept tossing at the other men in the pub. Dorian was right. Watching her dance would drive him insane. Maybe enough to dance with her.

Her eyes flashed as they met Dorian’s again, the smile on her lips stretching further. “What’re we waiting for,” she purred, stretching out a hand for him to take. She stood up and took a few steps towards him, before turning back. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she tossed over her shoulder at Rowan, not even sparing him a second glance before placing her hand in Dorian’s, her hips swaying as she walked straight to the crowded dance floor.

Every single part of Rowan’s body stood at attention as he tried to pretend he wasn’t watching Aelin dance with the boy who he kept reminding himself wasn’t her boyfriend. Although you could never tell from the way they were dancing. His hands never left her body as she moved against him, a tantalizing smile on her lips. Her eyes were closed as she moved to the music. No – he corrected himself – the music moved through her. She was the music. Every beat, every lull, every note moved through her body – it was her master, and she couldn’t help but follow along.

And for him, she was a drug, and Rowan constantly needed a fix. His eyes narrowed as he watched the boy’s hands slide lower and lower down her back, pulling her closer against him. Every other man in the room wished his hands were there instead.

Across the room, it was clear his sister was just as upset. Manon was glaring daggers at the back of the girl’s head, distractedly making her way around the pub as she only half paid attention to people’s orders.

He shook his head, trying to get the seductress out of his mind, but it was to no avail. He glared at the glass in his hands, tightening his grip as he dried it more aggressively. On one hand, he was eternally aggravated at the lack of a dishwasher in the small, often busy pub. But on the other, at least it was therapeutic.

His eyes slowly slid back up to the dancefloor of their own accord – but he forced them over to his sister instead. Manon angrily shoved a piece of her long white hair behind her ear that had slipped out of her braid. It was strange for him, seeing her again after all of those years. After their mother had … After their mother, she had left to stay with their grandmother. The Matron of their family.

When their aunt Maeve tried for a hostile takeover of their family pub – her sister’s pub – their mom’s pub – Manon was nowhere to be found. Rowan fought on his own, giving his all to make sure the pub would stay in his name, the way she would have wanted it. One by one, his cousins joined him. And now, they ran it on their own – A cadre of 20-something-year-olds trying their best to keep the pub afloat. They made it work though, more or less. And then a few weeks ago, Manon had arrived.

They’d more or less ignored each other since she’d showed up. He gave her the job, she came in every day and did it, and that was that.

It’s not that he blamed her for leaving him when he needed her. But he didn’t exactly forgive her for it, either.  So they just sort of existed. Moving around each other. She’d had her own demons, that much was clear. Their grandmother had never been … kind, to say the least. And Rowan wasn’t blind. He’d seen the stiff movements when she’d first arrived, the bruises she’d tried her best to cover up. But she wasn’t going to tell him about them. And he wasn’t in a place where he was going to ask.

She met his eyes then, raising a single eyebrow, an entirely fed up look on her face. When his expression didn’t change, she merely rolled her eyes and walked away, her gaze returning to the dark-haired man-child, who was boyhandling the woman he wanted more than he’d let himself want anyone in years.

If he was being fair, he’d admit that they were honestly quite suited to each other. The pair moved as one, perfectly following each other’s lead in a silent communication. But he wasn’t exactly feeling fair just then. He wanted her. And it terrified him. Her smile, her body, her laugh. Her bark – which he hoped meant she had just as good of a bite. The way she lit up a room, the way she moved, the way he couldn’t look away – like she was a magnet and he was drawn to her, constantly being pulled closer.

She was a wildfire, burning everything she touched, setting him on fire in the best way. He only hoped he could get her wet enough to soothe it.

Before he knew what he was doing, he popped open a bottle of Jamie, took a swig, and made his way to the dancing pair. His dark green eyes locked with her blue-gold ones over the boy’s shoulder. Her eyes darkened as they trailed over his form, finally taking in his long legs and full 6’4” build as he walked over, a determined look on his face. She didn’t even bother saying anything as she stepped out of Dorian’s grip and reached for the man walking up behind him.

No words were said as she leaned into him, and began to dance. The only contact he dared make, however, was her hand in his. She twirled around and around, moving like she was built for it, like there was nowhere else she was supposed to be – nowhere else she wanted to be. Her head was tossed back and it almost looked like her feet moved of their own accord. Rowan could merely awkwardly sway beside her, mesmerized. He was a terrible dancer anyways, though, always had been. She met his eyes, pulling him further into her spell. And then she smiled – god, that smile.

He had no chance. None.

As his several seconds of courage began to wear off, and his mind raced, he knew he had to go. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled, embarrassed as he dipped his head closer to her ear so she could hear him. “I’m not a dancer, I’m not some pretty American boy, I just,” he turned his head, meeting her eyes again, “I just knew I had to dance with you, but –” And then he was pretty sure his heart stopped.

She leaned into him, her chest pressing against his as she stood up to her toes, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck to pull him down to her. Her hot breath sent his heart sprinting out of his chest as her lips touched his ear, and she spoke.

“Let’s not talk too much.”

She slid the hand that was holding his down her body, and placed it low on her waist, leaving his hand there. Her voice was almost a caress when she spoke again. “Grab on my waist, and follow my lead.”

Her nose trailed against the side of his face as she moved her body against him, reaching up to connect her hands behind his neck, holding him there when he tried to move away. “It’s okay – put your body on me.”

And with that, he somehow lost all control of his body. His leg moved in between hers, and a low moan built in his throat. His other hand reached around her waist, and suddenly, they simply – fit. They were perfect. She was like a missing piece of a puzzle. Their bodies molded together – every curve, every angle, all fitting together exactly as though they were handmade for one another. Slowly, the rest of the world fell away, and nothing else mattered. He moved against her perfectly, as if they’d been dancing together their entire lives. Or as if they’d been crated to.

This girl. This moment. This dance. This was everything. For the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about finances, he wasn’t thinking about his mom, he wasn’t thinking about the girl who’d broken his heart. He was only thinking about the one in his arms, and the feeling of her body against his, and that was the only thing he wanted to think about forever.

Aelin wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to like him. She wasn’t supposed to like anyone. He was supposed to be a quick fuck. A distraction.  A point to prove. But instead – instead he was gorgeous, and witty, and damaged. His tattoos. She’d asked him what they meant, and he’d blown them off as some song lyrics, but she knew better. She saw the look in his eyes, the small flinch. And for whatever reason, all she wanted was to get rid of his pain.  

The second she walked off with Dorian, she knew there was no way he wouldn’t follow. She was counting on it. But what she wasn’t counting on were the sudden and weird feelings she kind of hated. Feelings she wasn’t supposed to have. Feelings Europe was specifically about not having. Yet here he was. And here she was. And so she just pulled him closer to her, threw her head back, and let the music cradle them in its hold, pushing them closer together.

A fire raged between them as she moved against him, around him. Breathing got heavier, hearts pounded. They danced chest to chest, barely allowing room for air. Every movement drove her deeper into madness. Into a clawing need that felt like it would never go away. She didn’t know how long they’d been dancing when his hands moved down to her ass, but there was nothing she could do to stop the low moan that left her lips when it happened. Then he tightened his hold, gripping tightly and moving her against him, and she just about lost it.

His body was flush against hers, but she desperately wanted it closer. She could feel the rather impressive proof of his desire pressing against her and she was pretty sure there was nothing she wouldn’t give to feel him inside of her.

Their eyes were locked. The blazing heat simultaneously felt like it was impossibly too much, but also like they could never have enough. She was setting his world on fire, melting the delicately constructed ice, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

At some point, he moved his hands back up her body. She’d almost offered a protest, before they moved to the sensitive spot at the small of her back. One hand climbed up her shirt – fingers spreading, feeling as much of her as he could, committing it to memory – the heat, the softness, what it was doing to every single one of his senses. The other hand moved across her lower back, its fingers lightly dipping into the waistband of her jeans, wanting to go further, but knowing he couldn’t – not there. His thumb stayed above gently stroking the soft skin at her hips.

His eyes never left hers throughout the entire movement. He watched as they rolled back in pleasure. He felt her low moan vibrate against his chest, the heat of her breathy gasps against his neck as she tilted her head back and grinded against him, causing a moan to slip past his lips as well. She was pure sensuality. The picture of sin, looking up at him with every lascivious thought she was having playing across her face. Her bottom lip rolled into her mouth as she lightly licked it, before pulling it between her teeth, and moving her hips in just the right way. A low growl built in his throat as he strained for her.

More. Always needing more.

His eyes were glued to those lips. That tongue. Those teeth. And then he couldn’t see anything.

Their mouths were suddenly moving together, their tongues dancing, lips fitting together perfectly, just like their bodies had. It was as if they’d been sculpted as one, as if they were designed as part of a whole, and then separated, sent off in the world, only to find each other again. To complete each other in a way that should have been impossible. Her hands had moved into his hair, pulling the strands between her fingers, holding him to her, as if she was dying, and his lips were the only thing that could save her.

She tasted like heaven and was hot as hell and if he knew nothing else, he knew that he had to have her – all of her. His breath was ragged, choppy, his heart pounding as she pulled his lip between her teeth, and he groaned again. Whether it was from the painful strain in his pants, or from the impossible need he was feeling, he wasn’t sure. “Bed,” he growled, forcing himself to pull away, and secretly enjoying both the disappointment in her eyes at the loss of contact, and the pure excitement at the word.

“Now,” she choked out, clutching the hand he’d offered, and desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

While they were dancing, Aelin had been absolutely incapable of doing anything other than drown in Rowan, but by some miracle she had noticed Dorian leading a very smug Manon off to who knew where.

Not that they’d checked into any sort of inn when they arrived. No, because that would have been the smart thing to do. So whether Rowan knew it or not, she had been 100% prepared to insist he take her to bed one way or another.

Neither of them said a word as he pulled her behind the bar, all but sprinting to the stairs, desperate to feel her against him – all barriers gone. Fenrys watched wordlessly as they sped through the kitchen, a smirk on his face as he raised an eyebrow at their joined hands, and the noticeable bulge in Rowan’s pants. “Guess I’m closing up, then,” he called after them. No response.

Other thoughts slowly crept into Rowan’s mind as they climbed the old staircase, of carrying another girl to his room up those same steps. He turned back, meeting her bright eyes, and once again he couldn’t think about anything else. His heart almost stopped at the hazy smile on her delicate face. As if her mask had come off. As if she was finally ready to admit that she wanted this too. He walked faster, and they basically jogged to the end of the hallway of the second floor.

The whole pub had just enough rooms for all of them. It was supposed to be the inn portion, but with the 6 of them poor and just out of university, or having skipped it altogether, and spending all of their time working there, it just made more sense for Rowan and his cousins to take up the second floor. He wasn’t sure where Manon was staying – hadn’t exactly bothered to ask – and it wasn’t like he really had any room for her there.

Rowan didn’t even bother to flick on the light as they burst into the small room. He wasted no time pressing her against the door, and pulling her into another heated kiss. They pulled away only to tear off clothes, hands desperately reached for the other – pulling, yearning, needing, with seemingly no intention of letting go. Aelin couldn’t help the gasp that left her lips as he saw him standing before her in all of his glory. Tan skin peppered with scars of all shapes and sizes covered perfectly sculpted muscles – legs that looked like they were carved from solid rock, his impressive length that she knew was going to fill her in an absolutely delicious way, row after row of well-defined abs, strong arms that she was desperate to have wrapped around her. And then then they were – but not for long.

Rowan easily picked her up, then lightly tossed her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing, not wasting any time. There was a primal need in him to see her there, splayed across his bed, on the same sheets he’d slept on last night, surrounded by his scent. Part of him was ashamed at every carnal thought roaring through his head – at the ocean of need crashing into him over the sight of her there.

Long blonde hair stretched behind her as she climbed up on her elbows. His eyes darkened with desire as they raked over her lithe, toned body. “Perfect,” he whispered, reaching out a hand to run his fingers up an impossibly smooth thigh. “Absolutely perfect.” She’d spent the day powering through all kinds of hell, and it just wasn’t fair. No person should look this completely flawless. Yet there she was. An angel.

He leaned over her slightly, forcing himself to take his time if it killed him. There was something in his eyes that woke the deepest part of her – the part she let no one else see. And it terrified her.

Rowan placed a knee between her legs and stretched over her, lowering a soft kiss on her chest, right above her breasts. A shiver ran down her spine at the blessed contact. One hand pressed into the mattress above her head, holding his weight. The other hand climbed up her legs like a vine, fingertips trailing up her body, grazing past her thigh, caressing her wide hips, and not paying nearly enough attention to her breasts, before settling into her hair.

He moved with such gentleness, such care, that she was almost sure her heart was going to burst. Soft kisses fell across her face, showering her with an almost easy affection. She hadn’t signed up for this. This softness, these feelings, these emotions. She didn’t want them. The more you cared about someone, the easier it was for them to hurt you and she couldn’t – wouldn’t – be hurt again, not if she had anything to – all thought was cut off as his lips finally met hers. She let her body fall back against the mattress, wrapping her arms around him. A low groan built in the back of his throat as her back arched, hard nipples moving against his solid chest, and her pelvis rubbing directly against his painfully hard dick.

Something broke inside of him at the contact – all attempts at softness flew out of him as pure need took over. The hand in her hair immediately moved down her body. A gasp burst out of her lips as two fingers entered her, and his thumb pressing directly against the bundle of nerves at the interest. The gasp turned into a breathy moan, as his fingers moved in and out of her, curving forward inside of her.

Her body wasn’t hers anymore. It was his, and she didn’t think she wanted it back. His lips moved to the spot where her neck met her shoulder. His teeth nipped, and grazed at the spot, sucking on the sensitive skin there, and she could almost swear she saw stars. In that moment, he could have asked her for anything, and she would have said yes.

That night, hours passed they explored each other’s bodies, holding, needing, thrusting.

Gasps, sighs, moans echoed through the room as skin pressed against skin, and finally, for the first time in a long time, they both almost felt like they were home.

[bloodynumberfour]

☹☻

For every ☹ I get I will show a sample of a muse I used to play but don’t anymore

:3 So this guy is an old muse I used to play back before they removed the Institute, and boy is he a fun character. If ya’ all like him, I might actually bring him back.

Breathe out. A cloud streamed from his nose. Breathe in. He twirled his sickle around his arm. Breathe out. Another cloud of breath. Breathe in.

He still wanted to rush in and freeze the place solid. He wanted to shatter everything with ice. But he couldn’t. He had his orders from Lissandra. He had to be patient. If he attacked this summit, she might just kill him.

Crazy Pen caught his ice sickle and walked into the building. The urge was strong. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on breathing. Focus on staying calm. Don’t let anyone know. No good assassin lets anyone know what they think. They act normal. Or in Pen’s case, as normal as an iceborn can be.

As he passed through the halls and entered the large conference room, he slowed to look at the area around him. He felt acutely aware of everyone in the room. He also felt acutely aware of the four chandeliers, the chairs around every table, and the weapons or lack of weapons on everyone. It could be so easy.

Pen strode over to an empty table and sat by himself. Someone passed him by, and he offered them a light wave. He watched the other delegates converse informally. A few cast him glances, but none went over to speak to him. A waitress walked by and asked if he wanted anything, but he shook his head.

Breathe in.

He knew if he killed them, he’d feel quite the rush.

Breathe out.

He wanted to. He needed to.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Something bumped against his boot, and Pen looked down. Standing beside him was a small grey tabby kitten that had rubbed up against his boot. What a cute thing. It made him smile.

He bent down and picked up the kitten. She felt warm and fluffy against his icy flesh. Pen promptly scratched her chin, making the kitten purr. It warmed his frigid heart. His grin widened as the kitten started rubbing against his hand. For this little kitten, this little bundle of happiness, he’d push aside his desires.

Send a ☻ for a muse I would like to play, but haven’t yet!

And here we have my other favorite Danny Phantom character, Dan Phantom (aka Evil Danny).

Dan stuck his head through the wall, eyes scanning the road. There was another human around here, he knew. He’d heard them running. He could let them run and call for help, but getting them now would be so much more fun.

There. He heard their footsteps. It was a young blonde. Still intangible, he stepped through the broken wall and flew after her. He thought about what to do for a moment. Tearing people apart was starting to get boring, and killing someone with a ghostly ray was rare ever satisfying. That was more fun to use on buildings.

Then he got an idea. At the very last second, Dan made himself tangible once more and whispered, “Boo,” into her ear. Before she could scream, he snagged her shoulders and pulled her into the air.

Up and up and up they went. The girl scream as she tried and failed miserably to struggle free. Her futile attempts at struggling made him grin. The desecrated city began to look less like a city and more like a home for ants. The girl slowly began to stop struggling, instead resigning to whimpering in fear.

“I suppose I should let you down gently, shouldn’t I?” The girl hesitated before nodding. It seemed fear had made her speechless. That thought, along with what was to come, made Dan grin in delight. “Of course, it’d be more fun to let you fall.”

He promptly let go, and she began to scream and flail. Ah, screams were music to his ears. Dan followed, floating just fast enough that he could watch her fall. Panic pleased him. It entertained him as much as destruction and killing did. Except for panic and fear, there was a build up.

Down, down, down she fell. Faster and faster and faster she fell. Until she finally hit the pavement feet first. Her body landed with a heavy thud. Bones cracked from the force, distorting her body. When her head hit the pavement, it cracked and exploded in a display of blood and brain matter. Seeing it happen, seeing her fall and crumple like a plastic cup upon hitting the ground, made Dan feel ecstatic. And being the one to cause it filled him with ecstasy.