#vant remember if they had legs or not

[deadheadgully]

i had a dream there was a sandstorm and my family n i were watchin it through the windows, but it wasnt sand it was a bunch of little worms that crawled into my everything so much so i threw em up til i passed out

also they looked like this

[bigasswritingmagnet]

But I Don't WANT to be a General

Fandom: Girl Genius Rating: G Summary: The town is unfrozen, and the rest of the generals are back. Dimo would like this to mean HE does not have to be a general any more.

It does not.

[Inspired by adiduk's very excellent fic, The General. They were not involved in the writing of this fic, which is not intended as a sequel.]

AO3 link!

Dimo had been summoned to the Jӓgerbüro.

People were always surprised to hear the generals did not meet in the Jӓgerhall, as if it wasn’t incredibly obvious what it would be like trying to have a serious discussion and sign paperwork while the Jӓger pack was drinking and carousing a floor below you.

The temptation to join in would be unbearable.  

Instead, the generals did their business in the Jӓgerbüro: a small, heavily-reinforced building directly at the foot of the road up to the castle. While the Jӓgers were gone, it had been turned into a souvenir shop. Currently, it was in the process of being very rapidly un-turned into a souvenir shop. The expeditiousness of the project was assisted by General Goomblast, who had hurled all the shelves of knickknacks out of the windows the second he set foot inside.

With the desperate, delusional hope of a man heading to the gallows telling himself there will be a last-minute pardon, Dimo considered the generals perhaps wanted a debrief of the last two years before releasing him back into the relatively worry-free status of a low-level officer.  

Oh, to let the words “supply lines” go back to being something that happened to someone else.

The shattered windows had been boarded up, which made the front room seem gloomy and oppressive. The büro’s former tenants were packing up their merchandice with speed, if not efficiency.  They barely spared Dimo a glance before pointing towards the large, black, metal door that led to the meeting room proper.

Dimo took a breath and knocked on the door, waited for the call of Vut hyu vant?, braced himself, and went inside.

Dimo had actually been in here a handful of times, back when he was new in the ranks and ran messages for the generals. It was more or less as he remembered it—decorations and furniture selected for the ability to survive both the ravages of time and being thrown at a wall, the heavy curtains to muffle sound, the safety lanterns that would put themselves out if they were knocked over during a discussion.

The generals were arranged around the long, dark table, watching him intently.

Dimo was somewhat surprised to see that Higgs had joined them. His position being what it was, it was rare for him to risk attracting attention by appearing in the company of the other generals. But here he was, tipping his chair back on two legs and puffing on his pipe, leaving only three chairs empty instead of the usual—

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait—

Three empty chairs, one for Øsk, out of respect; one for Zadipok, still missing; and one for--

Higgs raised an eyebrow at him.

Oh no.

Oh no.

“But Hy vasn’t even trying to be de general!” he burst out, practically wailing. “Hy vus just making sure tings happened!”  

“Ho yus,” Goomblast said, gravely. “Dots how it gets hyu. Vun minute, hyu is just doing vut needs to be done, and den suddenly, boom, hyu has a chair und everyvun is saluting hyu.”

Gkika shook her head.

“Terrible ting, de forst time dey salutes hyu.”

Khrizhan rose and put a friendly hand on Dimo’s shoulder. Gently but firmly, he began to steer Dimo towards one of the chairs. Dimo tried to dig his heels in, but Khrizhan was twice his size in nearly every direction, and so he simply slid along the floor towards the chair and its aura of inescapable responsibility.

“But—!”

Khrizhan picked Dimo up by the shoulders, lifted him up, and sat him down on the chair next to Koppelslav.

“But—!”

“Dots vut being a general is,” Zog said, not unkindly. “Hyu see vut has to be done, and hyu feel hyu has to do it.”  

“Hy didn’t heff to do it,” Dimo insisted, fighting the urge to whine. “Hy vus just de vun who got dere forst! Could heff been anybody!” 

“So why didn’t you wait for one them to do it?” Higgs asked.

Dimo opened his mouth to answer, and then abruptly closed it again. Why hadn’t he waited? There were plenty of other officers who’d made it out of Mechanicsburg—hell, Maxim had made it out. But Dimo hadn’t left it to one of them, because…because…

Because it hadn’t even occurred to him not to do it. It needed to be done. He could do it. So he had.

Dimo's shoulders slumped and he glared at Higgs. Instead of bursting into flames, the man's mouth quirked up at the corner ever so slightly. Koppelslav slapped Dimo on the back so genially it nearly knocked him right back out of the chair.

“Velcome aboard, brudder,” he said, grinning. “Dun vurry, hyu vill get over it in a few decades.”

Dimo groaned.

“Hokay,” Zog said, growing more serious. “Now ve gotta actually do tings. Forst thing forst, ve need to get an inventory of de veapons und supplies—”

Dimo rifled through his stack of papers and handed a few to him.

“Oh,” Zog said. “Den Hy guess ve gotta get a list of who ken still fight—”

Dimo passed him another sheaf of papers.

“List of de repairs ve still gotta make?” Gkika suggested. The papers made a thwap sound as Dimo tossed them onto the center of the table. Everyone stared at it.

“Vut supplies ve got in de caves and who’s moving it to de town,” Dimo said, and threw down the next report.

Thwap.

 “List of de dead.”

Thwap.

“List of all de guys who surrendered,”

Thwap.

“Vut shtuff ve took off of dem,”

Thwap.

“And vere ve keepink dem and vy hyu all looking at me like dat?” Dimo demanded, his voice rising dangerously close to hysterics. “Dis is vut ve vas talking about! Generals do de tings dat need to be done and Hy did dem! Dis isn’t even evryting Hy got, dis is just vut Hy could put togedder before de meeting!”

They stared at him. Even Higgs was surprised, his pipe drooping in shock.

Gkika burst out laughing.

“Vot?” Dimo demanded, anger starting to rise. “Vot’s so funny?”

“Hyu poor ting,” she cried, wiping at her eyes. “No vunder hyu dun vanna be a general!”

Koppelslav snatched the still very thick stack of papers from Dimo’s hand and began to flip through them, eyes going wider and wider.

“Look at dis, he efen got de damn budget balanced; ve haffen’t managed dot since Øsk died—expense reports? Hyu got dem to do expense reports? For two years?” He stared at Dimo in disbelief. “Red fire, boy, how hyu still got hyu brains between hyu ears?” 

“Wh—Hy—It…vus vot needed to be done?” Dimo said, hesitantly. He was not entirely sure what everyone was so worked up about. He looked to Higgs on his left, desperate for some kind of hint.

Higgs had relaxed back in his chair again. He took the pipe out of his mouth and said, quite calmly:

“You’ve been doing the work of seven generals for two and a half years.”

The table had gone quiet again. Dimo looked at the stack of reports. He looked at Higgs.

“So…Hy von’t haff to do all of dot by myself?”

Koppelslav threw his hands in the air, waving the reports wildly.

“Ve don’t even do all of dis!” he shouted.

“Yah, ve gon haff to teach hyu how to delegate,” Goomblast said.

Dimo stared at them. Then, with a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a sob of relief, he slumped forward onto the table and threw his arms over his head.

“Vut did hyu tink ve vas going to be doink all day?” Gkika asked. She’d stopped laughing, but she sounded like she’d start up again any moment.

“Hy don’t know!” Dimo shouted, waving his hands without lifting his suddenly very heavy head. “Hy didn’t know vut I vas supposed to be doink! Dere vusn’t anyvun for me to ask!”

Silence.

A faint rustle of clothing and creaking of chairs.

Dimo cautiously raised his head and saw the other generals had all turned to glare at Higgs. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I was undercover,” he said, defensively.

To Dimo’s shock, Khrizhan slapped Higgs on the back of the head. Higgs only just managed to catch his hat before it fell off, and scowled at Khrizhan, who scowled back.

“Hyu could haff at least told him how to do it!”  

“Ya,” Goomblast said, gesturing with some of the papers. “All dot going tru de reports for de important shtoff, dots officer vurk. Hyu tell dem vut hyu need to know, and dots vut dey give hyu.”

Dimo turned in his seat, one arm on the table and the other hand on his hip, and glared at Higgs.

“I was undercover!” Higgs insisted again, although this time guilt was beginning to leak in around the edges.

“Hokay,” Gkika said. “New plan. How about hyu just vatch us do de generaling ting for a vile, and ve give hyu a break from de paperverk?”

“He vill vatch us?” Koppelslav exclaimed. “Ve should be vatching him! He got dem to fill out expense reports!”

“Vot is vit hyu and de expense reports?” Zog demanded.

Koppelslav slammed his fist down on the table.  

“Øsk hyused to stand offer dem vit a brandink iron und he couldn’t get dem to fill doze in on time! How in de hell did hyu do it?”

Dimo rubbed his face. He was starting to feel light-headed.

“Um…Effry time dey vuz late I vent and said tank hyu for understanding dot de money is tight and Hy appreciated dem being villing to pay for tings demselves.”

Gkika grinned.

“Ho, dots mean,” she said, with great approval.

Khrizhan had not allowed himself to be distracted by the turn in conversation. His eyes were still fixed on Higgs.

“Hyu could heff at least—” Khrizhan began.

“I didn’t. Have. Time.”

“Vut time hyu need? Hyu write a letter, hallo Dimo, by der vay, hyu dun need to be trackink de petty cash durink a crisis.”

“Hy don’t?” Dimo said, weakly.

Khrizhan gestured angrily, silently, and emphatically at Dimo.

“Ve supposed to be verking togedder,” Goomblast said. “Hyu supposed to help de new guy!”

Revenge unfolded in front of Dimo’s eyes like a beautiful, beautiful flower.

“Hyu know who gots a lot off opinions about teaching people tings properly,” he said sternly, “is dat Miss Zeetha of hyors.”

Five heads snapped around, fixing on their fellow general—sharks smelling blood in the water.

“Hyor Miss Zeetha?” Khrizhan said, oozing evil delight.

Higgs had gone very still. His eyes were very wide. His face was very slowly turning very, very red.  

“Oh-ho-ho!” Goomblast crowed. If his smile got any wider, the corners of his mouth would meet at the back of his head.

“Shuddup,” Higgs said, now blushing so hard Dimo could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Dot’s de green haired gorl who fights vit Mizz Agatha,” Gkika said, her eyes shining. “Ooh, und he vus so vorried ven she got hurt in de kestle!” She lowered her voice, conspiratorially, her eyes not leaving Higg’s face. “He dun take her to de hospital, hyu know; he brought her shtraight to me.”

“She was dying,” Higgs said, slouching in his chair, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“Is dot de vun vit de two svords?” Zog asked. “Verr nice, soch a pretty young ting—”

“Shuddup,” Higgs said as he sank even further in his chair. He shot Dimo a murderous look. Dimo grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs and settling in to watch the show. 

Maybe being a general wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

[hollybell51]

Chapter Five

What’s said and done

Our Treasure - Jim Hawkins x fem!Reader

Chapter Four, masterpost

Word count:  2055

Summary: you regret some things you said and say some things you regret. 

Notes: sorry for the wait lol, this is my desperate attempt to raise the stakes and add some of that lovely angst we all live for. This is also where I show you all just how terrible I am at writing action, and how limited my vocabulary is... I’m truly sorry. 

The next morning, you were woken early by John shaking your shoulder and holding out a piece of toast. You pushed your hair out of your face, sitting up and opening your mouth to ask what was going on.

“Shh!” he held a finger up to his lips, glancing around. “Come on.”

You shuffled over to where your boots were jumbled in a heap with your jacket where you’d flung them the night before, pulling both garments on and taking John’s proffered piece of toast. You quickly did a check of the kitchen – where you slept most nights, then followed the cook up onto the main deck, then below again to the stores.

Some of our crew were already there. You swung up onto one of the rafters, letting your legs dangle over the edge and the crumbs from your toast rain down on anyone unfortunate enough to stand beneath you.

“All I’m saying is that we’re sick of all this waiting!” The aptly named Bird Brain Mary’s voice cut harshly through the low murmurs of everyone else, and you frowned. You could never fathom why you always had to get stuck with the most annoying life forms roaming the galaxy. It was like you were a magnet for them or something. 

“Ve are vanting to move!” Meldown backed her up, his thick accent making the words sound all the more fervent. 

“We don’t move ‘til we got the treasure in ‘hand!” John reprimanded. You took another bite of toast, smiling innocently down at Hands, who glowered at the crumbs on his arm. You didn’t understand why John wanted you there – he could have handled it easily by himself.

“I say we kill ‘em all now…” Scroop hissed, scuttling to the front of the crowd.

“I say what we do!” John almost shouted, grabbing Scroop by the neck. “Disobey my orders again like that stunt you pulled with Mr Arrow and my cabin girl, and so help me you’ll be joinin’ ‘im!” He tossed the Mantavor roughly against a barrel in the corner.

“Strong talk,” he hissed, getting to his feet. “But I know otherwise.”

“You got something you wanna add?” you called from your perch, swinging your legs back and forwards.

“Ah…” he sighed, withdrawing a purp from the barrel, “it’s that boy. Methinks you have a soft spot for him.” He looked between you and John, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “The both of you.”

You felt your stomach sink, but tried as hard as you could to keep up the appearance of nonchalance. You took another bite of toast, crunching on the crust loudly. The crew were muttering in agreement with Scroop, which wasn’t good. Could he have seen you and Jim last night?

“Now mark me the lot o’ ya!” John growled, “I care about one thing, and one thing only! Flint’s trove! Ya think I’d risk it all for the sake o’ some nose-wiping little welp?”

“Yeah,” you added, “he’s nothing to me. Just a way to get that treasure.” God, you were glad Jim wasn’t there right now.

“What was it now?” Scroop said, putting on a fakely sentimental face. He grinned, then said in a crude imitation of your voice: “you saved my life, Jim.” He turned to John, then continued: “you’ve got the makins of greatness in ya—”

“Shut your yap!” the cook snapped. “I cosied up to that kid to keep ‘im off our scent. But I ain’t gone soft.”

You were stopped from defending yourself by the shout of “land ho!” from the deck above, and the uproar that followed. You jumped down from the rafters, rushing with everyone up to see the planet. The sight of it chased Scroop’s words and the guilty pit in your stomach from your thoughts. It was beautiful, just the way you remembered it from the book you had as a child. The two criss-crossing rings of luminescent green and greyish rocks stood out against the smokiness of the surrounding space, chucks of black rock floating at random around you.

“Jim!” you shouted, running down to where most of the crew slept in search of him. It was empty but for a few scattered belongings, so you ran back up the stairs and onto the deck. He wasn’t there either, so you checked the kitchen. Maybe he’d gone to find you.

Nobody was in the kitchen, but you grabbed a few knives and shoved them at random into your belt anyway. It never hurt to be prepared. You rushed back up the stairs, pulling your shirt down to cover the blades as you went.

“Lass,” John grabbed your arm, and you stopped in your tracks. “Have you seen me glass anywhere?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Where’s Jim?”

“I ‘aven’t seen ‘im this mornin’,” the cook frowned, then shrugged. “Maybe I left it down below.” He set off towards the storage, and, seeing nothing better to do, you followed. You glanced around for a second at the top of the stairs, then turned back and walked straight into John’s back.

“Shit,” you cursed, rubbing your face and stumbling backwards. “Can you—”

“Jimbo,” John said in surprise, and you poked your head around his large figure. Jim was indeed standing on the step below you, a mixture of shock, fear and anger flitting across his face.

“What are you…?” you started, but John shushed you.

“Playing games, are we?” he asked softly, descending into the storage area, forcing Jim before him.

“Yeah,” the boy muttered, “yeah we’re playing games.” He glared at John, then at you. Oh shit.

“Ah, I see.” The cook must have come to the same conclusion as you. “Well I was never much good at games.” Behind his back, his cybernetic arm was clicking into the gun function, and he was using his other hand to flick the safety off. “Always hated to lose.”

You moved your hand to your hip, slipping your fingers under your shirt until they came into contact with the cool handle of a knife. It was a small one, but it would do in a pinch. You just hoped it didn’t come to that.

“Hm,” Jim grunted, “me too!” He rushed forwards, slashing at John’s cybernetic leg on the way past. He shoved you out of the way, but you grabbed his arm.

“Stop, Jim!” you shouted over the hissing of John’s leg and the cyborg’s shouts. “Let me explain!”

“Let me go!” he growled, elbowing you in the ribs and tearing free. You cursed violently, then glanced back at John. He seemed to be ok, so you rushed after Jim. Only you couldn’t see where he’d gone.

“Where is he?” you hissed, taking out a knife and holding it by your side.

“Captain’s quarters,” John panted, nodding to where you could just see the bolt mechanism sliding into place. You raced towards the door, slamming against it as John let out a piercing whistle, alerting the crew to make their move.

“Jim open up!” you yelled, jamming the pointed end of your knife into the door latch and jimmying it around. There was no answer, but you kept shouting and knocking anyway. A gunshot went off inside, then there was the sound of breaking glass.

“Someone help me get the door!” you yelled over your shoulder, then stood back. Several members of the crew pointed their guns at the bolt, letting loose laser beams.

“No need to take all day about it!” John shouted, pushing his way to the front and fitting a blaster to the end of his robotic arm. He raised it, powered it up, then blasted straight through the door. You hoped nobody was inside.

You ran through the smoke and debris, almost falling into a human-sized hole in the floor. You jumped down, racing through the mechanics of the ship towards the longboat bay.

“Follow her!” you heard John yell behind you, then more heavy footfalls and shouts as the crew obeyed.

In front of you, you could see Captain Amelia’s back as she sprinted along a corridor, darting through a doorway. You cursed as she slammed it shut, skidding to a stop.

“Blast the door!” you yelled, then grabbed a gun for yourself and aimed it at the lock. It fizzed brightly in the dimness, joined by the beams from the others’ own guns as you worked away at the door. It finally fell away, and you poured through into the longboat bay.

The hatch was open, and three figures were silhouetted against the bright light outside, all with guns.

“Morph, no!” Jim’s voice yelled, then someone – presumably Jim – leapt over the side of the longboat and onto the catwalk.

You jumped across the other walkways, sprinting towards him among the sounds of blaster fire, Captain Amelia’s choice insults and the yells of the crew. There was a huge bang, and you looked up to see that someone had shot out one of the generators above. It crashed down, taking some of the crew with it out the hatch and smashing through walkways.

The hatch was closing slowly, so you guessed someone must have found the switch for it. You jumped across another walkway, then ran along it to where another one intersects. A few more jumps and you would be on the same one as Jim.

“Morph, come here!” he was shouting, jumping around and trying to catch the little creature. If you could make the jump to the longboat next to him… You measure the distance with your eyes, biting your lip. It was a long way, but you thought you could make it.

Taking a deep breath, you took a few steps backwards, then ran forwards and leaped off the walkway, sailing through the air for a few seconds before you slammed into the side of the longboat. You grabbed onto the railing, hauling yourself into it and rolling across the decking.

“Morphy, come here!” John called, and you poked your head up to see the little creature floating between the two of them, a large golden sphere in his mouth. The map.

“Morph, bring it here!” Jim called, holding out his hands.

“Morphy!” John countered, whistling to him.

The two of them continued calling to Morph, obviously confusing the poor thing. He looked between them, then dove into a pile of rope. Both rushed towards it, but John’s leg was still broken and Jim was much lighter on his feet. He grabbed the sphere, turning and rushing back along the walkway to where you were still in the boat.

You felt the knife in your hand, its weight and balance as you raised it up, taking aim at the running figure. You drew back to throw, swinging the blade between your fingers, judging the angles and Jim’s running speed, where he’s going. At the last second, you released the knife, holding your breath as it spun end over end towards Jim. It hit right where you meant it to, when you meant it to, stabbing through his sleeve and into the wood of the ship’s side.

He turned, shock and hurt written clear as day on his face as he pulled the knife free, tossing it to the deck. You took a step backwards, your hands pressed over your mouth and your breath coming in short gasps. You held Jim’s gaze across the walkway, feeling like you might be sick.

“Now!” Amelia yelled, and the awful moment was shattered. Jim turned away, jumping down into the other longboat as Dr Doppler and the Captain shot out the cables on the roof, their boat falling out into the space below.

You heard John get up and you heard his string of curses as he headed for the main deck, and you heard the whining of a laser cannon firing up, you heard the crackling of the shot speeding past. You saw the explosion down below, but you didn’t feel anything. Well, apart from the urge to vomit.

The look on Jim’s face when you threw the knife, when it hit him… You dropped to your knees, your arms and torso resting on the railing of the longboat and leaned over, retching. You kept heaving until all of last night’s dinner and that morning’s breakfast were deposited out of the ship, then collapsed.

Chapter Six

[inkedtae]

ii. only you ⇾ kth. [M]

chapter two ⇾ he’s haunted by the past. but time stops when he’s with you.

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; tsundere!taehyung x reader (f.), and a hint of sope 

⌁ genre/rating; series, s2l, soulmate au, fluff, angst, smut, 18+

 ⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; tsundere!taehyung (tae is kinda mean to reader and other people he cares about because he’s awkward and doesn’t know how to express his love), dom!taehyung, slightly possessive!taehyung, mullet/ponytail/longhair!taehyung, artist!taehyung, massive dicc!taehyung, ass enthusiast!taehyung, sub!reader, bratty!rader, publisher!reader, mentions of death (not explicit), mild depictions of grieving (not explicit), mentions and consumption of cigarettes, mentions and consumption of alcohol, mentions of masturbation, morning sex, rough sex, sixty-nine, stretch mark kink, bulge kink, praise kink, scent kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, voyeurism, exhibitionism, degradation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, throat bulge, oral (m. and f. receiving), throat fucking, deep throating, cockwarming, thigh riding, spanking, biting, choking, manhandling, ball worshipping, body worshipping, hair pulling, cum eating, cum play, spit lay, nipple play, breast play

⌁ le playlist

Ღ special thanks to my betas  @kkulmoon, @nottodayjjk, and @uhgood-dooghu for taking the time to read my crappy draft and make sure i do not embarrass myself when i finally post lol. and a million thanks to @amoratentla​ for making this incredible banner all those moons ago! 

Vante, Spring 1920

Wet snow, half melted in the chill of night, sludges and spats beneath his feet. The dirt of the puddled streets rim the cuffs of his pant legs. It makes him shiver all over, even when wrapped with a long coat he can’t afford. He’d hoped for a warmer night - a foolish thought on a foolish quest. With every step, he wonders if all this is worth another night of aimless wandering. He paces old streets of old friends entertaining the same old parties without him for an old market that could, for all he knew, simply be an old myth. As an automobile dashes by, splashing more of the street onto him, Taehyung remembers that there’s nothing left to lose to accurately judge the worth of this quest.

Distant trumpets tug his attention to the art gallery on the other side of the intersection. The lively tone of the opening, patrons spilling in and out of the doors in stumbles and slurs illuminate the block. Taehyung knows the glamourous filter glistening upon their faces too well. Momentary panic arrests his heart as a group of familiar artists draw nearer, the brightest face being the most threatening. He could greet him, pretend to be unfazed, but something within him knows that this conversation won’t begin with a simple hi. Instead, an oh will leave both of them. Taehyung would struggle to explain why he’s standing alone, wet and brooding across their old place. His once-friend would cast him a look all too arrogant and humour the explanation long enough to escape it. Then, he’d watch them all leave with their mismatched steps and laugh about how stupid they all had once been to have been friends with him.

“Francis, enough,” one of the stumblers hollars as they reach the middle of the intersection.

Enough is about all Taehyung has had with tired memories. He turns around, done with the entirety of the street, done with wondering how he even got this far on foot, and rushes down the alley between a garage and a tiny convenience store he’d frequently taken in high school. Relief escapes him in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he hears them slither by without a mention of him. They haven’t seen him, yet shame and humiliation pokes his pride.

Taehyung leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette for comfort. He can still hear his grandfather’s voice and feel the smack upside his head as he takes his second drag.

“Where’d you pick up such a nasty habit?” he’d always ask.

Stress calls for any release, Taehyung thinks to himself now. Or maybe just anything worse to make its pain less lonely.

Lonely. The word stings. Taehyung almost winces as he blows out another puff of distraction. In the company of guilt, regret and dis-ease, Taehyung is never alone but simply lonely.

With another taste of the cigarette, Taehyung wonders what you might be like? Are you an artist, too? Do you dance in your seat when you eat something particularly delicious, laugh uproariously when you fall? Do you love the way the sun shimmers pink in the evenings, how the moon still tries to glow at dusk? He’s tried one too many times to draw you, do you know that? Will you know that? If he wrote you a letter tonight, will you read it in the stars years later?

Taehyung drops his burnt cigarette, stepping out the embers, when a flickering glow shyly casts upon his shoes. He peaks a glance down the alley to find it’s not an alley at all. Bodies in a rush, the market calls upon him in every which way. He looks up and down the same alley he’d hurried down hundreds of times as a teenager, curious as to why it would lead him to anything other than home now.

A laugh slips past his lips, hands shove into his pockets, and he navigates his way between other desperate souls in search of something they cannot typically find at the bottom of a champagne bottle or a checkbook.

Musicians play a new song each block, small shops showcase a new product with every new glance, and vendors shout at patrons, sometimes at each other too, much to Taehyung’s amusement. No one seems very fazed by the interactions, the constant urge to buy here and now. For a midnight market, it’s rather energetic. Gaslit street lights and eternally burning candles bring every word and step to life.

Though tempting, Taehyung keeps his mind on his intentions. He pushes past the crowd, the suddenly hopeful faces leaving shops. One glance at his pocketwatch reflects limited time, and he wishes he found the market when it opened. With less than ten minutes left, and soon approaching the last block, he feels almost cheated. He’d told the last six shop owners the same stupid line to no avail. His disappointment colours his features, furrowed brows and scowl losing the patience to ignore the sellers that keep attempting to convince him rather loudly that he needs wherever they are selling.

“You look like you need a smoke,” a voice calls at the top of the seventh block.

Taehyung turns to a man in an emerald suit, leaning against a rather empty store. He has kind eyes, Taehyung notes. They somewhat remind him of his grandfather. No sound nor light bleeds through the fogged windows. The chipped sign hanging above him is stained with smog. “I think you’ve had plenty for the both of us,” he replies, still eyeing the sign.

The man only laughs. “That’s a new one,” he smiles. “No one’s said that yet.”

Though confused, Taehyung’s rather pleased with himself. He adjusts his coat, turning his head to look up the street as he fights off a smirk. The life within all the other shops only draws his attention back to the man and his broken shop. He parts his lips to ask why this store remains dead when he stops himself. Perhaps it’s rather rude to question how the old man lost his business, to even assume that it is indeed his business and not some place he simply stood to rest. This is a long market, afterall. Taehyung himself is starting to feel the effects of the endless walk.

“It’s fine,” the man suddenly reassures, drawing Taehyung from his thoughts. “Go on and ask.”

Taehyung gives him a questioning look.

The man smiles. “I can’t show you if you don’t ask.”

Show? It can’t be. His luck has never been so fortunate. But the man is staring back at him - patiently, expectantly, and all while absentmindedly patting down his grey peppered beard.

Taehyung draws in a breath and, in the steadiest voice he can manage, requests, “So show me.”

“I’ll show you.”

The wood creaks to life as dust blows away with the wind. Shattered windows repair and display shiny trinkets in velvet casings. Candles spark within. The rusted chains of the sign whine in their renewal, and whatever had sullied the old thing before wipes right off. The script written in a glowing blue flickers to read: Magic Shop.

The shop owner leads the way, Taehyung’s careful steps aren’t too far behind. After the ring of the bell above the door, a faint melody dances around the silence. Mismatched shelves stock mismatched merchandise for every desire… he’d ever had. Eyes curious, Taehyung stands by the door and catches glimpses of his previous wishes. The tasteless potions for his once desired height and weight shimmer and stare back at him. From the perfect easel to sticks of gum that never lose their flavour, from marble floors to green walls, every detail of the shop tailors to his preferences.

Walking towards the window, Taehyung spots a polished violin. His fingers hover over the strings, the temptation to strum one hard to ignore. One timid touch, however, is enough to have the instrument play itself. Taehyung jumps at the loud chords, wincing at the harsh notes that cut through the once peaceful melody that filled the shop.

A thump behind him silences the violin and it falls back into its place. Taehyung throws a glance over his shoulder to find the shop owner sitting behind his desk. He’s balanced himself oddly on the leather stool with his legs up on the table top and back leaning against the wall. Hat over face, the shop owner shifts the cane from its standing position to laying in his lap. Taehyung hadn’t noticed the cane before. Had he been holding it outside too? The black speckled ink around the handle gives Taehyung pause.

“That’s not yours.”

The shop owner doesn’t peek under his hat until Taehyung reaches his desk. He glances down at the cane on his lap and says, “No, it’s not. I am simply a collector, sir.”

The ease of his tone unsettles Taehyung. He doesn’t care for the possession of the object nor his person. He doesn’t belong to anyone just as that cane admittedly does not belong to the man behind the desk.

“Hand it over then.”

“Are you sure?”

Of course, Taehyung wants to say. His words dissipate the moment they reach the tip of his tongue, however. That’s his grandmother’s cane. He can picture her clutching onto it as she lays to rest. How this owner had collected it, Taehyung would never know. He’s certain that she would want him to retrieve it, though. So, why is it so hard to confirm that?

The shop owner smirks. “This isn’t what you came here for.” Dropping his legs and sitting up on the stool, he continues, “Unless, you’d like to take the cane and be on your way ou-”

“No.” Taehyung eyes the cane. The possibility of you whispers his unsteady heart to ease. “I- Is she- um- soulmates.” He finally says. “I am looking for my soulmate. I heard that if you don’t have one then they were born in a different lifetime.”

The shop owner chuckles, “I can’t take you back.”

“She’s back?”

The hope in Taehyung’s voice must’ve unsettled the man. His smile slowly falls and he looks at Taehyung, in his wet clothes and curls slicked back, as if looking at him for the first time. Taehyung wonders if all this magic is a scam, if all these shop owners are feeding on desperate souls.

Standing up, the shop owner asks, “What’s your name?”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“A Kim?”

“Yes, sir.”

The shop owner mutters something about this being his third Kim and almost reaching the end of the line as he walks around the desk. Taehyung, against the voice within telling him to call it a night and go back home, follows after the magical muttering man. He pulls out a ring of seven keys and counts down to the sixth one once he approaches a polished, oak china cabinet. He unlocks one of the drawers, pulls it open then begins to sift through framed canvases. “Ah,” he sighs before pulling out a golden frame.

Taehyung stumbles back when the shop owner pushes the frame into his hands and ushers him back to the front desk. “You’re a painter, right? Huh, thought so-” he casts a glance over his shoulder at Taehyung’s outfit. “You must paint yourself in there.”

“Paint myself in?”

The man pulls out a pack of cigarettes once he reaches the desk. “Never done a self-portrait before?” he asks while offering a cigarette.

Taehyung politely rejects it with a wave as he answers, “No, no, I have. It’s just-”

“Well, do it again. Anyway you’d like, in fact. Just make sure you’re in it so she’ll see you and for the magic to work. Don’t use anything water or lead based. I heard oil paint works the best.”

“The country’s on the brink of a recession. I can’t even find a decent price for bread. How am I supposed to get my hands on oil paint?”

The man smirks. “The same way you got your hands on the frame.” Taehyung takes a look around the shop only for the owner to chuckle. “What I mean is that you are resourceful, Mr. Kim. You’ll find a way.”

Taehyung schools his features, suppresses his anger and bites the insides of his cheeks. He sets the heavy frame on the desk with a little sigh, falling out of the conversation for a minute. From the sheer weight of the damned thing alone, he knows he’s going to be losing quite a lot of money- possibly even all he has left. And it would all be rendered useless if he can’t even get the right paint for it.

“Now, you’ll have to make sure that whoever it is says your name; first and last.”

Gazing down at the golden details of the frame, he wonders if this is all even worth it. Are you even in the future, the past? The shop owner mentioned something about sending him back. Does this magic defy the logic of time? Can it really have him jump centuries? Would he need to paint himself in the image of a specific era for it to work?

“They need to at least know where you are from. A year, season or what have you will do just fin-”

“Will it take me back?”

The shop owner blinks. He glances between Taehyung and the frame before asking, “Back?”

“When I mentioned my soulmate, you said you can’t take me back.”

“I haven’t gotten my hands on anything that can travel through time just yet, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung pauses.

The shop owner’s smile fades and he clears his throat. He must’ve seen the hope diminishing from Taehyung’s gaze because his causal tone begins to carry an unusual heaviness that weighs down the conversation. Leaning towards his patron, the shop owner puffs out another cloud of smoke then says, “Nothing in this market can bring a soulmate to life. You can’t even build one, Mr. Kim- Well, not right now anyways, but that’s a discussion for another time.” He waves the topic off and continues, “I cannot draw you a map or pick out a year of when she once existed or will be born. This frame will not take you back, it will simply preserve you for the future.” He looks to the frame and runs his fingers along the edges as he explains, “Your soul will be tethered within the gold, incapable of parting from the canvas.”

Taehyung scoffs. He knew this was a scam. This entire shop and its stupid magic thrive on his pathetic desperation and hopeless wishes. It was clever too, he thinks, tailoring every aspect of the market to his liking. The organized mess (that somehow still maintains a minimalistic approach,) the childhood memorabilia, the fucking cane he saw his grandmother get buried with. It was all so cleverly designed to reel him into this very moment, following this cryptic old man around a dead shop to sucker him out of the very little he has left.

“Tethered to a canvas?” he mumbles. “I walked up and down these streets for her and all you can do is jail me in a fucking canvas?”

The shop owner takes a step back, the profanity hanging in the air all too heavily to breathe. Taehyung knows he should apologize, but can’t seem to find it in him to do so. He came looking for you and has met a morbidly poetic demise instead; sentenced to death by his art.

Lowering his voice, Taehyung offers a gentle glance and says as a way of an apology, “I just need to find her, sir. I’m not sure how I can do that when I’m stuck in my own painting.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Kim. I understand your frustration now. You’ve gotten it all wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“That’s right,” he laughs. “You won’t be finding her. She’s going to find you.”

“If she exists in the future.”

The shop owner nods.

Whatever worries Taehyung once held dissolve into guilt as he hurries to push every reminder of his judgemental thoughts out of his head. He flashes the owner an apologetic look, somewhat grasping the parameters of the frame and journey to his soulmate now - if indeed she lives at some point in the future.

“So,” the owner starts, taking another sip of smoke as he pulls Taehyung out of his thoughts. “Are you willing to trade?”

Taehyung raises a brow. “Trade?”

“Might I remind you, Mr. Kim, that I am a collector,” he gestures to his shop then takes another drag.

Taehyung bites his lip. Unbuttoning his coat, he pats down his pockets. The keys to his apartment and studio jingle, wallet thumps against his palm and his father’s watch quietly ticks beneath the fabric. He holds onto the imprint of the old thing in his pocket, taking notice of the way the shop owner pauses mid drag at the impression of it. “I haven’t got anything worth trading,” he lies.

The shop owner smudges out his cigarette. “Well, then neither have I,” he shrugs. “The market’s closing very soon, so I suppose you best be on your way, Mr. Kim.”

“I need this frame,” Taehyung repeats. “You know I do.”

“It looks to me as though you simply want it if you haven’t got anything worth trading.”

He can’t believe he’s seriously being hustled, by some old man no less. Taehyung rolls his eyes  and clenches his jaw. Pulling out the watch, he finds it’s only a minute before it’s no longer midnight. The seconds tick. His heart coils. He never had the best relationship with his parents, rejecting the high society for artistry. Whatever shame he had brought to his family name disappears when holding onto this stupid watch. He’ll truly lose all his familial connections if he lets it go, for the thinnest chance of meeting you.

There’s less than twenty seconds and counting as Taehyung unclasps the chain from his pocket and tosses it onto the desk. He’s made it too far to walk away now and he’s so close. What was there left in that dumb watch anyways beside the reminder of his constant disappointment?

The shop owner snatches the watch within seconds. Before Taehyung can question him about how exactly the magic works again, having not listened very well the first time, the owner shoves the frame against his chest. Taehyung stumbles back with an oof.

“Always a pleasure doing business with the bulletproof boys,” he smiles.

“The what?”

“Don’t forget to write your name.” He says, pushing Taehyung towards the door. “Make sure she says it. Oh, and send my greetings to the boys!”

The door shuts before Taehyung can question half of the gibberish the old man was spewing in these last few moments of the midnight market. He only just parts his lips when he finds himself back in the alley. The shouting, the potions, the patrons all vanish with a blink. He breathes in the chilled air and murky scent of the city. Dark, cold, and alone, Taehyung clutches his frame. It’s all he has left in this life, and he hopes that you’ll be around to find him in the next.

Cold green tea tastes bitter. The tangs of honey are unable to soothe the flavour. Taehyung tried to make it the way you do, with a spoon full of peach marmalade. The flavours settled oddly, however, biting back on his tongue bitterly. He drinks it anyway. He hates to waste, and besides the taste, he supposes it’s perfectly fine tea. Setting the small cup on your dresser, violet ink prints of his thumb stamped on, he leans back in his seat and shifts his attention back and forth from the sketch book in his hands to your bed. You sleep soundly, unaware of the scratch of his pencil on paper, or the rain on pavement outside, even with the window cracked open. From time to time, he notices you shiver from the brisk wind sweeping into the tiny room. Whenever he goes to rise from his seat to adjust your covers, you always beat him to it, pulling your comforter to your chin. He’s found it’s best to just observe for now - like he’d done in the painting.

Of course, trapped in four golden frames, there wasn’t much he could do but watch. He made his choice nearly a hundred years ago and had to pay for it everyday he was passed to someone that wasn’t you. Stiff and sore, starving and thirsty in a pathetic painting, he was just waiting to see you. And when he finally did, he wondered when he’d be able to touch you. And now that he has, he wonders just how long it will take before you realize how much he needs you.

Taehyung cringes at his thoughts, scribbling all over the sketch of you he just can’t seem to get right. He doesn’t need you, he tells himself. Perhaps, he tries to soothe his pride, he just needs the thought of you. With you, he’s not alone in a tiny apartment, surrounded by a life that once was. Tossing a hesitant glance at your sombered state, Taehyung, for a second too long, wonders if he indirectly plagued you with the same curse. His existence in a time that does not belong to him has forced you into a tiny apartment, chasing a life that was once yours. Guilt claws at his throat. Taehyung washes it down with the last remaining bit of tea. Chunks of peach marmalade fill his cheeks, but he swallows through the texture.

After setting the cup down, Taehyung restarts his sketch. He traces your curves from memory, last night still seared into his bones like a fever dream, and feather-flicks some shading around your frame. His words return to him in pitiful waves of desperation. He was consumed by you, intoxicated by every whimper and plea that shivered on your lips. His defences shattered, the most vulnerable parts of him pushing deep into you as he confessed his reservations.

Cheeks aflame, Taehyung blinks the memory away. Maybe you won’t remember - a thought that stings a bit more than the humiliation of the memory itself. Tears cloud his vision. Annoyed with himself, he rolls his eyes, a stray tear disturbing his drawing. He flinches with the drop. The once rigidly drawn lines bleed out of place. Pen between his fingers, Taehyung rips the page out, crumbles it into a ball and chucks it in the general direction of the trash. He starts the sketch again, with a few circles to outline the shape of your curves.

While pushing every last thought of you away, still trying to resketch you, his grandfather’s voice pulls him back to his memories. As the pen retraces its strokes, Taehyung recalls the week before his grandfather’s untimely death. Midnight, or somewhere nearing, with silent streets and quiet melodies croaking from a rusted gramophone, Taehyung sees himself standing before a canvas. He can’t quite make out the painting, having forgotten what it was, but he remembers being annoyed with the colours. They hadn’t blended the way he hoped. He’s not sure how but his brush snapped in his hands and, with a growl, he found himself staring at a broken canvas by his feet.

“I thought Francis was kidding when he called you a tortured artist,” his grandfather had teased.

Taehyung cringes at the memory of his blatant disrespect towards his grandfather as he ignored the old man and the pain in his eyes. He just couldn’t accept another mention of his once best friend. A wave of his happiest memories now tainted with a truth he couldn’t fathom returned to him then, and return to him now. Taehyung stops sketching as he lets himself remember what it felt like to be around someone, a self-proclaimed non judgemental someone, who told him he not only understands, but genuinely cares. Then, flashes of their last encounter spoil the purest memories, that the last four years of his life have been a lie. Whether through a series of misunderstandings or misspeakings, Taehyung had shattered his once friend’s confidence. And that last encounter wasn’t to inform of his misconduct but rather the consequences of them. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know, that it was unintentional because it had already been done.

He had destroyed every friendship after that. Shut every door and ripped every letter. No matter if he saw them on the street, art shop, gallery opening or class, Taehyung wouldn’t even spare a look towards those he once posed naked for or otherwise. If they knew of his friendship with Francis, if they were friends with him and Francis, then they were Francis’ friends. Taehyung wanted nothing to do with them, with what once was and what could’ve been.

Am I a bad person? he wondered. Stuck in that painting, he wondered. Last night, lying by the only person who would understand, he wondered. Sitting inches away from you, he wonders now.

But then his grandfather calls back to him. And the moment of self loathing where he pushes right past the poor man returns. Clenching his jaw, Taehyung tries to skip through this strand of the memory, only to have it reply in his mind like a cursed record. His pen slips, harshly striking through his work and it pulls him out of his thoughts. Taehyung rips the pages out and starts again.

The memory returns as he outlines your body once more. He had left the mess of the canvas on the floor and went to get a new one. His grandfather, cane thumping, limped after him. Taehyung only noticed when he turned back around to the easel. His heart aches as he recalls walking right past him. But, he remembers thinking that his grandfather knew Taehyung had changed for the worse. He wishes he can crawl back into the past and shake himself out of his ignorance. It was obvious his grandfather just wanted some company. He always did enjoy watching Taehyung paint.

His grandfather spoke about his wife like she was still standing beside him. He told Taehyung of the first time they met, a story Taehyung had heard many times and simply wasn’t interested in hearing that night, though he’s thankful he kept that detail to himself. It’s then that Taehyung remembers what he’d been trying to paint. As his grandfather was going on about soulmates, Taehyung thinks he catches a glimpse of the new canvas, of the curves that he cannot seem to get right. He didn’t know what you were supposed to look like, but whatever was on that canvas was not at all what he knew to be the truth. He remembers reaching within for a life at the otherside of his soul only to find hollowed emptiness, like something was supposed to be there but just never came to be.

The thought returns again - you were the only one that would be there for him as he would be for you. You were all that was left. He remembers speaking to Francis about you and can still hear his once friend’s plea to “be realistic.”

“It was lonely,” his grandfather had said, “knowing she was out there but I wasn’t allowed to see her just yet.”  

Finally perfecting the outline of your frame, Taehyung now mutters to himself. “It was cruel.”

It was cruel to leave us so lonely.

Glancing up at you for a quick reference of your features, Taehyung doesn’t feel so lonely, not quite anyways. Last night was more than just a breath of fresh air. His soul was complete, perhaps even renewed. With the bond sealed, so are your souls. They’re engulfed in the other, fully tangled. He can tug at the otherside of his soul and feel yours in the tip of his toes. It’s just his heart that remains fractured now. And his mind doesn’t have the strength to nurse it nor to ask for your help. He knows the life you lead here, the amount of damage he’d caused, and the last thing he will do is further damn you with his inner demons. And that’s where his renewed loneliness lies - in the fact that you can’t help each other without corrupting the other.

Taehyung tosses you a glance after feathering your eyebrows, searching for the exact parameters of your nose as if he doesn’t already know them. He has caught himself studying you far more times than he’s caught you staring at him. All he’s ever done is watch you. It’s the safest way to have you without losing you. From your ears to your chin to the slight dip of your collarbone and plump curves of your breast when squished together as you sleep on your side. It’s the way your lashes flutter when you’re concentrating or intrigued that always gets him though. Oh- and the sway of your hips when you’re excited or eager. And he can never, for the life of him, ignore the way your jaw sets when you’re upset. The tension in your neck always gives you away.

And… if he really was being honest with himself (an act he’s already regretting as his pride whimpers behind his heart), Taehyung lives and breathes for your stretch marks. He trails his pen further down the page, gently lining your stretches around your hips and just under your stomach. He’s memorized their positions, peppered the ones around your shoulders enough times to know that they are white up there but a purplish-pink just above your pussy.

He bites his lips at the recollection of your taste. An image of your clit flashes through his mind so fast he almost thinks he might’ve imagined it. God, what he’d give right now to just look at it. The folds, the swollen bud, the wetness drip dropping over his fingers, tongue, and coc-

Ah, fuck, he can feel himself throb under his sketchbook. Shifting in his seat, he tries to calm himself down, but the new sketch of your pussy on the next page isn’t much help. When had he even drawn that? Taehyung glances between the two sketches, noticing how he had abandoned the full body drawing mid stroke just to recapture your (glistening, he notes) pussy. A part of him can’t believe how horny he is that he shaded and highlighted just the right places to make it seem like you’re as desperately wet as you were last night. The other part isn’t so surprised. How can he blame himself for wanting to fuck you? It’s been on his mind since he watched you ride your pillow when he was in the painting. You had caught his eye, he recalls, and grinded against the damned thing faster, biting your lip at him. It was as if you knew, as if you could hear him, feel him instructing you to go faster and harder and closer to the edg-

“Drawing me like one of your french girls?”

Taehyung snaps his head up. On your stomach, ass out and begging to be played with, you lean your head on your palms, just inches away from his legs on the edge of the bed. He stares, mouth somewhat gapping at the sight. When did you wake up and why hadn’t he heard you move? You hold his eyes, curious and memorizing. Your legs dangle behind you and he can’t help the smirk on his face as the effects of last night fully come to life with your awakened state. He’d noticed the smudged makeup and messy hair when you were sleeping. It’s the streaks of his cum on your neck and cheeks that make him bite his lip. You look so ruined he’s almost proud.

You sit up on your elbows, glance wandering down. He knows you see his hard dick under his sketchbook, knows that bite of your lip too well to not get just a tad bit harder with anticipation.

“French girls?” he questions with furrowed brows.

You smile up at him, gaze teasing and amused. He draws in a heavy breath. You’re just asking to be taught all over again how to behave, aren’t you?

“Nevermind,” you giggle to yourself.

Goosebumps rise all over at the sound. Taehyung has always found that you have a natural talent for being so adorably sexy in the most effortless ways. He already knows he can cum to that sound alone and is almost tempted to toss the book and pen aside to jerk himself off in front of you without a word.

Your delicate voice pulls him out of the fantasy as you add, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long.” He makes sure to not speak above a whisper, almost in love with the soft world your voice creates within his heart. All previous thoughts and haunting memories that once clouded over him vanish upon a single breath from your lips. If he didn’t know any better, he would say it almost feels healing.

Taehyung places the sketchbook and pen by the stained teacup, his hand then finding its way to your head. A little sigh leaves you as he gently scratches your scalp. The staleness in his chest dissolves, like washing dried paint off a stiff brush. With every rub of your head, every flutter of your eyes as you stare up at him, Taehyung takes a clearer breath. Whatever weight was perched on his shoulders, straining his neck and back for a century, lifts off and away from this tiny apartment. He pushes a loose strand of hair out of your face as you shift closer, resting your head on his knee now, cheek squished against him.

As his gaze trails down your back, so does his hand. His fingers graze the little dip of your spine, eyes fixated on the curves of your ass. The sudden arch of your back, perking up your ass doesn’t go unnoticed. Taehyung smirks. He resists the urge to spank you, even if you are silently requesting that he does. But then you timidly drag your tongue against his skin, soft fingers tracing slow circles around his inner thigh. He can’t hold back the instinct to at least grab your ass - as a warning, he tells himself. You both know he simply adores the way the fat of your ass feels in his hands.

“Do you draw me often?” you ask, teeth grazing the bend of his knee only for you to lick at it seconds later.

Taehyung almost chokes on his next intake of air when he glances back at you. Your mouth is fixated on his leg but eyes locked on his hard cock. He should be embarrassed by your shameless stare, but can only sense the overwhelming urge to jam his cock in your mouth and give your tongue something real to swirl and lick around. Your eyes widen when his cock throbs at the thought and he catches your curious gaze.

Both hands combing back your hair to a tight hold, Taehyung draws gentle circles into your scalp and asks, “Is that really what you wanted to have asked?”

You shake your head.

“What is it, then?”

“Can I please suck you, daddy?”

This time he stumbles on his breath, quick to cover it up with a cough. No, no, no, you can’t do this. You can’t ask for something so filthy, all while using that soft voice and calling him by his favourite name. He shouldn’t have told you how much he enjoys it. He shouldn’t have made it so clear that you’re the only one that can ask anything and he would deliver. He shouldn’t have made it so obvious that you are everything he would ever need. And now, with your naked body all laid out for him and face inches away from his cock, he knows he should hold you with a single hand by your cheeks and tell you just how dirty you are, how your slutty mouth will make you both late for work (even when he’d really rather stay in this tiny room with you).

Instead, he sits back and drops his hands by his side. The fact of the matter is, he cannot utter a single word that would deny either of you the pleasure of an oral experience. He feels his nerves burning in the tips of his toes every time he has the urge to rail you and dismisses it. It’s the bond, he can hear a little voice inform. When Taehyung searches within, he can almost hear the echo of your bonded souls craving your taste to-

A loud hiss escapes him at the sudden feeling of your tongue running over his tip. You look up at him shyly and he can already hear your annoyingly sweet voice mutter something about how badly you need it and how you just couldn’t help yourself. You gather something at the centre of your lips and brazenly spit over him only to suck timidly while struggling to hold back a smile. He hates how cocky you act when you get your way.

Setting his jaw, Taehyung harshly tangles his fingers in your hair and grips onto the roots. You release him with a gasp, whining his name. He glares down at you, his annoyance doubling at the lapse of respect. With a quick jerk of his hand, he stands and flips you over on your back, head hanging off the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” he hisses. Patient and gentle no more, he pushes himself into your mouth the moment you part your lips to correct yourself.

The mewl that struggles to escape you could be confused for protest had it not been for the way your hands shoot to the back of his thighs, pushing him further into your mouth. It’s the spread of your legs that really tips him off about your excitement, however. You expose your pussy to him, somewhat shivering from the light gust of wind that seeps in from the window.

Taehyung isn’t sure what to focus on. Your nails dig into his skin, resisting his movements to pull back as you hold his cock deep in your throat. He knows he gave you very little time to prepare. He was watching you closely last night, entranced by the way you worked yourself up into taking him whole. And though he’s only just over halfway in, he knows you’ll have to surface back for a breath, or a mouthful of his balls. He shutters upon remembering how devoted you were to them. Fuck, he could watch you suck all day.

Moving against your silent request to stay put, Taehyung pulls himself out just enough to keep a little more than his tip still in your mouth. You heave for air as your tongue swirls around him and he can’t stop the chest-drawn groan that escapes him. He’s almost ready to admit how glad he is that no one else has ever done this to him, knowing it would never amount to your excellence. Free hand brushing over the dips and lumped curves of your tits and stomach, Taehyung knows he can cum from the simple act of your tongue twirling around his cock, but finds that your legs spread wider when you choke on him.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps, fingertips rubbing against your scalp, and his other hand teases your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

You suddenly grow a bit shy, clamping your legs shut tight and crossing your ankles. Rubbing your thighs together, you mewl around him, attempting to pull him back into your mouth by the grip you hold on the back of his thigh.

Taehyung can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness. He pinches your nipple harder as he gives into your whining and lets you pull him back in. Saliva starts to leak from the corners of his lips as he watches your throat bulge with the stretch of his cock. You gag, and he gasps when he sees how your throat contracts around him. Arched back, legs open once more, you try to relax your throat only to gag again. You must’ve taken him too quickly, Taehyung concludes. Because it’s not long before you’re pushing him back out to catch another breath.

He massages your tit as you gasp, quietly asking to mask the growing concern he knows will seep into his voice, “You okay?”

You nod - or at least, he thinks you do. He can’t really tell with his cock somewhat still resting in your mouth and your head hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Pfine,” you lazily mumble around him.

Drops of warm saliva and what he presumes is precum drip upon his toes and he feels the pads of them burn with desire that, all at once, stretches throughout every nerve of his body. Looking down at you, it’s like he sees you for the first time. Body laid out, naked, pussy drenched, mouth wide open, you’re a goddess in the clouded sunlight dimly shining in the room. When the lightning hits, the flash illuminates your body and Taehyung just about utters his devotion, adoration, infatuation with you.

He can’t fight the urge to take it slow, to give you time to adjust to his weight or length or whatever it is you need to do. Yanking on your hair, he growls as you stumble upon a surprised cry.

“Then, why the fuck aren’t you sucking?”

He lets go of your hair, reaching for each of your tits as a new anchor for his force as he pushes fully into your mouth. You gag, hands shifting up to his ass in shock, but he doesn’t care. In fact, he finds the unfamiliar act rather arousing, more than he thought he would and grips onto your tits harder.

With a dark, short laugh, he asks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, babygirl?” He massages the sting of his tight hold away with a groan. “Didn’t you wanna taste daddy?”

You make a little sound that doesn’t quite cut through the squeaks of the mattress or his heavy huffs of breath, but he knows the cut syllables enough to know you must’ve replied, “Yes, daddy.”

He’s not sure what’s got you behaving so well. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s given you exactly as you asked or that teasing you makes you a bit too needy and submissive than you normally are. And though he knows, it doesn’t really matter, he still feels as though he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you.

The thought only angers him. He picks up his pace, forcing himself to forget every poisonous, self-loathing voice that tells him he’s not good enough. The fact of the matter is, you belong to him as he does to you. The pads of his feet almost tickle with the approach of his high. He regrettably moans your name, eyes trialing up and down your body.

Fuck, he’s lost himself too much. Just last night, he told himself he wouldn’t do that again. He can’t keep fucking you only to reveal just how weak he is for you. Shuddering, Taehyung releases his grip on your tits and pushes your hands off him. He pulls himself out of your throat, barking, “Stay fucking still,” when you whine and gasp for air.

Your tired eyes watch him curiously, and he knows you’re about to ask him why he didn’t finish inside. He did after all promise you a taste just the night before. Taehyung holds back a moan, a growl managing to escape inside as he ignores his own pathetic feelings and focuses on you instead. Maintaining your gaze, Taehyung notes how precious you look, how when you bite your lip, he wants to pull it out from between your teeth with his tongue and kiss the harmless bite away. He ignores the urge to tell you he’s obsessed with your big thighs and instead keeps his thoughts on how easily you melt at the simple notion of his presence.

A moan tears through his throat, cock twitching as he cums upon your face. “Fuck,” he gasps, staggering a step closer to shoot his load over your tits, a bit landing on your stomach as well. Your name leaves his lips again when you moan at his taste and he hunches over, his free hand leaning on your shoulder to steady himself as he finishes over your body.

You take his hand away from his cock before he can even get a scolding word in and pump the last couple strands of the cum into your mouth. He knows he should punish you for disobeying him, for acting out of turn and order but his high has ruptured his ability to think clearly. All that’s left in his chest and deep in the pit of his stomach is this animalistic urge to lay atop of your cum streaked body and dive head first into your pussy. It’s been calling to him since he sketched it.

“Mor-”

He cuts off your title-less demand with a light smack of his balls against your lips. They silence you as you suck on them, and he can imagine how you’d look right now with your cheeks full and puffed with the indent of his balls in your mouth. He bites at your inner thigh, tongue soothing after teeth, then breaths a laugh at how your legs shudder. He’s barely touched you and you’re already unraveling. He can’t help but think, what other simple, innocent acts would make you melt just as easily.

He, first, rolls his hips against your lips, and your nails slowly scratch up the length of his thighs. He smirks, then licking at the crevice where your fold and thigh meet, not quite reaching your pussy yet. The wet scent still makes his eyes roll back though. You quietly mewl in broken breaths and Taehyung laughs, knowing by the placement of your tongue against his balls that you’ve rightfully resided back to his title. “If you said that earlier, you wouldn’t be in this position, babydoll,” he advises in hushed tones.

Your toes curl and legs lift off the bed at the new pet name. Pride bubbles in his throat and soon amused laughter fills the room. The action almost hurts, a cough following shortly after. He’s been moping about for about a century over people that have long since been gone that he’s completely forgetting how to properly laugh. Taehyung smears his lips against your clit, his own toes curl at the little moan staggered giggle that leaves you. It’s you that’s done this to him. Had it not been for the strain in his throat, like he suppressed a cough, he wouldn’t have noticed it this soon, but it really is you. You’re the one that pulls him out of his head, his wounded heart and somehow complete but shattered soul. You’re the one that helps him forget how truly terrible he is.

Taehyung licks at your clit down to your entrance. One lap and his eyes roll back. All previous thoughts disappear, the only thing on his mind now is drinking up every last drop of you. He growls before latching his mouth to your hole, slurping and poking his tongue inside. Pushing your legs against his cheeks, he smothers himself in your pussy, finding that he is rather obsessed with the way he can’t breathe. He wishes he can tell you how much he adores the way you suffocate him with your pussy. It’s your taste that’s his life line now.

Swallowing another mouthful of your arousal, Taehyung shifts his hands lower, smacking your ass when he reaches it. Your pathetic yelp at the action only makes him wanna do it again, and again, and again until his hands sting from the smack. As he shakes his face against your pussy, hoping his tongue reaches deeper, he grips and massages your asscheeks. God, he’d love to shove his face between there too and shake them as he licks at your asshole. Then maybe he can shove himself between your tits. He doesn’t want to leave a single part of you unexplored.

Every other breath is another taste. Every other taste brings a new position to mind. And the more positions that circle his disarranged thoughts, the less Taehyung wants to let go. He knows you're close. Your moans higher in pitch and legs crossed rather tightly around his head. He can feel you shaking, hips gyrating against the entirety of his face. His balls simply sit in your mouth like a gag. They muffle every word you attempt to utter. He’s not quite sure what you’re saying this time, though. It sounds jumbled amongst the creaking mattress and his heaving slurps and throaty growls.

Your voice gives out. You choke on your own moans as you cum against his tongue. Taehyung rasps a staggered, satisfied sigh upon a single taste. He moves his face along the irregular juts of your hips with each gush. The hungry snarls are enough indication of his eagerness, his short nails in your ass to keep you from moving too much are just a precaution. At least, that’s what he tells himself, his pride suddenly making a reappearance as if he hadn’t already admitted to himself that you are in fact his life line.

When he’s sipped on every drop, tongue reaching far into you to make sure he’s got all he could, Taehyung rubs up and down your thighs. He moves what little he can of his head to kiss at your labia, sucking a bit at the folds just to hear you stubbornly whine. He nibbles on it with a smile, thumbs brushing soothingly against your thighs.

You, still a mouthful of balls in your mouth, attempt to groan, “daddy,” but the word ends up sounding more like “buhee.” It’s adorably pathetic and he can’t resist laughing at you a bit. The act must’ve struck something in you, however, as you shove the same overstimulated pussy in his face again.

“Easy, babydoll,” he chuckles against your clit before latching onto it. Your hips fall when he starts to suck, and you begin whining all over again. It’s as if you didn’t just slam your hips against his jaw, silently begging for more. Taehyung sucks harder in defiance of your sporadicness.

You always do this. You always forget which one of you is in charge, throwing yourself at him shamelessly with every intention to get your way. You’re stubborn and loud and misbehave all too often with your swearing and half dressing and it’s as if you want to push his buttons. Even before emerging from the painting, you’d sit and stare back like you knew he was watching and hearing and believing in you. It made him ache all over that you didn’t just grab the fucking frame like you were meant to and just read the inscription already. It pained him to watch you lay and cry, and sleep and cry, and wake up with some guy (he now knows to be Hoseok) and try not to cry. So badly he just wanted to reach out and tell you that everything would be okay, that he’s here to protect you now and whoever you two would always talk about is a fucking jerk. Possessiveness and the urge to protect flamed under his flesh at every break of your voice.

Teeth grazing your bud, Taehyung kisses your pussy softly. The frantic eruptions of desire settle into silent affirmations of affection. He gently shushes you between kisses, then licks the glistening remains of your cum from your inner thighs. Sucking on his balls like a pacifier, you’re soothed into a pure space of submission. “You’re okay now, doll,” he reassures, rubbing up and down your thighs.

When he stands back up, balls finally popping out of your mouth and resting on your closed eyes, Taehyung drinks this filthy sight of you up once more. The apex of your thighs are gleaming with spit, torso smeared in his cum and mouth slathered with a dirty mixture of both. He takes a step back as you slowly rise, turn and sit yourself up on your knees with a cute little smile that’s a bit too hard not to return.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says instead, face unmoving like stone.

You smirk, eyes flickering down his chest and lingering all too long at his semi-hard cock. “Eating all that pussy really cleans out your mouth, huh?”

Your sarcasm about his foul language does not go unnoticed. He’s told you before and he’ll tell you again, “If you’re going to act like a cockslut, I’m going to treat you like one.”

He expects you to swear out of spite, spit at him, maybe even lunge yourself off the bed so you can fuck around some more on the very same cold floor he crawled over when he first arrived. Instead, you hold his gaze and move back towards the bed frame. Raising a brow, he can’t hide his confusion. Just as he’s about to crawl after you, your legs spread once again and you cup your wet pussy. The bite of your lip reminds him of the few times you’d fuck your finger while staring at that canvas.

“Is this how a cockslut acts?”

“Spread’em wider,” he teases, crawling his way between your legs.

The disarmed look that flashes in your eyes is enough to make him laugh. You chew on your lip again, giving your embarrassment away so easily. Taehyung rests himself between your legs only to flip you over so that his back rests against the bedframe and you sit awkwardly upon his lap. Your legs are somewhat intertwined with his. He can feel your folds settle around his thigh as it presses up against you too and he hisses quietly to himself. You lean forward to tease a kiss. When he tries to close the distance, you shove your arousal sticky fingers into his mouth and giggle.

Taehyung growls. He makes quick work of licking those fingers clean though.

“We’re gonna be late,” you whisper. He digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. With a moan, you change your tune, “We can just blame it all on the weather, though.”

How can he resist a smile now? He pushes your fingers out of his mouth and shoves his face between your breasts, hiding his smirk amongst kisses and nibbles of your skin. Your infectious laughter is enough to let him know that you’re onto him. Usually, it would make him shy and annoyed but he finds it comforting now. Not everyone could read him as easily as you can; not everyone tries to. He kisses up to your neck, tongue lingering around his initials on your collarbone for a moment, then grazes his teeth against your jawline.

In the midst of your fingers in his hair, moans within the air, your phone vibrates on the nightstand. You reach for it with a groan, holding his face against you until you read the name on your screen. “It’s Hobi,” you whisper.

Taehyung pulls away to raise a brow at you. “Why are you whispering?”

“He can’t know. Joon has a strict no romance policy in the office.”

“Okay,” Taehyung holds back a chuckle. “But, you didn’t answer yet so he can’t even hear us.”

You roll your eyes to cover your embarrassment and slide to answer. “Hello?”

Cute, Taehyung thinks as he presses a soft kiss to your neck, biting his lip when you shove him back against the headboard. He would’ve stopped then, hands still on your ass, if it hadn’t been for that eager look on your flushed face. Could you… in fact... like the idea of being heard?

“Yeah, we just woke up,” you reply in an uneven voice.

He decides to test out his theory, flexing his thigh a bit and rolling your hips against it. You bite down on your lip and tighten your grip on his shoulder.

“There’s a blackout?”

Taehyung looks around the room with you, thinking dim lighting was normal on a gloomy morning like this. He hadn’t thought much about the absent hum of the fridge until the blackout was mentioned.

“How could I know? I did just wake up.”

Your voice seems to be regaining its confidence, a detail that somewhat irks Taehyung. You’ve played far too many games this morning, had your way on one too many occasions. If you think that you can just call the shots whenever you'd like to, you’re sadly mistaken.

Taehyung digs his fingers into your hips, right beside the stretch marks he adores oh so much and guides your hips faster against his thigh. You hold the phone away for a moment, letting out a breathy gasp at the new force of his grip.

With a pointed look, you tell Hobi that you can manage your own way to work. Taehyung doesn’t care for that attitude at all. He lands a loud smack against your ass, smirking when you can’t contain your yelp.

“What was…? You okay?” Taehyung somewhat catches Hobi asking.

Glaring at Taehyung, you clutch onto his bicep and reply through gritted teeth. “Just fine.”

You’re fucking hot when you’re mad, he wants to tell you. Especially when you think you’re in control. He leans his head back, noting to himself that you seem to have forgotten who really runs the risk of caring whether or not the two of you get caught. With that in mind, Taehyung licks his lips and lets out a throaty moan.

Hobi’s voice suddenly gets quiet and your eyes widen. “What? No, I swear we’re not.” Rolling your hips faster against his thigh, you suppress your moans long enough to say, “I don’t care what Jimin told you! It was just dinner! Wha- No! We’re not dating!”

“That’s not what I said and you know it!” Hobi shouts back on the other end of the call.

Taehyung turns his head away from you, knowing that another moment of meeting your sexually blown and annoyed gaze would send him into an all too loud laughing fit.

“10 minutes?” you question, pulling the phone away from your face to let out a silent whine.

“Make it 20,” Taehyung whispers.

“Fuck you,” you hiss as you grind onto him faster.

The way his hand shoots up and around your neck is reactionary, he tells himself. But the way it squeezes down on your windpipe ever so softly is most definitely calculated. “Blame it on the weather,” he smirks.

“Gonna need 20,” you sigh, eyes twitching and hand trailing down his chest. “The blackout is a bit ha-rd to navi-ga-gate through ‘c-cause,” you take a moment to swallow a moan, “o-of the wea-ther and aa-all.”

Hoseok must’ve said something rather crude as your body stiffens (even while still moving harshly against him). You don’t even wish him a goodbye before chucking the phone aside and clutching onto his shoulders. “I hate you,” you cry as you get yourself off on his thigh.

Taehyung smirks, hands smacking down on your ass harshly. “Good morning to you too, babydoll.”

tags; @thedarkwinterrose​, @rooo-tah​, @nikkitane​

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[poppinisperfection]

Peter Maximoff x Reader// I Won’t Stop Till I Have You Back // WandaVision

Post Dark Phoenix X-Men & WandaVision fanfiction. FemReader and Peter Maximoff dating when he suddenly disappears. 

Word Count: 982 

Warnings: Cursing.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Wait, what do you mean?" (Y/n) raised a hand to her temple, trying to grasp what Hank was saying.

"He's alive, but he's not on earth." the blue beast explained while typing loudly on a clunky rudimentary computer.

"So he's in space?" Kurt chirped in confusion from behind the professor, as Scott paced the room in frustration.

"No, he is on earth, but it's a different earth..." Hank stared at the data and narrowed his eyes in confusion. (Y/n)'s eyes looked at the metallic walls, then closed them as her mind wracked. How they even got this far in the investigation alone was a miracle.

"I don't understand, how could he be here one minute," she gestured to the general area, "and then gone to another planet like that." she snapped her fingers.

"I... I don't know..." Hank trailed off, surprised at the nonsensical nature of their situation. (Y/n) shook her head with concern, giving a shaky sigh.

"When can Xavier get here?" she spoke through her exhale.

"We phoned his house in Paris, but they said he's out for the evening." he explained, flicking wires and twiddling with the technology.

"You'd think a telepath wouldn't need voicemail..." Scott complained. "You don't think this has something to do with Jean, maybe she's sti-" his hopeful train of thought was cut short, as the computer screen grew static and white noise appeared.

"What did you do?" (Y/n) neared the screen, furrowing her brows.

"I was trying to input his genetic details from the database - I didn't think it would do anything, it shouldn't do anything..." Hank shook his head, staring at the blank screen. The lines ran across the screen in a fuzzy motion, flickering every so often.

"Do you hear that?" Scott stepped closer to the speakers and listened intently. The group grew silent, and soon they could hear the muffled voices as well. Hank stood up and rushed to a drawer, pulling out some wire and wrapping it carefully - creating a makeshift plug-in antenna. He clicked it into the back of the computer, and suddenly the sound became crisp and an image appeared on screen.

"Television?" Kurt questioned, staring at the screen. A couple were fighting, in the middle of their living room. It just looked like a standard sitcom, like the ones that students always watched in their free time. "Vhy does he look like zat?" the young German referenced to the strange looking husband, slightly ironically, considering his unusual appearance.

"He looks like a mutant robot or something." Scott noted. The doorbell rang in the show, and the woman stood up cautiously. She opened the door and shock spread on her face.

"Wanda, who is this?" the man raised an eyebrow, as the back of a silver-haired head landed in frame. There was something ominous about the scene, and although the set up was light-hearted, the atmosphere seemed cold and strange. The strawberry blonde woman gave a soft gasp, before the visitor was revealed.

"Holy-"

"Shit!" (Y/n) finished Scott's sentence as she raised a hand to her mouth, stumbling forwards to get a closer look. Usually, Professor Hank would disagree with cursing, but in this case, he was about to say one himself.

"Peter..." (Y/n) breathed, staring at the familiar face that somehow ended up on the screen.

"Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death, or what?" Peter teased jokingly as a laugh track played on cue.

"Sister?" Scott piped up, but (Y/n) didn't dare take her eyes off of his features.

"Pietro?" the lady whispered with tears in her eyes as the silver-haired guy gestured for her to hug him, and she obliged wearily. The pair stood back and the camera panned to the whole room,

"Who's the popsicle?" Peter commented, before the screen faded and credits rolled.

"Wanda Maximoff..." (Y/n) muttered, reading the names as they appeared.

"But that's not Wanda, I've met her, that can't be her, she's his little sister..." Scott tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

"What frequency signal is this?" (Y/n) breathed, turning to the brainy professor.

"It's... It's not on a frequency, I don't know what it is." Hank stared at the computer, completely baffled.

"That has to be Peter." she ran her hands through her (h/c) hair in frustration.

"She called him 'Pietro'" Hank remembered.

"But zat means Peter." Kurt revealed, even though the group could have assumed that information. But his contribution caused (Y/n)'s attention to land on the navy skinned mutant. He stared back in confusion, as the gears in her head began to spin.

"Can you travel to places you see on a screen?" she asked, causing a wave of shock to crash over the group. Kurt stood back, too kind to reveal his concern over her suggestion.

"(Y/n), that's too dangerous!" Hank stood up in protestation.

"But if he can se-" she tried to argue.

"We have no idea where that is, it could kill both of you if you try to travel there." he interjected.

"Kurt." (Y/n) faced the timid fellow as his tail curled around his leg nervously.

"I vant to help, but ze outcome vouldn't be good..." he explained, wringing his hands together nervously. (Y/n)'s face fell flat at his response, hope fading from her eyes. This was not how she expected today to go. One minute she was sitting with her boyfriend, watching a movie and eating snacks; and the next she was standing here wrapping her head around some sort of inter-dimensional catastrophe.

The screen showed a 'stand by' sign, with accompanying beeps signalling the broadcast would happen again. All (Y/n) could think about was the fate of her Peter, and what was happening to him in that strange place. Determination painted her face, as she gritted her teeth subtly, whispering a promise to herself;

"I won't stop till I have you back."

[rightsockjin]

Emerald: Taehyung

Summary: Lingerie By Vante was a highly luxurious brand with the signature color of Emerald. That’s what brought you to the main sight to be fitted for your first ever set! But when the store closed early, you were forced to turn around, that is...until Mr. Vante himself offered to fit you in. 

Rating:M

Genre:SMUT!

Warnings: Sex in a public place but its empty so... Lingerie fitting. dry humping. masturbation. fingering. Sexy Taehyung... 

Word count: 4,027

Author’s note: This one is just smut y’all. Just pure smut.

Rows and rows of perfectly folded fabric decorated every surface. Soft pastels and bold electrics popped out every couple of spaces, but the emerald green was the overpowering flavor of the meal. It was draped all over the place. Covered in rhinestones and lace and satin. The lights were dim and seemed to flicker, almost like the light of a candle. When it was full, you assumed it must have been something that was overlooked, but being in here when it was empty made you look a little more closely.

        Lingerie by Vante had a reputation for having fantastic lingerie and the quality really couldn’t be argued, but it seemed like a shame that no one noticed the attention to detail that was put into the stores. In particular, the main store and the one that Mr. Vante himself frequented.

        He was rarely ever seen on the retail floor, barely ever seen at all, so standing there, watching him sort through an assortment of the signature emerald green sets in an emerald green suit was maybe too much culture shock for you to handle.

        “I don’t want to scare you off with something too crazy or too out there, so I think I can narrow it down to a good couple of these ones.”

        His voice was like the silk of the set he was holding. Deep and smooth and it felt like being touched for the very first time. You could feel your body buzzing with anticipation. When you had arrived earlier to get your first ever set of lingerie, you had done so alone and had thought that you would have to pick alone, possibly with the help of a female employee, but here you were being helped by the designer himself.

        “I trust that you know what you’re doing,” you said, though you didn’t remember opening your mouth to speak, but that definitely sounded like your voice.

        “So you don’t mind if they’re a little revealing?” He asked, still facing away from you.

        “Well, it’s underwear… so I guess not.”

        “Fantastic,” he said, grabbing something you couldn’t see. He turned over his shoulder, a bright rectangular smile and squinty eyes. In his arms there were three sets of expensive looking lingerie. All of which were very much out of your price range.

        “Let’s head to the dressing rooms! I think that these would fit nicely on your figure and the color is going to make you shine like the gem you are.”

        “Mr. Vante-”

        “Taehyung,” he interjected with a slight nod as he gestured in the direction of dressing rooms. You smiled and followed him, the nerves in you buzzing even faster than before.

        “Mr. Taehyung-”

        “Just Taehyung is fine, Miss Y/N.”

        “Oh uh… okay,” you agreed. “I don’t really know if I can afford such luxurious pieces.”

        “Just try them on,” Mr. Vante said as you rounded the corner to the slightly brighter dressing rooms, “if we like a style we can find you something more in your price range but the first set of Vante lingerie you try on must be in the signature color. No exceptions.”

        “But then you can’t sell those,” you pointed out as he pulled out a set of keys and opened the biggest dressing stall, the one usually reserved for the handicapped, and set down the three sets on the velvet covered bench. The mirror was decorated by chiffon drapes and dangly, sparkly, diamond things that you had seen on chandeliers.

        “Try them on in the order they’re set,” he suggested, sitting in the chair that was right outside.

        “Okay,” you answered. The soft jazz music that was playing in the background made you feel a little calmer. It let you forget for a minute that you were alone in the shop after hours. The door shut lightly behind you. You sat on the cushy bench. The scent of blackcurrant and bergamot wafted up to your nose. The scent went straight to your head and your blood. It was a heady scent. Addicting. No wonder they sold so many sets.

        Carefully you undressed, feeling a little awkward as you unhooked your bra. You hadn’t ever been naked in a place that wasn’t a house or a hotel and never with someone you hadn’t known well.

        You let the bra fall to the floor then slipped out of your already slightly soiled underwear. You felt guilty. Were you really going to put on, fresh, new, lingerie sets in the state you were in? Sure, it was rumored that Mr. Vante was into guys, but who could blame you? Anyone who had laid any eyes on him was at risk of- at the very least- falling into lust with him and you were no exception.

        Reluctantly, you slipped into an emerald green slip with black lace around the cleavage and the bottom edge. It was conservative, safe even. If you looked really closely, you could see the very tops of your nipples through the lace but it was almost not even there. You barely even considered this lingerie. It was more of a night gown. You could see your pert nipples through the silky fabric. You slipped on the matching set of black, lace underwear. You grimaced when you felt your growing arousal touch the expensive fabric.

        “Ready?” Mr. Vante asked, shaking you from your own thoughts.

        “For what?”

        “Well, in order to make sure I got the right pieces, I need to see them on you, sweetheart.”

        Your heart skipped a beat but you rationalized it in your head. If the rumors were true, then you had nothing to worry about, and there had never been any dating rumors when it came to Mr. Vante so you felt fairly secure in your assumption.

        “Oh, yeah. Right, of course! Yes… I’ll come right out.” You slipped the door open, taking a deep breath to keep the jitters at bay. When you stepped out, Mr. Vante didn’t even react. His face was calm and collected. His fingers held his chin up, his leg was crossed.

        “Turn,” he said, the emotion void from it entirely.

        You did as he said until you were facing him once again. His eyes roamed up and down your silk clad body. Your flesh burned where his eyes trailed but you did your best to fight it.

        “Change,” he said. Without another word, he shooed you with a wave of his hand. You blinked at him but did as he said, feeling slightly inadequate.

        You took off the first set and tossed it with your clothes in a semi neat folded pile. You picked up the limp and loose lace one piece. It was completely see through save for a single strip of cotton fabric where the crotch went.

        You slipped it on carefully, not wanting to accidently rip the delicate material. It fit like a glove and you marveled at Mr. Vante’s innate ability to tell your measurements without a single measuring tape. He was clearly experienced.

        “Are you in the next set sweetheart,” he called, his voice like the velvet all over the store. You could almost imagine the way that that silky voice would sound like calling out your name. Moaning between your legs.

        “Y-yeah.” Maybe thinking those kinds of thoughts weren’t the best idea.

        You opened the door again, this time, a little bit more self-conscious of the fact that he could see much more of you than you were accustomed to letting people see but you pushed it aside. He was most likely gay. There was no harm.

        He hummed this time, his eyes raking over your figure. This had been what you had had in mind when you thought of lingerie. Something sexy but not totally out of your comfort zone.

        “Turn,” he instructed again. You did so without complaint. You could feel his eyes all over your back, your shoulders that were exposed, your butt and the way it hung slightly out from under the lace.

        When you were back facing him, you expected to see him looking up at you like he had before, but instead, his eyes were firmly set on the deep V of the set. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, as his eyes moved from one boob to the other. Did they not look good in the lace?

        Then, like he had realized something, his eyes shot up to yours, his expression still blank, “Change.”

        “Does it not look good-”

        “Change,” he said again, not giving anything away.

        “Oh…okay.”

        Your heart sank. This had been a mistake. It was clear that you were disgracing his designs with your body. And you had really thought that you looked good in that last one. With a heavy heart, you pulled off the one piece and threw it to a corner, not caring where it went.

        Your eyes widened. The bra was a push up, giving you a bit more cover than the last two had, though if you looked closely, you could still kind of see through the light fabric. The panties were a mixture of lace and another, much more stretchy fabric to give it structure. What you didn’t expect was the little circle of lace that had two long satin ribbons and little clips at the end. Since you weren’t sure where it went or what it was, you simply held it in your fist just as Mr. Vante called to you again.

        “Ready yet?”

        “Mr. Vante-”

        “Taehyung, sweetheart.”

        “Taehyung,” you corrected awkwardly, “I don’t know how to put this on.” You held it up above your head, noticing a thin strand of pearls that ran vertically from the front to the back.

        “Come out sweetheart and I’ll help you.”

        You did so without question. The underwear dug between your butt cheeks, as un-sexy as that sounded, as you stepped out once again. The room felt warmer suddenly. Like someone had turned on the heater and it was pressing on your ever cell.

        You glanced over at the chair where Mr. Vante was sitting and were shocked, not that his face was still as flat as it had been the entire time, but that his green pants were tented at the crotch. He was leaning back now. His arms crossed over his stomach.

        Had you been wrong? Were all the rumors wrong? The whispers of why he had never been caught with a woman before? Maybe he was just really good at hiding his women.

        “What’s confusing you, sweetness?” He raked over your figure again. When he saw the lace in your hands, his eyes widened with recognition.

        “Oh, Sweetheart, this goes on before the underwear. Up to your waist.” You stared at the pearl line right down the center and balked.

        “So this thing-”

        “Goes right in your pretty little honey pot,” he said, standing suddenly and walking closer to you, “it’s probably as sweet tasting as it smells.”

        He took the fabric in your hands out of it. He held it by the beads that you just then noticed weren’t entirely round, but bumpy and slightly yellowed. You may not have a lot of money, but you knew that those pearls weren’t fake.

        “Would you like me to help you, Sweetness?”

        He breathed down your neck. You felt all the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. Your head was fuzzy. You must be dreaming. Why would someone so successful and good looking want anything to do with you?

        “He-help?”

        “I thought you would never ask,” he whispered in your ear. The music took a turn for the sexy. It slowed much more. A sultry voice. Filtered through the invisible speakers. You got a whiff of the same scent that had come out of the cushion in the dressing room with what you couldn’t possibly mistake as some sort of musk. It was coming from Mr. Vante.

        “Spread your legs for me, Sweetheart.”

        It was like you weren’t even controlling your body. You were on strings and his voice was the puppet master. You did as he said. No hesitation. No remorse. All obedience. It was the power he exuded.

        Without pausing, Mr. Vante hooked two fingers on either side of your hips and pushed the underwear off your frame. You should be embarrassed, being so bare to a complete stranger, your core dripping wet, but you felt comfortable. Like this was what you were meant to be doing this whole time.

        “Step out of them,” he said and you complied. You looked over at his face, a bit nervous that he would be upset that you had ruined a pair of his carefully crafted panties but the slightest smile pulled at his rose tinted lips when he saw the arousal on the fabric.

        “I’m going to help you put this on, ok?”

        You nodded your head as he kneeled down in front of you. His face was level with your center. His eyes fixated on it, like it was the most beautiful silk fabric he had ever laid eyes on. Without warning, Mr. Vante leaned in and at the very beginning of your slits set his lips atop it. You could feel that his lips were slightly open. The warmth evident against your skin. You braced yourself to feel his tongue but were disappointed when he pulled away, a thin strand of your arousal clinging at his bottom lip. He let his tongue slip out and collect the clear wetness and hummed, satisfied.

        “I was right. Just as sweet.”

        Without waiting for a response, he held out the lace fabric, like a parent helping to dress a toddler and looked at you expectantly. You placed one foot on either side of the pearl strand then held onto his shoulders as he shimmied it up your smooth skin. When it was up to your waist, he let go and reached between your legs where the pearls rested atop your slit. With ease and gentleness, he spread your slit and let the stones settle between . They were hard and cold against your center. You shifted slightly, making the pearls shift between your folds and you winced. The contact on your clit was unexpected but welcome.

        “How does that feel Sweetheart?”

        You looked down at Mr. Vante, his pupils blown wide as he watched you adjust to the undergarments. He looked overjoyed.

        “It um…It feels good Mr-uh Taehyung.”

        “I was hoping you would like it. Let’s finish the set then,” he pulled the underwear up making you step into them and pulled them up your legs. It held the pearls in place as you moved, again stimulating your sensitive clit. You jumped slightly as he snapped the elastic against your hip and settled the two ribbons in front of them.

        “Usually,” he kissed one of your thighs, “we’d connect these to some stockings,” he kissed the other thighs, “but since we’re just trying it on just for style, we can keep it like this for now.”

        He pressed another open mouthed kiss to your center, teasing you. A twinkle in his eyes gave it away as he pressed multiple kisses to your exposed skin still kneeling before you.

        “Get down here, Sweetheart,” he said, pulling you down so you were sitting on his bent legs. You felt his, clothed, member pressed against your slits. It was rock hard, like he had been turned on for a while with no solution.

        The pearls rubbed against your clit harder then, pushed against it. The texture was delicious. It was different enough to keep it interesting but not too different that it would stop the pleasure.

        “What are you doing Taehyung?” You asked. His hands rested on your hips. There was an inch of space between your face and his. The slight smile from before was still on his lips.

        “Well, I thought you might like a full preview of what this set can do when used as it’s meant to be used.”

        He pulled your hips down and thrust his hips up to meet them. Another shot of gratification traveled up to your stomach. Your skin started to perpetrate slightly. You were burning up. The motion at your core continued to stimulate you. You bit your lips, hoping that he couldn’t hear the little whimpers that were coming from your throat.

        “See,” he grunted slightly as he thrust up towards your entrance again, “the pearls are hand-picked- umgh- and are placed so that they- ugh- hit the woman’s clitoris,” he moaned softly, his eyes rolling back in his head, “and makes it easier for inexperienced men to please their partners.”

        You were struck silly as he spread up his thrusts, his fingers were digging into your hips, probably bruising your skin but it was worth it. You only wished he would fill you up somehow. Would it be weird to ask? This was all new territory for you.  

        “But for someone like me,” he pushed your hips around his hard bulge, “it’s just an added bonus.”

        He let his hands fall to your exposed ass. He gave it a squeeze with both hands before he let them trail lower. He used the hand still on your butt to push you closer to his body, his lips were so close to yours that it felt like he was pulling you to them.

        You were so distracted by the way that his lips called to you that you hadn’t felt when he had pushed your underwear aside. It was when two of his long fingers pushed past the wet muscles between your legs.

        Like the expert he seemed to be, he found the spot within your walls in record time. He pushed against it, never stopping his hips against yours. A wonton squelch echoed in your ears as he continued to push against the perfect spot within you. A blush rose to your cheeks, not used to being so wet or so turned on.

        “It looks like the set is working well,” he said with a chuckle. He gave one particularly good thrust that had the beads between your lower lips pulsating. You were already close. You were already at the precipice of pleasure. He was magical. Talented. In more areas than one.

        “Wonderfully,” you gasped out. It was getting hard having to hold yourself up. Your knees were starting to hurt from being bent but you weren’t willing to give up what was building to be an unimaginable orgasm.

        Taehyung’s lips locked onto your jaw, biting at the skin and kissing so softly it was almost nonexistent. Your eyes feel shut as your orgasm hit you hard over the head. Your mouth hung open and Mr. Vante took the opportunity to suck at the bottom one, running his tongue over your teeth.

        “Ah- Tae-Taehyung I…”

        “That’s it, Sweetness. Say my name.”

        You felt him push harder against the spot inside of you. Your body convulsed in his grasp. You only saw hot white and nothing more. Overstimulation set in suddenly and you tried to push him off of you but he held you in place, thrusting his hips and kissing your bruised lips.

        “One more, Sweetheart. Give me one more and then I’ll let you go.”

        You nodded, his fingers sped up. He nibbled on your lip and took the cheek in his hand and used it to push you onto him harder. Your orgasm built up much quicker than the one before and it hit you harder as well.

        You couldn’t help but moan loudly as he pushed you over the edge again. Your body convulsed in his hold. He slowed his fingers inside of you but only pulled them out when your walls stopped squeezing him in.

        Slowly and carefully, he pushed you off his lap and helped you lay on the carpeted floor. You held yourself up on your elbows, your knees up in the air and your legs still spread wide. When Taehyung was sure you were settled, he unzipped his emerald pants and pulled out his long, pulsating member. Your eyes went wide with shock.

        He started to pump himself into his hands. His eyes raked over your whole body hungrily. He looked like a tiger ready to strike and you were a juicy steak just for him. He fixed his gaze on your core which was so wet you were dripping.

        “Keep those legs spread, Sweetness.” He bucked into his enormous hand. Precum was running down his shaft. He pulled the two fingers that were in your center up to his nose. He took a big breath then sucked them into his mouth. He savored your flavor. His eyes rolling into his head as he popped them out of his mouth.

        “That’s it,” he groaned, reaching over to your sensitive slits and scooped more of your essence onto his long digits.

        “You’re so good, Sweetness. Where have you been hiding from me?”

        “Taehyung,” you groaned as he scooped more of your juices onto his fingers after sucking off the rest. A vein on the underside of his dick rose dangerously. You could basically see it pulsing as he neared his own end.

        “Yes, Sweetheart?”

        But you had nothing to say. You were so entranced by the way his hand moved up and down his shaft that your mind went blank. You could almost feel it inside you. The burn it was sure to give you and the speed he could surly fuck into your needy-

        “I’m so close,” he said through gritted teeth, “Show me your breasts baby.”

        Without hesitating, you unclipped the bra and tossed it aside so that your nipples were out in the open. Taehyung’s head fell heavily between his shoulders. He gave himself two more languid pumps then he hesitated and white hot cum poured out of him like a river.

        It ran over his hand and onto his emerald green suit. What a shame.

        When he came down from his high, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out an emerald pocket hanky that he used to wipe up the ejaculation. Without a second thought, he threw it into the garbage.

        “How do you feel, Sweetness? You like the model I picked out for you?”

        Taehyung helped you sit up, the pearls shifted again between your legs and you gasped, still too sensitive.

        “Yeah Mr. Vante… Taehyung.” He helped you to your feet, his eyes on your chest. He reached for a nipple and flicked it lightly. He leaned down, his eyes trailed on yours as he licked and sucked it into his lips.

        “Taehyung,” you groaned, letting your hand wrap into his hair. He pulled away with a loud pop before he straightened up to his full height. He smiled at you the way he had earlier when he was picking out your sets.

        “What do you say we move this party to my place, Sweetheart? Then I can really show you what my lingerie can do.”

        “That wasn’t it?” You asked completely floored as his eyes twinkled. He chuckled cutely, grabbing one of your hands and placing it on his cheek so he could kiss your palm.

        “That was just the beginning,” he assured. He let go of you and picked up the bra that you had discarded but didn’t make you put it on again.

        “Go put on the slip over this and we can head out, Sweetheart. That is, if you want to come along.”

        “Are you serious? I always heard that you were gay-” you snapped a hand over your lips, scared you had offended him but Taehyung was laughing, no sign of offence in sight.

        “So you’ve heard the rumors too haven’t you?”

        “I’m so sorry.”

        “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his eyes darkening, “I’ll prove to you I’m not, Sweetheart.”          He pulled you into his chest. Your boobs pressed against the material of his vest. Your core was ready to go once more and your brain was buzzing as you looked up at him, trapped in his strong arms.

       He kissed a spot on your cheek as you took the matching bra back. On the tag was his name and in big, bright letters, the line name Dynamite stared up at you.

[trexy225]

TSS-Chapter 1: The Sirens Song

Summary: Lesbian Pirates killing men woop woop

“Oh, I’ll tell you the tale of the Siren Queen, a fearsome seafaring lass! She’ll cut you all down if you get in her way so you better say your prayers fast! She plunders and loots with her all-female crew, sending all of the ships to their doom. They say that women are unlucky at sea… In a way, I suppose that it’s true!” Melody strummed the last couple of notes on her guitar, you stood up, cheering. Your macaw, Kate screeched her praise as well, you handed her a piece of coconut, which she chewed on happily. “Oh, Melody! Melody! That was spectacular! Oh isn’t she just the best?” You asked the terrified men sitting across from you at the round table, Melody blushed as she sat down.

“Oh, it’s all true Captain… What are we going to do with this lot?” she pointed to the men. “Yes, please enlighten us, Captain.” Alexandra or Alex asked, taking a swig of beer.

“I vant more beer!” Anya stumbled in her thick accent, grabbing Alexandra's beer and downing it in one go, you sighed.

“Are you serious right now?” one of the men asked.

You looked up, twirling Carla, your favorite knife around. “I don’t know… Am I?” You waved a barmaid over. “We’ll have another round… on them.” you gestured to the men. The woman nodded and hurried off, you looked back at the men.

“You said that you had something for the Siren Queen?” Alex asked, getting back to business, Anya stumbled over to the bar… You hoped that she wouldn’t start another bar fight.

“Yes, yes…” one of the men fumbled as he took out a map, you reached out to take it, but he grabbed your arm and yanked you towards him, you felt the cold barrel of a pistol against your chest, you laughed.

“Oh my, oh my! Look at you! Oh you’re adorable, isn’t he adorable Alexandra?” you asked, Alex had already gotten into position, her pistols aimed at the other two men, Melody had unsheathed her knives, you saw Anya watching the scene, ready to pounce when you needed her to.

“You murdered my brother you bitch!” The man sneered, and you groaned.

“I’ve killed a lot of men in my life, you’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“His name was Viktor Tentsky! And I watched you drive that wretched knife through his skull!” 

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about, you snapped your fingers. “Oh yes! That was on truth or dare night, you remember that Melody? Ah yes, Lilith said I couldn’t drive Carla through a man's skull.”

“Oh yes! Yes! And that was the night that Gale finally professed her love to Sunny!” Melody laughed, you laughed in return, the man laughed with you and then dug the gun into your ribs, you winced.

“I don’t find this very funny Siren-”

“It’s the Siren Queen.” you corrected him.

The man growled as he tightened the trigger, Anya was now up, she removed her Sovnya and was approaching the men. The bar was silent, you glanced at Alex, and that was the signal.

You twisted the gun away from you and towards the man, he ended up shooting himself in the gut, you laughed at that. Kate flew towards one of the men, flapping her wings, the man flailed around but stilled after Anya had speared him with her blade, Alex had already killed the other man, Melody watched in the corner, amused. After all that was over, you looked around to the stunned bar, you raised your arm and Kate flew over to you, you shot them all a glare.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, challenging them. Nobody responded. 

“That’s what I thought, barmaid?” you asked the girl, who whipped around, terrified.

“Y-yes?”

“We’re going to need all of your wine, beer, rum-”

“And Vodka!” Anya added.

“...all of it?” the girl asked.

“Yes, all of it. We have a cart outside, you men! Help her load it!” you yelled to a group of men, and one of them stood up.

“What are we getting in return?” He asked.

You shot him in the leg, and he screamed.

“Noth-” 

“OH DEAR GOD!! OH SHIT!!” The main wailed, and you pursed your lips.

“You will get-”

“OH, IT’S STUCK INSIDE ME!” “I’m going to need you to stop inter-” “ARGGGGHHHH!!!” the man continued, he was silenced by Alexandra's bullet through his skull, you smiled.

“Well then, do any of you have any objections?” you asked the crew, they all shook their heads and got up to follow the barmaid, you sat down and sighed.

“Just once I would like a day where I didn’t have to kill twenty men,” you muttered.

“Oh please, you love it.” Alex pointed out, you smirked at that.

“Yeah… I do, Melody!” you gestured to Melody, who played a few notes before bursting into song, you took a sip of wine as you hummed along.

“The Siren Queen is a mystical beast, spearing men of all sorts with her blade! I wish I could tell you it’ll be o-over soon… But you’ll be gone by the end of the day! Her ship glides all over the se-even seas, mermaid flag flying free, all maidens are welcome to join her crew and make all men cower on their knees!”

“We’re going to need to kill those men… You saw the way they were looking at that poor girl.” Alex muttered, you twirled the glass lazily, you saw the men load the last crate of liquor and got up.

“You’re right… Let’s go! It was a pleasure Robert, as always!” you took off your hat and bowed dramatically towards the bartender and owner of the pub.

“Get the hell out!” He barked, you guffawed as you stood up… He was a grumpy old man, but he had also saved your skin when you were starting out, therefore he was spared your wrath.

“Never change Robert! Come on ladies!” your crew followed you as you left the pub, you frowned as you saw the sight before you, the group of men had gotten drunk, and they surrounded the poor girl.

“Please, just leave me alone!” she pleaded.

“Oh but that would be no fun! Call this revenge for our dead friend…” one of the men grabbed her waist, and she struggled against it.

“I believe the young woman told you to leave her alone,” you called out from behind him, the man turned around, still not letting go of the woman, and he smiled. “And what are you going to do, huh? You don’t scare me, because, at the end of the day, I will still have all the power, won’t I?” he slurred, you tightened your grip around Carla, and Kate squawked. 

The lady stomped down on the man's foot, he let go, cursing.

“You fucking bitch!” he reached out for her, the other men got out their pistols, you grabbed the girl before he could and pulled her behind her, you glowered as you threw Carla into the man's chest, he gurgled as he collapsed to the ground, the other men opened fire and you all ducked behind some shipping crates, you got two other men through the head, Alex got the other three, and Anya had already gotten onto the supply cart, you took out Carla from the man's chest, he smelled terrible and grabbed the girls hand.

“I apologize for all of this-”

“No, don’t be… They had been doing that to me for years, I can’t stay here,” she said. “One of my crew members is a master at creating fake documents, we could easily make you disappear. Or you could join us, my crew may be ruthless, but I promise you that we take care of our own, not only will you be protected, but you’ll be respected, feared, and best of all, you’ll be free.” You offered.

“I know the legends they tell of you… I’ll join your crew.” the girl decided.

You grinned as you helped her up onto the supply cart.

“Alex, take us home!” you ordered, Alex snapped the reins and the horses trotted off to the port.

“Thank you.” 

“Although I am truly ecstatic to have you on board with us, are you certain that the pirate life is for you? There will be bloodshed, a lot of scars, and there’s no turning back.” You asked.

“I would rather live free with risk than trapped and safe,” she answered.

“Well, then Miss…” “Josephine Roberts, or just Jo,” she answered.

“Well Jo, I am so happy to have you with us!” you pulled her into a big hug, she returned the hug and smiled, you laughed as the cart approached your ship, your love The Sirens Song. Your crew helped gather all of the supplies and load them onto the ship, Stormy took inventory. You saw Rita, the one in charge of all supplies and food raise an eyebrow.

“Ay yai yai… Is all of this liquor necessary?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Fuck yeah! Oh I’ve been experimenting with some incendiary weapons and I need all the liquor!!” your munitions expert, Lilith exclaimed.

“You are going to get us all killed,” Rita grumbled.

“When I do, we’re going out in style!” Lilith cackled as they took a crate of liquor.

“Did you get the provisions I asked for?” A large woman, Cookie asked.

“Of course I did!” You reassured her, the cart was almost emptied.

“Where’d you put the liquor?” Peggy asked.

“Ma you just finished a bottle, give it a break,” Xiran complained.

“Oh, shush…” Peggy held out her hand to you, you rolled your eyes as you handed her a bottle of rum, she grinned as she took a swig, sauntering away.

Petra swung down, holding Mary Jane, who laughed.

“Ship’s ready to sail Captain!” Petra announced.

“Great job Petra! Are we ready to set sail?” You asked your navigator, Gwen.

“We are Captain, ready whenever you are!” Gwen declared proudly.

Josephine looked around, trying to take it all in.

“I know we’re incredibly dysfunctional, and that it’s a wonder that we haven’t all perished yet,” you told her.

“Well, you’re doing something right… Captain?” she offered.

“That’ll work for now. Everyone! I would like to introduce our newest crew member, Josephine Roberts! Or just Jo!” you gave an extravagant gesture to Josephine, who waved awkwardly. 

“Welcome to The Sirens Song, Jo.” You raised a wine bottle as a toast, everyone joined you as your ship sailed off into the sea. 

You were The Siren Queen, fearsome pirate of the seven seas, going around the world offering freedom to the women who needed it, this is your story. And it’s a damn good one.

[mrsparknamjoon]

04. take it back | reliability • kth

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pairing: taehyung x reader word count: 2.750 genre: drama, light angst rating: pg-13 warnings: cursing au: ceo/office trope: enemies to friends to lovers tags: ceo!taehyung, office!au, best friend!yoongi, unresolved emotional tension, mutual pining, slow burn crosspost: ao3

summary: after Y/N’s resignation, taehyung goes after her to apologize

A/N: this chapter was a little difficult to write, for three reasons: i wanted to accurately describe the emotional state of the two characters, even though this story is from tae's pov; leave some clues for future chapters and also narrate a movement in a verbal fight as believably as possible.

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Y/N's sudden resignation left me in complete shock, but something inside told me to stand up and go find her because I couldn't let that happen, she had to stay. She just had to. If I needed to beg, then so be it, but she couldn't leave Vante. Leave me.

In the lobby, practically out of breath, I stand before the elevators noticing that of the four, two are on different floors, one is on the ground floor and the other going up. I pressed all the buttons violently so that one of them would come to me and take me to Y/N, but amid my distress, I realized something:

She uses the stairs when she is angry.

This one time, after a meeting with a possible foreign client, Y/N disappeared. Nobody could tell me where she was or what direction she went. It was as if she had vanished like smoke. Hours later, visibly calmer, she entered her office where I was sitting with my feet up on the table reading some reports that she had left laying around.

“Mr. Kim, please show some manners and get your filthy feet off my table” Y/N demanded with humor but a serious face.

“There you are” I smiled, bringing my legs down.

“Do you need something?” she asked, coming towards me and gesturing for me to get up from her chair.

“Not really” I put down the papers I was reading and stood between her desk and a bookcase. “I just wanted to know if everything was okay and where were you”

“I needed to clear my head” Y/N put on her reading glasses and started organizing the papers I had messed up. 

I just nodded, respecting her space. After a few seconds of silence, I turned to the door to leave.

“When I'm nervous and need to think, I use the stairs instead of the elevator” she blurted out. As soon as I turned my head, I realized that Y/N was biting the inside of her cheek as if she had regretted sharing such information.

“No problem” I assured her with a nod.

It was the only thing I could do. She put up with four intense hours of the potential client questioning every little detail she presented, and yet she was able to keep it together and reply with civility. I recall seeing the physical effort she made to not lose her composure, since closing a contract with him would mean a lot to Vante, and well, the girl liked to win by any means necessary. If it was me, I might have missed the opportunity due to my temper, but that is precisely why I have her around — so she can run things the right way. Hiding out on the stairs for a while didn’t seem like a big deal to me.

“Stairs!” I said to myself, happy to have remembered that little detail just in time.

Running towards the emergency exit, I pushed the crash bar with full force. I started coming down the stairs as fast as possible but still couldn't see Y/N so I decided to lean over the main handrail, looking down into the gap that allowed me to see the other floors.

“Y/N!” I shouted, spotting her arm and purse as she walked through what appeared to be two levels below where I was. She immediately stops and leans to the right, looking up until our eyes meet.

“Please wait” I urged, holding out my hand in a 'stop' sign.

Y/N, however, didn’t give a shit and kept walking, paying me no attention whatsoever. I had no choice but to jump several steps at a time to get there as quickly as possible and stop right next to her.

“Listen to me” I panted, hands on my knees.

Y/N stopped for a moment watching my desperation, rolled her eyes, and started walking again.

“I need to tell you something” I said, taking two steps forward and putting my left hand on the rail, blocking her way.

“Move” Y/N pushed my arm, finishing the steps and walking through the space between flights.

“You are acknowledging my presence, great, it’s a start” I observed while she kept ignoring me. “Please, can you stop for just a second?”

“No”

“Then I’ll keep following you” I disclosed right behind her, arms crossed.

“Good luck, you're going to roll down the stairs” Y/N shrugged.

This was a test of patience. A big one.

“Y/N!” I pulled her by the arm.

“What?” she shouted. “What more do you want?”. Her eyes looked deeply into mine and I could see a clear mix of exhaustion and anguish. “What else do you want to talk to me about? Or should I say humiliate?”

“Take it back” I unintentionally whispered, feeling my throat dry and my heart pounding.

“What?”

“Your decision” I repeated more confidently, “Take it back. Please don't quit”

With that, I let go of her arm but not before my fingertips trace her skin gently on the way down.

Y/N looked at me astonished, “My God, you are fucking unbelievable” and went back down the steps, only now stomping her feet like a child. 

“I'm serious, Y/N, you can't quit, you're very important to the company!”

“Oh really?” she replied sarcastically, “That was not what it looked like five minutes ago. Do you think I'm stupid?” she looked back at me with her brows furrowed.

“No!” I quickly interjected. 

In all honesty, I was starting to get desperate. No words seemed right or good enough for her. I had obviously dug a hole for myself with this idea of scolding her in front of everyone and it was getting deeper by the second. Fuck, I messed up real bad! 

“Total opposite! You are extremely intelligent and competent, and..” I continued before she interrupted.

“Well, you certainly went out of your way to say that I was one for buying the shares” Y/N stopped abruptly and I almost ran into her back.

“Okay, that was stupid, you have to admit” I shrugged, making Y/N even angrier, “but… you’re smart and you did it with good intentions for the company” I added, giving a shy smile.

“Let me see if I got it right,” she crossed her arms and looked up, “you agree that I had good intentions and still decided to call a meeting with the sole purpose of humiliating me in front of everyone?” Y/N's gaze had dropped and now hovered over me making me swallow hard.

“Uh… yeah” I admitted, nodding.

“That’s ridiculous, even for you” she sharply exhaled and laughed at the same time but it contained no humor. “I thought we had a decent enough relationship for you to show me a little more respect” she fumed, pointing her finger at me.

“The mistake was serious, Y/N, there are things about Vante and Min that you don't know about” I pointed right back, taking a step forward and raising my voice a little. 

I was starting to get annoyed at how oblivious she was. Okay, I was an asshole and I didn't deal with the situation in the best way, but still, what she did was wrong. “Like I said, the purchase interferes with the agreement I have with Yoon Gi and I will need to speak to him tonight”

And that's how I got Y/N to finally shut up. She was visibly embarrassed. Now was my chance to explain, since she was forced to pay attention.

“And yes, I wanted to send a message to all shareholders about not respecting my rules. You know that my relationship with them has gotten worse in the last year and they are pressuring me to step down as CEO. I had to do something!” I ran my hands through my hair feeling exasperated.

“There” Y/N pointed her finger at me again, “Right there!”

I think the confusion on my face was evident because she soon explained herself.

“This is the reason why I quitted. You used me like I was the fucking secretary - no offense to Eun Ae - just to prove a point and look powerful in front of those assholes. You didn't have to do that”

“I know,” I agreed, rubbing my eyes, “now I realized that, I'm sorry Y/N”

Still with my eyes closed and taking a deep breath, I hear Y/N usher down the stairs.

“How was I supposed to know you would react like that?” I insisted, “Huh?”

“Uh, I don't know, common sense?” she waved her hands in the air, keeping her eyes forward.

“I thought you would be angry, very angry or that you would curse at me, scream, but not resign” I confessed approaching her, “You love this place”

Y/N stopped at the sound of my last statement taking a beat before turning around. Her back got tense. A couple of seconds after recovering from the shock, she hissed nervously “I don't… love” and looked me in the eye, pausing subtly before complementing “this place"

The way Y/N said that hurt me because I felt that she was simultaneously hiding something and rejecting me. I couldn't help my own shock at those words. We have worked so hard in the last few years, we achieved much more than everyone expected. She and I were the perfect team. How come she didn't like the company? Was she pretending all this time? There was no one else who worked as hard as Y/N. What is going on?

If someone had asked me 24 hours ago if she was happy here, I would have said without a doubt that she was, because everything pointed that way. How she planned out the strategies, how she talked to clients, the bulletproof arguments she used with shareholders, the silent laugh when I made a joke during those long nights where we did overtime, the contained giggles we exchanged when we closed a new deal and so many other quirks that only I knew, that only I saw.

Precisely because I knew so much, I was not ready to let go.

“But I do and I need to protect it. Please don't quit, I want you here” I begged.

Y/N’s eyes showed an inner struggle between believing what I was saying and any other feelings she had for Vante or even for me. Did she hate me? Was working here really that bad? It was so difficult to figure out. I thought I knew her well enough, but apparently, I don’t. I had to make myself clear then.

“I need you here” I said, taking her hand.

She immediately looked down as if our hands were on fire.

“Don't lie” Y/N pulled hers back and stepped away from me, “You don't need me here, we both know it” she said nonchalantly looking to the side as she straightened her clothes — which didn't even have wrinkles, by the way, I don't know who she was trying to deceive here.

“Can you, for once in your life, stop assuming what I feel or don't feel?” I shouted, losing my temper and making Y/N's arch her brows in surprise. “Most of the shareholders are fucking morons. When I started to deny their little perks and demands they ended up doing just the bare minimum"

Y/N pondered about what I said for a few seconds as I sat down at one of the steps, loosening my tie.

“It doesn't make sense... they would be jeopardized. They are shareholders, what happens to the company affects their profits”

“They did it in a subtle way, nothing really big. Just enough to make it stressful for me” I rested my forearms on my knees. “They want me gone, which is why I can’t lose the only person I trust in there” I glanced over Y/N to reassure her that I meant it. I do trust her. More than I trust myself.

“I thought you couldn't trust me anymore because I bought the shares” she argued, focusing on the wall in front of us.

“For God's sake, Y/N, why does everything with you turns into an argument?” I stood up. “Aren't we too old to be doing this?”

“We are and that's why I can't take it anymore” she agreed, also getting up. Her voice sounded defeated and exhausted. When she looked at me and gave me a faint smile before going back down the stairs, I felt that I had lost the fight and despair washed over me.

“You have a lot on your mind, I get it, I fucked up” I took a deep breath, trying to settle myself, “Go home, sleep on it and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Y/N’s gaze had changed, now she expressed complete disgust.

“Don't follow me” she warned, marching to the emergency exit and leaving me behind once again, only with the roaring noise of the iron door echoing on the cement walls around me.

* * * *

“I need to talk to you” I announced as soon as Yoon Gi answered the phone. “Can you meet me at Timber House in an hour?”

“No 'hello'? Shit must be serious” he fretted.

It was very serious for me. First, I needed my best friend to help me make sense of what happened tonight. Second, I must tell him about the shares as soon as possible so that we can find a way to reverse the deal.

As soon as I ended the call, I exited Dongbu Expressway and headed towards the Park Hyatt Hotel where my favorite bar was. The atmosphere was great, very private. The sushi was amazing and they had three types of Hwayo, which would definitely help me tonight. Yoon Gi introduced me to this place a few years ago and we have been going there ever since.

Once I got there and started descending to the lower level, I couldn't stop thinking about what Y/N said. ‘That's why I can't take it anymore’. I'm sure being an operations manager was stressful, but she never complained before. She seemed satisfied with her position. There must be another reason for her to give up, I just can't figure out what it is. And this is not about me just being a jerk, because she had to put up with many things over the years. I just hope Yoon Gi has some wise words to get me out of this mess.

I went through the big wooden door and turned right in the long hallway that made some turns before ending up in the dark and cozy lounge with several armchairs and tables. I could recognize this smell anywhere and the soft jazz melody playing in the background, mixed with the buzz of people eating and talking, made me feel at home.

Sitting in my usual corner and with my favorite soju in hand, I scrolled through my phone trying to distract myself until Yoon Gi arrived. After a few minutes, I saw him walking towards me. This guy looked like an angel of death. Elegant and sharp as always, dark hair and in an all-black outfit. A simple tee, knee-ripped jeans, blazer, and his classic Prada Saffiano leather booties. Definitely the opposite of what is expected for a CEO.

“Hey” he greeted as he sat in front of me and immediately turned to the waiter who quickly approached, “Ardbeg. Neat”

“What’s so urgent?” Yoon Gi questioned, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable.

“I have news” I started cautiously and he narrowed his eyes, “The first one is that Vante bought some Min shares without my authorization, the second is that Y/N resigned and the third is that one and two are correlated”

I drank the rest of the soju I had in my glass in one gulp, leaving Yoon Gi with wide eyes and a lot to process. I could see the gears in his mind spinning and trying to make sense of everything. I would laugh if I wasn't so desperate. The waiter, on the other hand, had impeccable timing because he arrived with Yoon Gi’s whiskey just right when he needed it the most and I took the opportunity to order the whole bottle of soju right away, leaving the tab open. 

This was going to be a long night.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 

𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 ❤ 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘀𝗸! 𝗶 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ revised version: 09.25.2021

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump day 3

Prompt: imprisonment

Warnings: medical trauma

read on AO3!

A Long Way Down

Bright lights pass in quick variables, and it takes Obi-Wan a moment longer than it should to realize he's lying on a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face and wires and cuffs on every available piece of skin. He groans, catching the attention of Commander Cody who is running beside the stretcher.

"Not to worry, General, we are almost at the med bay."

That is exactly why I am worried.

He reaches up slowly to pull the mask off his face as the stretcher slows, looking up at his Marshall Commander. "Cody... what happened?"

"An explosion, sir. Tunnel collapsed," he pauses. Cody already knows his follow up question. "The men are okay. You... Force-pushed them out of the way."

Well, that explains why my body feels like it has been crushed under a ton of rocks... supposedly it has. 

Obi-Wan has no memory of this, but from the grim looks on the faces of all the troopers surrounding him he suspects he 1. doesn't look good and 2. is as bad as he looks.

"How bad?" he asks as they guide the stretcher into the med bay and stop it next to a bed.

Cody looks at Helix, the medical clone who seems to be trying hard not to make eye contact with him. With the penetrating stare of both his Commander and General, Helix finally looks up from the datapad.

"We're gonna have to dunk you, General."

He blinks, letting the words slowly settle into his discombobulated brain. Usually, he would protest. Make a fuss about being fine, because usually, he is, and medical can put their resources elsewhere. Usually, they would lock the doors as soon as he enters-- he glances over and yes, they did. What am I going to do, run? Obi-Wan is fairly sure both of his legs are crushed judging from the odd angles they are at, so he isn't sure how they expect him to make a break for it.

But today, Obi-Wan just lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling. He cannot protest because the tightness in his throat won't let him. He's afraid to open his mouth again because if he does his words will turn into sobs and his men do not deserve to see their General cry.

He can feel Cody and Helix's surprise. He doesn't have to look at them to know they are now even more concerned for him now that he hasn't tried to raise hell about being taken to medical. But they also seem to be relieved, so at least he can give them that respite.

He stares at the ceiling as movement begins to happen around him. Medical troopers pulling at the needles and sensors, inserting new ones. It all fades into a blur of hands touching him gently but firmly, frequent pinches and jolts of sharp pain, and the cool stickiness of applicators against his skin. Obi-Wan just stares at the ceiling.

He is fairly convinced that every medical facility has the same designer. Even the Jedi Halls of Healing have walls that are stark white. Sterile white. So bright they rival the glow of the iridescent lights, which is a design flaw in his opinion. Obi-Wan has spent a lot of time seeing these ceilings-- but not because he has spent a lot of time in medical. There is a reason he doesn't like to end up in the med bay, and the reason haunts him every time there is even a prospect of him having to go to see a healer.

Seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had feet too big for his body. It's like he began to hit a spurt, but only his feet realized that growth was the plan and the rest of his body was still figuring out how to stretch his small stature a few inches taller. It gave him the unfortunate nickname of Oafy-Wan, coined by his age-mates who he didn't exactly consider his friends. His clumsiness wasn't horrible, but it was distinctive enough to cause him a bit of trouble when practicing lightsaber katas and doing his physical activity tests.

On this particular day, seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had already had a very bad day. He fell in the middle of a practice spar in front of everyone. He wasn't even doing an acrobatic move or anything, he just fell over his own feet. The roar of “Oafy-Wan” was the only thing he could hear as he stared at the floor in shock of how quickly everything had transpired. Despite Bant's sympathetic reassurance and his other friends trying to overpower the chant, he spent the rest of the lesson trying to make himself as small as possible.

His pouting continued through the day, even to their long-awaited field trip to the Senate Rotunda. He walked with his creche mates, tuning out of their excited conversation of seeing the massive Galactic Senate chambers and instead focusing on the speeders rushing past just meters away from them. He wished to just jump into one and speed away from it all. Despite his prior excitement for this journey out of the Temple, he now wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and curl up in his bed.

"Don't trip, Oafy-Wan," a familiar snide voice rings in his ear. He turns to see Bruck Chun, one of his age-mates that often leads the cause against him, sneering at him. "It's a long way down."

They're walking along a more narrow section of the street. Just a few meters to the left there is a deep chasm that goes into the lower depths of Coruscant. So deep he cannot see the bottom.

Obi-Wan brushes him away, in no mood to deal with him. "Get lost, Bruck." His arm presses into Bruck's side, pushing him away, which is not to the pleasure of his age-mate. Bruck's eyes narrow, and he jabs his elbow into Obi-Wan's back.

"Don't push me."

Anger surges in Obi-Wan's chest as he staggers forward. He whirls around and uses both hands to push Bruck into the wall of the building they are passing. A few initiates have stopped now to watch them, but as they stand at the back of the group the mass have not noticed their tussle.

"Funny, it seems I'm doing just that."

Bruck runs at him this time, his anger potent in the Force, and Obi-Wan suddenly has the clarity that maybe this isn't a good idea. He jumps out of the way of Bruck's charge, vaguely aware he is standing at the edge of the street now. Bruck skids to a stop.

"Coward," he spits, just as the Master leading their field trip calls for them to stop lagging.

Obi-Wan avoids Bruck's gaze as he passes by him, pointedly smacking his shoulder into his. Obi-Wan sighs, and turns to join the group.

As he turns, he finds himself suddenly caught in the air stream of a speeder that is too close to the sidewalk. He feels his small body lifted off the ground, and he flails in fear at the lack of anything for him to grab onto. A chorus of yelling erupts, most of them either calling his name or Master Vant. Obi-Wan can see the ground, and he tries to position his feet to land there, but another passing speeder sends him into a tailspin.

And Obi-Wan falls.

Even years later as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan remembers falling down that speeder shaft. When he thinks about it he can hear the screams of his friends as they watched him fall. He can see them peering over the side. Master Vant running up and raising her hand to reach for him in the Force.

Had she reached him a moment earlier she probably could have saved him. But his downward momentum was suddenly ceased as he crashed against a speeder before she had the chance to cushion his descent. And he was met with horrendous pain and the taste of blood. Much like how he feels laying in the med bay now. Everything afterward was a blur.

"Are you ready, General?" Helix asks. Obi-Wan looks past him to see the bacta tank is all set up. Obi-Wan swallows hard, and he says nothing, but Helix takes that as a yes. His stretcher starts to float toward the tank, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the horrible memories come rushing back.

Choking. Obi-Wan expected to wake up in a reality beyond life-- he truly believed he would be returned to the Force, but instead, he woke up choking. He started to panic before he opened his eyes, and when he finally tried to find the reason for his restrictive breathing the initiate realized he can't see either.

He tries to thrash around, but his movements seem to be restricted somehow. Like he is tied up, but he can't feel bounds. His body just isn’t listening to him, which is even more terrifying. He tries to blink through the thick goo that seems to be covering his eyes, but it won't clear. It burns instead. He's trapped in a senseless prison, and he lets his panic radiate outward into the Force. He needs someone to hear him. Find him. Anything.

The Force responds with a collective feeling of shock. He repeats his plea for freedom, and finally, he hears something. Distant talking. Yelling, actually. Frantic. There is the deafening sound of suction, and then Obi-Wan is falling again. Slower than before but in his mind's eye he sees his friends staring down at him. Laughing at him. Oafy-Wan! They cackle. It's a long way down.

He hits the floor. The gel material that once encased him sloshes everywhere. His body curls into a ball and he feels many pairs of hands grabbing him and positioning him onto his back despite his protests. The touches are not comforting. Their goal seems to be to push him right back into the place he just escaped, and he begins to sob in terror. The voices are blending together as his vision begins to tunnel again.

"...sedative wasn't enough."

"How did he wake..."

"Get him back under!"

It was explained to him by one healer that his IV fell out of his arm. Another told him that the dosage was too light. A third said the adrenaline caused his metabolism to spike, making the correct dosage go quicker. Obi-Wan isn't sure why he woke up while in the bacta tank that day, but he suspects knowing the reason wouldn't have changed the panic he feels every time he has to take a dunk.

Obi-Wan grabs Helix's arm as he is about to inject his IV. The medic freezes and looks down at him.

"You have my correct doses from the Temple, correct? For the general anesthetic?"

Helix blinks before nodding. "Of course, General."

"And you know Jedi tend to metabolize quicker as well? You will have someone monitoring my consciousness?"

"Yes sir, we have detailed training from your healers on Jedi care. We will ensure you receive the right dose and don't get too much anesthetic."

He nods with wide eyes. His medic is slightly off in the reason for his inquiries, but it is comforting enough.

Even so, as the drugs begin to take him under he can't help but feel like he is seven again. Faded conversations of the medical troopers become the hushed words between Jedi Healers. The same fear of waking up within the tank again grips him with an iron fist around his already-intubated throat.

Never again could he look at a bacta tank and see it as an innovative medical advance. To Obi-Wan, it is a torturous prison that causes his fear to shamefully make an appearance.

He is positioned into the tank. The transperisteel doors close around him, and already he can feel his heart rate elevating. Why am I not asleep yet? Why am I still awake for this? Am I to do this conscious?

The bacta starts to fill at his feet slowly. He feels the urge to lift his legs and climb away from the rising gel, but his body has already separated from his mind. He cannot slam his fists against the doors and beg to be let free. Cannot scream with the tube down his throat.

As the bacta reaches his knees, he finally feels the heaviness reach his eyes, and Obi-Wan says a last plea to the Force to let him stay asleep for the entirety of his imprisonment.

[averagespawn]

Wrote a fanfic...might make more and add to it...there is an oc.

The cold…it was so cold.

  Her first memories were in the bleakest part of the year.

 And it was….so, damn, cold.

 The mattress she woke up on was resting on a wooden floor with dirty stone walls. The only noises reaching her were the brisk footsteps.

Her eyes were still blurry, but she could make out figures standing in front of her. Two hefty figures in grey uniforms and two in white coats.

“They…. were…talking? Mumbling? “What were they saying…?” She thought.

One of the figures in a white coat knelt next to her and shined a bright light into her eye, then moving over to the next one. Then got up, said something to the other white coat, and left the room with the others, but not before locking the metal door behind them.

 Her head was pounding, spinning, and doing everything that it was not supposed to do. She struggled just to roll over and get on all fours before collapsing on her stomach. She felt weak, as if heavy weights were strapped to her arms and legs.

She lied there for some time before trying to bring herself up again, using the dusty stone wall to support herself. It was taking a lot of energy just to get on her feet, leaving her winded and aching all over. She held this position for a while before taking one step away from the wall, allowing her to support herself.

“Ich sehe, Sie wach sind,” said a deep, old voice.

She opened her eyes and looked around, vision still a bit blurry, but able to make out details much better. Towards the door it was a figure in a white coat accompanied by a man in a grey uniform, who was armed with a rifle.

“W-what d-did you sss-say?” It was hard to talk as well…. anything other than laying down was difficult to do.

“Ah! Englisch. Vhat I said vas, I—see—that—you—are—avake,” the deep, old voice said slowly, enunciating every word. “Vhy, don’t you rest, hm?” he gestured to the mattress on the floor.

She slowly began lowering herself, collapsing to the mattress once more.

“Are you…avare? Can you talk?”

She was lying face up, resting her hands on her stomach “y-yea, I--think—so.” Her head was still spinning but her vision was becoming less blurry.

“Very good. Now I am going to ask you some basic questions and I vant you to anshure them as accurately as possible, do you understand?” The man in the white coat grabbed a chair and clip board, settling himself against the metal door across from her.

“Uh, sure.”

“Good. First question, vhat is your name?”

“It’s…. uh….um…uhh…….” She paused and widened her eyes, “I don’t……. I don’t…. know.”

“Next question, vhere are you from?” She kept staring towards the ceiling, eyes wide with her hands wringing. “Are you shtill vith me?”

“Oh, um, yeah…what was the question?”

“Vhere are you from?”

She paused again, shutting her eyes tight hoping it would give her an answer, “I…. don’t…..know…” She began to feel her chest tightening.

“Strange. Vhat is today’s date?”

“I don’t know….”

“Hm, are you sure?”

“Y-yeah,” she was still wringing her hands and shutting her eyes tight, as if that was going to bring her memory vacj.

“Last question. Do you know vhere you are?”

“…..No,” she had no hope for her memory.

“How unfortunate,” the man in the white coat writing down on his clipboard.

“C-can I ask some questions?” She asked, pinching her left temple.

The man looked up, cocking an eyebrow up, “I suppose so.”

“What is *your* name?”

“You can address me as, Dr. Maxis.”

“Ok, where are…*you* from?” She was beginning to try to prop herself up and lean against the wall. She made eye contact with her interviewer, an older man who looked to be in his 50’s, bald, with a thick white beard.

“Germany.”

“We’re in Germany?”

“Yes,” Dr. Maxis remained very direct and stiff, with no fluctuations in his voice and little body movement with exception to the occasional writing on his clipboard.

“What is today’s date?”

“October 19, 1945.”

She could not put her finger on it, but that did not seem right, “a-a-are you sure?”

“Vhy vouldn’t I be?”

She gave a small shrug and began thinking of a retort when another man in a white coat came to Dr. Maxis. They both began speaking German to one another, as she began to stand up once more, using one hand on the wall to balance herself.

“You! Young woman! What is that on your ankle?” The other balding gentleman barked at her in a posh British accent.

“Huh?” The woman responded. Before she could react, the balding man pushed her back into the ground and pulled her right trouser leg up. “What the hell are you—!”

“Tätowierung…letters J.V.” the man looked back at Dr. Maxis who sat calmly in his chair. “Do you think she came from a nearby facility?”

Maxis paused and looked at the woman, who was still being pinned by the other man’s hand. “No…it’s far to decorative. Hm, J.V., and I am assuming you do not know vhat that means, do you?” Asked Dr. Maxis.

“I don’t.”

“Vell, it is much easier zhan a serial number, so…” he wrote on his clipboard before continuing “JV is your label from now on, you vill do vell in answering to it,” Maxis said as he placed the chair back out in the hallway along with coaxing the other gentleman out, “it is best you do try to remember, ja?”  Before she could retort, the metal door closed followed by the sound of a heavy lock.

JV felt some relief with them gone, but the noises around her were nerve wracking.

If she listened hard enough, she heard talking, shouting, vehicles, electrical arcs, and the occasional sound of gunfire. It could not have been a prison; it would have been far quieter and more confined. Maybe, it is a laboratory? A factory? A small town of workers? Whatever it was, the environment dealt with electricity, people, and mechanics, and it certainly was not home.

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

“What a goddamn hell hole…heh…” muttered Tank. A large, violent, and intense American marine who breathed rage and patriotism. “I’ve been in worse, much worse….,” this is the 101st time he repeated this sentence to himself today. Given the chance there would be no doubt that he would kill every guard in this building, make it to the northern shore of Germany and swim across the channel to England. No doubt in his iron-clad head he could do it, but until the bars the walls were made from something softer than concrete and the door was not metal, he would have to bide his tim---

           “Halt den Mund!” Shouted the German guard outside of his door.

           “I don’t know what the fuck you just said but……fuck you,” Tank snapped back. He was laying down on his wire bedframe mattress waiting for the next event in his capture to take place. Be it injection, interrogation, or whatever trouble he could stir up with his personal guard. None of it bothered him as it all his escape plan depended on timing, just like his time with the Japanese, though the enemy was more organized here, there certainly were weaknesses.

           “Eez-vahn-nee-*hic*-tihye….Amerikan….helllLLlooOooO, I have …*hic* idea….. do you want to get out of here…heHehH *hic* Heeeh,” the drunk Russian slurred from his adjoined cell room. Tank had the ‘fortune’ of being in a cell connected with a drunk through a ceiling high, barred window.

           “Jesus Christ, for the ump-teenth FUCKING TIME! SHUT IT!!” Tank yelled back, “you wouldn’t even know how to walk down the hallway! Let alone use a rifle!”

“HALT! DEN! MUND! HUND!” the German soldier shouted through the opened viewing window of Tank’s cell door.

           “HeEeEEeeEEEY, t-th-dis-this Russian knows Siberia like back of h-hand,” he said as he stared in his palm “hallway is easy! As for rifle….eh….vwhat was I saying? Eh…fuck it” The Russian began to

           “Riiight,” Tank began throwing small pebbles at the wall from his bed. He found it funny that when he talked to himself the guard would yell, but when someone else started a conversation the guard would not say shit. Go figure. Favorite-having-kraut bastards.  

           “—und zhis is vhere our current speshimens are,” a shrill voice said from down the hall, catching Tank’s attention. “Here ve have a Russian who has been injected vith a modified compound, which SO HAPPENS to be similar to vodka…. complete coincidence, I promise.”

“Showing us off to another gullible group of yours Rich-y-tick? Alright….I’ll play along….” Tank muttered as he got up from his metal cot.

“Zhis is our Japanese man, he does not shpeak much, exshecpt some muttering, but he has proven most USEFUL in our research…shilence is golden after all.”

When the shrill voice reached Tank’s cell, he hid directly underneath the cell door’s viewing window. “Now zhis speshimen is something of a ‘challenge’ so to shpeak. He has a verrry shtrong vill! But zhat is zha best of him.” the shrill German doctor opened the viewing window “Now gentleman if you so like to view the shpeci--.” The doctor paused, whispering a soft, “vhat?”

“Is there a problem Dr. Richtofen?” A man dressed in a grey SS uniform asked.

“Oh, no no, of course not Offizier!” Richtofen was playing it cool but not seeing the American in there was more than a little worrying. “Just one moment, if you please, I vill meet vith you back in zee atrium. Wachen[1], if you could escort zhem please?” As the group began to walk up the stairs, Richtofen ripped open the cell door.

“Gotchya…” Tank breathed. The minute he saw the doctor’s white coat Tank pulled him in, slamming the door behind, leaving only him and the man that has been torturing him for a month in the same room. “A LITTLE TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE YOU FUCK!!” Tank grabbed the thin doctor’s throat pinning him to the wall with one hand, while landing a solid punch to his stomach.

Richtofen began gagging and wheezing, but not without a wide smile on his face. “You fool!” He began to cackle like a madman, but it was silenced with Tank’s fist to his face, sending him to the ground with a bloody nose. Richtofen remained unmoving but breathing.

“Alright! It’s been some time since I worked out, now…where are the keys?” Tank bent down and began searching the doctor’s pockets, as he moved on from the coat pockets to pants pockets, he felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his arm. Looking back towards Richtofen’s face there was an almost unnaturally large grin.

“Hehehe, nice try American, I appreciate zhat tumble, but it’s time for bed, schweinhund,” with a loud thud Tank fell forward followed by his raucous snoring.

           Richtofen got up, dusted himself off, licking the blood off his lips and using a handkerchief for the rest if his face.

“Just a little bit more time, heh heh, zhen….zhis vill all be vorth it.”

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[1] German: guard

[dreamcatcherjiah]

🎐Bubbles (Yoongi!Producer x Reader!Writer)

Bubbles Masterlist

Part 26

Plot: Yoongi, a famous music producer, and y/n, a writer, had been neighbors for a couple of months when Yoonji and her dad moved to the apartment in between the two. Due to some unbelievable coincidences, these two weird incompatible people were appointed baby Yoonji’s babysitters. What will they do when something happens to Yoonji’s dad and she’s left alone in the world?

Yoongi was pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the mahogany coffee table Namjoon had bought. Y/N and Yoonjinie were doing some grocery shopping for the dinner both of them were cooking for her parents. The idea was having an early lunch close to their place, go for a little walk and then Yoongi and Y/N would go back home to cook, while her parents took the little girl to the park. That was an easy plan. Easy enough at least. That was not what Yoongi was worried about. Ever since moving to the apartment five years ago, he had been so caught up in Y/N that it hadn’t even occurred to him that he could date. And before that, none of his relationships had gotten serious enough to meet the parents. And this thing with Y/N was next level serious. He had popped the question, they were parents already to a beautiful, intelligent and ever-growing little girl. Yes, they had done everything backwards, but he could see a future with them both, he could picture himself loving them forever, and being surrounded by their love. So, why was he so nervous?

The tie he had chosen that morning was suffocating, the shirt too rigid and the sock on his left foot was wrinkling. His clothes seemed totally over the top for the casual get-together that was fast approaching but he couldn’t for the life of him decide if Y/N’s dad would see this as overdoing it or as not being up to par. He stopped himself in the process of biting on another nail, too munched to be called a nail anymore, but still. If his girls didn’t arrive soon enough he felt like he was going to go positively mad.

Another thing was the issue with the parental rights. Y/N had told him that her parents weren’t really happy with the arrangement of the adoption and were worried of the situation that would arise if their relationship went down the drain and they had to fight for custody. Choosing to ignore the vacant lack of confidence his in-laws had in him not screwing up the best thing that had ever happened to him, he wouldn’t say custody was a big concern of his. Having discussed it at length in the early days of their parenthood, when their relationship was nothing more than tension and sideways glances, both parents had agreed that whatever their relationship was it would never affect their daughter. And that wouldn’t change now that they were about to become a proper family. The grandparents worries would have to be quieted, if not dismissed tonight.

What would her parents think when he introduced himself? Was he setting himself up for a disappointment in assuming that he would be able to win them over?

God, this tie was really gonna choke him.

He gave up on it, and threw it still knotted into the closet, out went the uncomfortable shoes and the wrinkly sock, replaced by a pair of neat jeans and trainers. This was Min Yoongi, not some fake rich-boy-wannabe. This was the person who proposed to Y/N, the one who intended to be the best husband and father he could possibly be. And whoever disagreed with that could very much stuff their rusty old opinions.

He hears the sound of the door opening and the beeping sound of the lock blocking again and the sweet voice of his daughter calls to him.

‘DADDY! Mommy says that if I’m good we’re going to the park!!’ An excited little thing throws herself at him and he barely manages to keep his balance and lifting Yoonji up in the air.

‘And mommy is totally right! Are you going to be so good that daddy will give you candy?’

The eyes of the little girl go as big as saucers, while Y/N’s turn to him with a judgmental look, as if saying “You’ll be the one who has to deal with her sugar rush at bedtime.” Meanwhile Yoonji is beaming up at him with the most adoring smile she can manage, worshiping Yoongi in a way that makes his heartstrings hurt every time. This little girl right here is why he keeps going.

‘That’s right, my love. You have to be on your best behaviour today, and I will take you with me to the studio on Monday. What do you say?’ He asked, putting her down, and leaving a loving kiss in the crown of her head. ‘Would you like to see uncle Hobi practice for his big show?’

‘NO!’ She shouted immediately.

‘No?’ Asked Yoongi, perplexed. What he had learned in his brief time as a father — was it going on a year now? Woah, time really does fly — was that this little girl didn’t reject any opportunity to be around her uncles. Just thinking about it, rage comes back when remembering the panic he felt that time Taehyung “kidnapped” his child. So, if she loved her uncles so much, why was she saying no to going to the studio on Monday?

‘I want to stay with you, I want to sing.’ These words just undid Yoongi. Whatever else his daughter could have said was meaningless. It had happened only one time, when she was around two years old. Both him and Y/N disliked her being on the studio because of the loud noises and the very high possibility of her getting lost, so that day was the first and only exception. Yoongi had taken her to the Genius Lab, tucked her between pillows and blankets in the sofa and let her sleep while he got some producing done for Jin. From once in a while, he would turn around, see that she was still sleeping and go back to work. He got absorbed and then felt a small tug on his sweatpants. Looking down he say a standing Yoonji, in wobbly legs, but standing nonetheless, looking at him with those big inquisitive eyes and her little mouth hanging open. Her expression of wonder had been nearly too much for Yoongi, who took her into his arms, settled her on his lap and kept working. The bass was something she proved to enjoy, clapping her hands happily when the low vibrations came from the speakers, so Yoongi would boost it or not depending on her reaction. When Jin’s voice came, she would look at him as if saying ‘UNCLE JIN!’ And he would laugh at her gaping expression and repeat the track. Little by little, he modified the song in such a way he wouldn’t have been able to do had he been alone. When he looked back at the child, she was fast asleep, holding the front of his hoodie in a tight fist and nesting her face on Yoongi’s elbow. He hadn’t even noticed the baby was asleep. That day, he realised the depth of his feeling for this small human. His life would be empty, or dreadfully boring at least if he had to go back to living without Kang Yoongi.

Looking now at her, two full years passed and still remembering that moment, almost brought tears into his eyes.

‘Then you got it, my love. On Monday, it will be daddy daughter time!! Do you like it?’ He asked the little girl, who yelled a loud ‘YEAH!!’ and left running for her room, where her toys were waiting for her to play until it was time to go for lunch.

Yoongi went to the kitchen and found Y/N putting the groceries away, and goes automatically for a hug. He turns her around and locks his arms around her.

‘We are raising the sweetest little girl.’ He hides his face on the nook of her neck. ‘She owns all my heart and I am ready to give her all, she is…’ his voice gets stuck on his throat.

‘My love, are you emotional?’ Asks Y/N, trying to give a funny turn to the moment, knowing that Yoongi shies away from really emotional situations, but this time he only nods and holds her tighter.

‘I love you.’ He says, and even though it is the first time he says it out loud to her, the words hit home truer than ever. ‘I love you both.’

When the time for lunch arrived, Yoongi wouldn’t let go of his daughter. The little girl was just too happy and you thought that was so cute. You had chosen a little Italian restaurant where the atmosphere was calm and Yoongi wouldn’t feel the hostility that would be coming from your dad. You weren’t worried about your dad giving Yoongi a really hard time. From what you had gathered last weekend, both your mom and dad were incredibly happy that you had found someone to settle down and raise your daughter. Granted, you could have raised her on your own if the situation had required it, but the fact that you were so happily in love meant the world to them so you weren’t worried at all.

When the three of you got to the restaurant, your parents were already waiting for you. Introductions were made, Yoongi being polite and respectful, shaking your father’s hand firmly and giving a sweet hug to your mother, who was a bit emotional after seeing Yoongi looking at both you and Yoonji as if you hanged the moon.

Conversation was quick and fluid, kept away from sensitive topics until your father decided to open his mouth.

‘I trust that you will ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage before putting the ring back on her finger? I can see the mark from here, son.’

The only sound that could be heard on that side of the dining room was the one your hand made when it collided with your forehead.

Tag list: @daydreamindollie @live-2-fangirl @mizz-kraziii @rjsmochii @jiminslovly @igotarmyofarohas @desteweirdo @chewymoustachio @lvnakook @sugapaste @salty-for-suga @expensive-grl @threedecadesofawkward @elegantfanshoelover @jisnuq @krystalizando @littlestsweetpea28 @chogiyeol-utopia @delilaahbards @agusttaegid @thebookishnerdsblog @kisskissshutmydoor @httppbaby @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @mabel-k3 @thenocturnalreadingotaku @midnightxxxmemories @tirednation @jayhope88 @peachesandviolets @tremendousminyoongi @super-btstrash-posts @orbitjoon @adoreguk @officiallyjyptrash @vante-visuals @taehyung-is-cute @its-yagirl-raelynn

A/n: Hello sweets!! I’m back!! I am so so happy to be able to return after almost a month!! I have tried to add you all to the taglist but some of your blogs weren’t showing up. If that is the case, send me an ask please and I’ll try to add you💜💜

I’ve missed you so much, loves and I’m so glad to be back💗💗🥺🥺

Love 💜🌙

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompts.Week 46

[Full Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist] [Tag yourself here]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester. Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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        Nov 12th - 18th

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Kim Seokjin - bitter

Kim Seokjin was a model student, as well as both a model and a student. He excelled in everything and was loved by all, the only problem was you. You were always there either ahead, beside, or behind and you didn’t even try. Here he was trying his hardest with his studies and taking care of his appearance, skin, diet, and fitness. Not to mention struggling to get modeling gigs around the school, he would fight tooth and nail and you were rocking up last minute getting calls to join his photo shoots. He couldn’t escape you.

But the fans loved you together, they had started to ship you both bringing up your intertwined paths and he felt guilty for reading some of the fanfictions written about you, both because he hated and loved them. They always painted him as a gentleman that helps and protects you and has swag and you are sweet and attentive.

He wishes that were more like you. When you spill coffee on him in fanfics you help him dry and change maybe sneaking a kiss in the change room. In real life, you just give an ‘oops sorry’ and move on leaving him in a stained shirt.

That is until he wants to check the time but is too lazy to get his phone from his bag so he gets yours off the desk. Your background is a picture of the two of you from your first photoshoot. He feels kind of warm and soft at the thought. When a notification pops up, [Underwear: by JinxReader4life has updated chapter 15] A smile spread across Seokjin’s face as he placed down the phone and went to his bag for his own.

Searching for the fic, he found himself blushing, this was a heavy romance and he was kind of a jerk. He had to stop reading ready for the photoshoot, which funnily enough was an underwear and pajama company. After the pajama shots together laying and sitting on a bed. Jin was soon only wearing boxer briefs and you were in bra’s and underwear.

He was supposed to sit with you on his lap looking kind of sexy when he posed exactly how the fic described and he whispered in your ear the exact line from the fic. “We have to stop meeting like this, someone might think you have a crush on me”

Your cheeks were bright red and you buried your face in his chest, in embarrassment. Maybe he didn’t feel so bitter after all, maybe he enjoyed your unexpected company.

Min Yoongi - almond

It was getting cold, you shivered when your feet touched the bare wooden floors. “Where are my slippers, Holly?”

“Wait, I will get your slippers?” Yoongi laughed getting out of bed and racing around to locate and help you put on your slippers. You scuffed through the house freezing. “Why am I so cold?”

“How big are we today my love?” Yoongi opened his dressing gown and letting you snuggle against his chest.

“Um…” You checked your phone before slipping from his embrace to the cupboard. “Today marks the middle of week nine and today, the baby is the size of this almond”

“Wow you are growing so fast, I remember when you were just a little grain of rice?” He whispered to your belly.

Jung Hoseok - Tongue 

“Hey Y/n,” Namjoon called, “someone named Tongue emoji is calling?”

You raced for the phone and snatched it from Namjoon cheeks heating up, “Hello baby, is everything okay?”

The boys were all watching you and you tried to avoid their eye contact “I will let them know, okay bye”

“Who was that?” Seokjin and Taehyung grinned poking your sides with teasing laughter.

“Hoseok says he is going to be five minutes late he is just picking up some things”

They teased you to no end and just as you thought the teasing died down, Hoseok walked in grabbing you by the back of the head and kissing you fiercely. “Ah so that’s why”

“Why what?” Hoseok asked with a smile

“Why you are named tongue emoji in Y/n’s phone” Jimin nodded

“That’s not why Jiminie” Hoseok grinned cheekily and got ready for dance practice.

Kim Namjoon - twister

“Ha ha ha” Heavy panting from Namjoon was all that could be heard in the moment, as beads of sweat rolled slowly down his neck.

“Namjoon you have to loosen up, you aren’t loosing this for us” You shouted “We have to win come on”

“Yeah I get that but you try to put left foot red while you’re bending backward of Jungkook and under Seokjin” He hissed his foot almost slipping as he slid it behind him. “Who’s idea was it to choose the rooms with a game of twister?”

“Come on Namjoon, think of the master bedroom” You laughed, you didn’t really mind what room you got, you just liked to cheer Namjoon on, knowing he preferred the push and encouragement to when you were indecisive or dismissive. He liked to work hard to accomplish things for you.

Park Jimin - chaos

Namjoon dropped Jimin off at day care with a small smile watching him run off to his best friend Taehyung, the two hugged before they shared the dinosaurs amongst the two of them. Namjoon loved nothing more than being a dad, and was glad that when he started back at work he would still receive updates from the Day care centre with pictures and stories of how Jimin’s day was going. Today started the same breakfast and playing with toys and music inside and then it moved to playing outside. 

The next picture had Namjoon in stitches it seems Jimin had upturned the massive sunscreen dispenser and he and Taehyung were covered in a thick layer of the uv protecting cream.

Kim Taehyung - never

You were playing a game of never, Taehyung said the dreaded “Never have I ever kissed someone,” putting a finger down himself but getting two other people out. It seems he would risk his own fate to get the others out. He turned to see you with all five fingers up and frowned. 

“What do you mean you have never kissed someone?”

“I just, no one really looks at me that way, I am not really the person people want to kiss” You shrugged and he surprised leaning in his lips brushing your softly and as he pulled away he realized.

“Oh I am so sorry, I didn’t even ask?” He pulled you into a hug apologizing and you laughed.

“It was fine, it felt nice thank you for being someone I trust to give me my first kiss” You thanked him.

“That wasn’t a real kiss, people kiss there loved ones like that” Namjoon hissed feeling slightly annoyed he had gotten out.

Taehyung leaned in whispering gently, so close you could taste the sweet wine on his breath, “Can I kiss you again?”

Jeon Jungkook - voices

(I know I have done something like this before but the new RUNBTS ep got me wanting to write a series like this)

Jungkook started playing the latest online mmorpg, meeting some of the best players and slowly becoming the top guild within the game Pillage of Power known by the youth as POP! The guild Castle Bangtan was run by some really smart young man that Jungkook looked up to. His name was Ramon of destruction and he was their brains. 

Next was WWH, he was the Cleric a full of bad puns but the best buffer, had really quick protection spells and an odd animal companion. Suga/r was their lazy wizard who had so much skill and yet never used it unless they needed it. HobiHobi was there champion he was a great ranger, he had a sharp shot and rarely ever missed.

Chimmy was a Barbarian and he was always ready to fight, he put in a lot of effort so as not to let the team down. Vante was a Rogue, the most sneaky of the group always sharpening his skills when he could. And that Left Jungkook known as Kookie the Bard he could charm anyone if he tried. They were the top guild but they were being challenged by the rising guild T1 there members Faker, Teddy, Effort, Cuzz, and Canna. 

The tournament began everyone who had a guild had the chance to compete to rank in the game and Castle Bangtan was rising quickly up the ranks. The POP! Tournament came down to the last four teams the Semi finals and the finals were to be broadcasted in the large stadium, The other teams were professional gamers in teams and here they were just a group of nobodies from different towns and cities in South Korea.

Jungkook was handed the purple jumpsuit he was to wear during the broadcast, they had their names on the back. He slipped into the suit he had been sized for over email and he grinned. He felt so cool. Stepping out into the waiting room out back he saw a broad shouldered gentleman, “You must be Chimmy the barbarian?”

“No, I am WWH” He laughed his squeaky laugh.

Jungkook looked around and saw a tall figure, his black jumpsuit with the purple trims had the words Ramon of destruction. Trying so hard not to freak out he stood by the refreshments. “Try the lamb skewers, they are nice” a drawl said from the couch. 

“Suga” Jungkook said grinning

 “Kookie” He gave a soft smile back and shook his hands.

“Don’t get nervous now” Suga sat up and patted the younger boys back, “Chimmy has already drank his weight in water and is in the bathroom again.

“I am back, does anyone else think the legs of the jump suit are super tight, I can barely walk, feels like I am going to bust them”

Jungkook saw the young man and smiled, he knew that voice anywhere this was Chimmy the Barbarian and yet he looked too delicate in person for the part.

[starcrossedyanderes]

Xavier Celebrates Darling’s B-Day

Chacha birthday time

The butterscoth peeped through the tiniest cracks of the rich blue velvet drapes that sucked in all the sunlight greedily. The yellow light that peeked through the curtains directed all of their attention to the angelic being that was splayed out before them.

The gentle light shone off of hair as yellow as the crown growing in the fields and shined like stardust collected from the stars themselves. The royal blue comforter slowly rose and fell with every inhale and exhale from the boy; every rise causing the golden embroidery to shine up to the sky.

Long eyelashes framed closed eyelids as they would occasionally flutter; revealing a fleeting peek of emerald before the pale white would appear again. Pale pink lips would slowly open before closing again as light breaths were let out. 

Near the end of the massive bed on top of rich covers sat a black splotch with the occasional sharp reflection of white off of sleek midnight fur. If someone were to look close enough they could see the small pink sliver of a tongue sticking out.

The pleasant silence was interrupted by the sharp noise of hitting against wood before the large double mahogany doors quietly swung open and heels clinked against marble floor. With every step a pink skirt swished and swayed.

With long, shaky strides the young woman slowly crossed the room until her fingertips could just graze against the sleek, black fur. Her well manicured hand reached out and touched a fabric even softer than silk. Her hand curled around the dark red silk fabric and shook the pale shoulder covered by the fabric.

A slender hand struck out and wrapped around the women’s hand and tugged her under the covers with him. Emerald eyes snapped open and pink lips opened; prepared for the sweetest words to come spilling out. But they sharply turned down as it became a sneer. The woman that was laying under the covers was harshly shoved off and her body hit the hard, marble floor.

“Vho are you!? Vhere’s my darling!? GAURDS-“

The hoard of servants quivered at the sound of the prince yelling and all froze once hearing heavy footsteps quickly walking in the room’s direction.

The servant on the floor did her best to stand up and form a bow on her shaky legs.

“Your majesty. Yesterday you asked that a servant should be to wake you up today instead of the.. princess.”

Green eyes harshly glared into blue ones before they softened as the prince’s lips let out an ‘oh’

“Yes, I do recall saying that. I wanted to surprise her.”

The servant let out a grateful smile but that was soon replaced to a look of horror as the gaurds that came into the room shoved her onto her knees as the prince’s heavenly face broke into a smile that can only belong to the devil himself.

His blonde locks hung in front of one eye as the green glinted. With his head tilted downwards he growled out his next words.

“But let me make one thing clear, never vake me up in such a manner again, and especially don’t act like someone you aren’t. If you aren’t careful you just might lose your head. Am I clear?”

Once a whimper was let out Xavier broke into a large smile.

“Vundevah! Now how about a bath first. I vant to get these commoner germs off me as soon as possible. Ick.”

~|~

It was quite the surprise to be waken up to green eyes instead of the usual maids’ orbs. Ever since you came to Colvakia maids would wake you up before they would have you wake up Xavier. But today it seemed he wanted to change things up.

“Good morning dahling~!”

What was more surprising was the fact that in his hands he actually carried a wooden tray with an assortment of delicacies. You shifted in ‘your’ bed until your head was propped up comfortably on the pillows.

The prince gently placed down the tray so that it sat above your chest so you could eat your food with ease. On it you could see fresh pancakes, hashbrowns, apple juice, and in a little bowl was some fruits that could only be found in Colvakia. Your eyebrows raised at this sight as Xavier sat down next to you before you inquired,

“Breakfast in bed? I thought we would be eating in the tea room as usual.”

Xavier chuckled as his face burrowed into your neck.

“Yes, ve vould’ve eaten there but ve have a busy day ahead of us, besides I figured you vould prefer a less routine breakfast. It is your day after all.”

Oh crap. Was today your birthday? You remember it being soon but not THAT soon. I guess time flies by when for your birthday instead of taking you to Disney like you wanted the prince of a massive country that’s forcing you to date him instead takes you to the Disney in his home country instead and now you’re stuck across the sea from home.

“Sveetie, could you turn your head avay from me a bit?”

Taking any excuse not to face this man you turned your head away almost immediately. Following your obedience came the soothing feeling against your locks as Xavier gently brushed your hair.

On your neck he left a trail of light butterfly kisses before deciding to keep his lips on your neck as he whispered,

“I hope you like horses~”

~|~

“We are here in the capital of Colvakia to bring you this gigantic parade. People all over Colvakia are currently raising their cups as they celebrate the birth of Prince Xavier’s girlfriend’s birthday. This is the first time the celebration is being held and boy do they seem to want to make this a memorable one.

In the center you can see this humongous yet gorgeous cake that will be served to all the citizens here today and other cities all around Colvakia will be offering the same thing. Large floats are currently driving up to the large pavilion area and that black limousine right there is holding the guests of honor.”

“Thank you Don. The prince will be giving a speech in 15 minutes so make sure to check back. Now to your local weather-“

The tv abruptly cut to black as an older harshly pressed on the power button. He let out an angered huff and plopped back down on the sofa.

He could hear his wife’s watery humming as she tried her best to keep her tears at bay as she walked into the living room with the white tray in her hands. She carefully placed the cake on the table in between all the people gathered here today. On the layered cake sat 17 striped candles; each one ablaze.

All the people blankly stared at the red velvet cake that had red frosting write out the name that would bring tears. Reluctantly they opened their dry mouths to start a celebration.

“Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday dear (y/n),

Happy birthday, to you.”

The mother bent over and let out a harsh breath over the candles before her knees failed on her and she was sat on the carpet. Her hands gripped her lucious hair as cries left her mouth. Her father placed a comforting hand on her back as a tear left his own eye.

“She’s the bravest girl I’ve ever known. She is doing an amazing service for this country.”

His daughter harshly turned around and gripped his shirt.

“I don’t care what service she’s doing for this country! I want my baby back!”

Her head slumped against her father’s chest as his arms wrapped around her let out gentle coo’s.

“She’s strong Meredith. She’ll make it. I just know she will.

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣: ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠! 𝕊𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕚𝕘 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕜. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪! 𝕐𝕒𝕪! 𝕊𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣. 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝! 𝔸𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕟𝕪 𝕒𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕝𝕠𝕝.

[silverfoxclawwriter93]

When Their ‘Favorite Person’ is Jealous. (BNHA x Marvel/ DC Fem Reader

Bakugou Katuski vs. Damian Wayne

After Bruce had gained custody over Damian and his older sister from Talia, they had managed to create a familial bond that they never thought they’d have. They still had each other’s backs much like when Talia had trained them to be the perfect assassination team but they were now doing it out of love not out of plain loyalty to their mother. They had gotten better, (Y/n) was actually pretty social, but Damian knew that no matter happened that he’d still be his Ukht’s ‘favorite person’.

At least, that’s what he believed until now. 

“Ukht, Jason and Tim want to go to the arcade. Will you be joining us?” Damian asked, peeking through his sister’s doorway.

“Sorry, Shaqiq, but I made plans to show Bakugou around Gotham,” She hissed apologetically, “You can go ahead without me.”

It seems as though Damian’s been going without (Y/n) a lot lately, ever since that Japanese exchange student arrived. Last month, his father agreed to be a foster parent to a hero and training and they got stuck with the egotistical hothead from U.A. (Y/n) was quick to warm-up to him and it seemed to be mutual on his part, too. Now, they seemed to be a unit that couldn’t go anywhere without the other.

“I’m sure he knows his way around by now, Ukht. Take a break and hang out with us.” Damian pleaded.

(Y/n) looked up from her book and raised a brow, “Don’t I say that to you?”

Damian only rolled his eyes and walked away from her room, stomping down the hallway like an angry child. Jason and Tim looked a little worried when they saw Damian walk down the stairs alone.

“(Y/n)’s not coming?” Jason asked.

“No, she’d rather spend time with Bakugou,” Damian growled, venom was evident in his tone.

Tim only looked at Jason in concern, as though debating whether or not they should get involved. Damian often got jealous when he felt like someone was pushing him out of his sister’s life and was quick to put them in their place (They all found that out pretty quickly), but Bakugou was just as stubborn as Damian was. Meaning this was going to end up very badly.

Deku vs. Jon Kent

Jonathan Kent might’ve been a hero but he was also a child, a very selfish child.

“Hey (Y/n)! Wanna play Overwatch with me and Conner?” Jon asked, flying over to (Y/n).

She was currently on the phone with Izuku, the kid that their father chose to foster, and excused herself from the conversation and turned to Jon.

“Sorry, Jonny but I’m heading to the mall with Izuku today. He needs a change of clothes after what you did to his suitcase.” (Y/n) reminded.

Jon swore that he only used his heat vision on Izuku’s suitcase because he saw a really big bug on it although (Y/n) wasn’t so convinced. It seemed like he couldn’t convince her as much as he did before Izuku started living with them and he hated it.

“I said it was an accident,” Jon frowned, crossing his arms over his chest before glaring at his sister, “but you don’t even play with me anymore! C’mon, it’ll be fun! I promise!” (Y/n)’s face softened and Jon almost thought that she would agree. Instead, she ruffled his hair with her hand and gave him a peck on his forehead.

“Sorry, Jonny, but I really want to help Deku out. He’s still not very good with his English so I need to be there for him.” (Y/n) explained.

“No! You just want to be with him!” Jon retorted, turning away from her.

(Y/n) let out a sad sigh before saying that she and Izuku will be back by the afternoon and asked Jon if he wanted anything from the mall.

“A new sister.” He huffed.

The (h/c)-haired Kent only looked sadly at her younger brother before flying away from the fortress, leaving Jon all alone at the entrance. Conner walked in and noticed the change in his younger brother’s mood.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Jon just pushed past him and walked to his room, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could. Kara only looked at Conner with a questioning look and he only shrugged in response.

Jon stuffed his face in his pillow, the strong urge to just scare off Izuku so he could get his sister back was tempting, but he needed to be smart about this. He needed to remind (Y/n) that he was more important than dumb Deku.

Shoto Todoroki vs. Morgan Stark

(Tony is alive because he’s alive in my heart!)

“So...this is some lovely tea you made.” Happy coughed awkwardly, shifting in the plastic pink chair.

Instead of replying, Morgan just glared at the empty (f/c)-colored chair that her older sister was supposed to be but chose to go to the movies with Shoto. (Y/n) Stark was very outgoing and social but she’d always make time for Morgan no matter what. In fact, they were both featured on the magazine cover for being the closest siblings despite the significant age gap between them.

Now (Y/n)’s sharing magazine covers with the foster child their father Tony had applied for, Shoto Todoroki.

Suddenly it was Shoto this, Shoto that. Shoto’s so cute or Shoto’s so smart. Morgan’s cute and smart yet (Y/n) hasn’t been talking about her as much as she would’ve liked lately. Happy seemed to notice that Morgan was feeling left out and tried to fill in her sister’s shoes, but he was doing a god awful job at it.

“Morgan, where’s your sister?” Tony asked, peeking into the girl’s room.

Happy tried to silence him but Morgan only glared harder at the empty plastic chair while she spoke to her dad, “With Shoto.”

“Actually, Mr. Stark, they just came back from the movies,” JARVIS informed them.

Laughter and talking filled the once silent room and came closer and closer until (Y/n) and Shoto were in view.

“Did you two enjoy the movie?” Tony smiled, looking down at them warmly.

“Yeah! Shoto you totally called it when you told me that the mafia boss was her real dad!” (Y/n) awed at the white and red-haired male.

“It was obvious and I think I know what they’ll do for a second movie.” Shoto chuckled.

“Really? What?” (Y/n) asked, linking her arm with Shoto’s much to Morgan’s displeasure.

“Sissy!” Morgan called out, doing her best cutesy voice.

(Y/n) and Shoto turned to look at the little girl who was dressed as a princess and feathery boa. She stood up from her seat and hugged (Y/n)’s leg, looking up at her with sparkling brown eyes.

“I missed you! Are you going to have tea with me and Happy?” Morgan asked innocently.

(Y/n) gave her little sister a pitying smile, “I would love to, Morgy, but I want to spend the day with Shoto. I promise I’ll come by later.”

Morgan frowned but said she understood. (Y/n) pecked her younger sister’s cheek before standing up and walking over to Shoto. Shoto kneeled down and smiled at Morgan.

“Thanks for sharing (Y/n) with me. Do you want me to come to your tea party, too?” He smiled, but Morgan only looked at him with no expression on her face.

“No, there’s only room for (Y/n). Sorry.” Morgan beamed.

It may have sounded innocent to other’s but they didn’t see the look in her eyes, the look that made Shoto feel slightly uneasy. Morgan went back to her spot to continue hosting her tea party as Shoto gaped at her. He snapped out of it when (Y/n) began to tug his arm to lead him to her workshop to show him her newest addition to her armor.

Morgan only watched in satisfaction as Shoto stared at her with wide eyes the entire time.

Mezo Shoji vs. Kurt Wagner

“Woah! You’re so cool, Shoji!” (Y/n) gasped, watching as Shoji threw the practice robot away from her.

Kurt only glared at the scene, his tail swinging slowly behind him, and his fangs were revealed when he let out a low growl. 

“Thanks, are you okay?” Shoji asked, helping the mutant girl up.

“Yeah, you’re my hero.” (Y/n) cheered, hugging him.

(Y/n) was a sweet girl whose parent’s sent her to Xavier’s Institute so she could control her powers, she was the first person that gave Kurt a chance and really got to know him. She looked out for him and doted on him like an older sister, he always wanted an older sibling. He felt safe with her around, her attention made him feel special, but now her attention was no longer on him.

“(Y/n), are jou okay? That robot did some serious damage!” Kurt shouted, teleporting in front of Shoji and pretending to look (y/n) for damages.

“I’m fine, bruised but fine.” (Y/n) chuckled light-heartedly.

“I can take you to zhe infirmary if jou vant!” Kurt offered, letting his German accent take over since he remembered the (h/c)-ette telling him how cute she thought it was.

“But you’ll be late for your classes,” (Y/n) pointed out, frowning, “I really don’t want you to get in trouble because of a few minor injuries.”

“It’s all gut! As long as I know jou’re safe, it’ll all be worth it.” Kurt insisted, hugging you gently to prove his point.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself, Kurt. I can take (Y/n) to the infirmary, my next class is on the way.” Shoji, the foreign exchange student, offered.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” (Y/n) agreed, “You won’t be late to classes and won’t have to be worried since Shoji is with me!” Before Kurt could protest, Shoji had already scooped the (h/c)-haired girl up and began to walk to the infirmary. (Y/n) thanked him for his concern and reminded him to not be late. Kurt watched as they disappeared into the institute with a sad look on his face. Then sadness turned into annoyance.

(Y/n) was one of the very few people who really gave Kurt a chance and the blue mutant would rather die than have her be whisked away by some student from Japan.

[deaconsleatherpants]

These Shadowed Halls

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475392

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows (Viago & Everyone)

In which, during a series of attempts to cheer a mopey Viago up, the dishes are cleaned, Rammstein is played, a poster is poked, a laptop is destroyed, and the new television set causes some trouble.

Werewolves were troublesome creatures. At least, there was no evidence to the contrary as far as Viago, Vladislav and Deacon were concerned; not fully human and yet not fully undead, werewolves had always proven to be a source of continued vexation.

The three vampires had bid goodnight to Nick and Stu at the door, and were now standing in the foyer, flicking specks of dried blood from their clothes and (in Viago’s case) hair. Encounters with the werewolves tended to leave Deacon adrenaline-filled and Vladislav somewhat annoyed, and tonight had turned out no differently.

Viago, on the other hand, was somewhere torn between irate, offended and distressed, all at once. He had nothing against werewolves, really, aside from the vague feeling that perhaps they might not bathe themselves quite as often as might be preferred. (That and the pervading werewolf smell.) Still, Viago felt that the resident pack had gone a bit too far tonight. His feelings were singed, and that was that.

Count Fagula. Really? Was that all they thought of him? His bisexuality was nothing to be poked fun of, thank you very much. Was it his mild manner? (He’d thought it quite an attractive trait, honestly. He was the nice one!) Or perhaps his unique sense of fashion?

Viago glanced down at his outfit, brushing flecks of imaginary dust off the front of his velveteen doublet. Lacy cuffs billowed slightly with the movement.

He liked his clothing, frilly sleeves and all. And what was wrong with slapping someone across the face with a glove? That’s certainly what they used to do back in his day, when riled or otherwise provoked. He huffed testily, folding his arms across his chest and scowling down at the carpeting as if it had been made of the fur of those stupid werewolves. He’d not quite been feeling himself lately, that was true, but this was the tipping point.

Viago did not notice the eyes of his two friends tracking him as he stalked off into his coffinroom, nor did he see them glance at each other with matching perplexed expressions. Finally Vladislav shrugged, simply ascribing this behavior to Viago’s occasional tendency to break out into dramatics. He headed upstairs without further comment (covering a wide yawn), but Deacon did not follow.

Instead Deacon stared into the blackness of Viago’s doorway, lost in thought, long after the older vampire had already disappeared into the abyss.

                                                          ><><><><><><

Viago couldn’t sleep, which was unsurprising, considering it was only around two in the morning - approximately the vampire equivalent of the human “happy hour.”

He rolled onto his side, fingers splaying over the soft red velvet lining the interior of his coffin. Viago usually slept in the stereotypical ‘vampire’ pose - legs straight and together, arms crossed over his chest like the dead man he was - but, he found, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for sleeping just yet. (Once he’d tried sleeping hanging upside down like Deacon, and fell, bonking himself on the head and leaving himself with a rather nasty headache for the rest of the night. Also, he appreciated having all the comforts of a fancy, modern coffin.) At the same time, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for being awake and around other vampires either. It was a strange, restless conundrum.

Without warning, the coffin lid above him shifted; a thin sliver of moonlight took the opportunity to creep inside, making Viago squint and let out a soft hiss. Then the lid was opened even wider, bathing him in soft silver light; propping himself up on his forearms with a feathery sigh, he blinked the dark spots from his eyes and focused with some degree of annoyance on the source of his disturbance - Vladislav.

The older vampire crouched down by the side of the coffin, opening the lid to its fullest extent and wearing a concerned expression, or at least, what was his best approximation of “concerned.”

“Vhat are you doing in your coffin?”

Viago sighed, air whistling out through his fangs. “Sleeping.” He clung to the remote chance that it would work, and make Vladislav leave him to do just that.

“It’s only two in zhe morning!” No such luck, it would seem. “And you forgot to close zhe curtains.” So that was where the moonlight was coming from. Letting out a hiss of minor inconvenience, Viago stumbled to his feet and yanked the fabric closed over the window. The silvery light instantly faded to a mere glow seeping out from under the edge of the heavy brown curtain.

Vladislav, in turn, stood and folded his arms over his chest, expression morphing from “concerned” to “disapproving.” “So… are you going to give us an explanation, or…?”

“Zhere iz nothing to explain,” Viago said, stepping back into the velvet-lined coffin and petulantly lying down again, folding his arms across his chest decisively.

True to his title, Vladislav poked him. Several times. Viago rolled his eyes, then reached up to yank the coffin lid shut. If Vladislav wasn’t going to leave of his own volition, then Viago would simply have to ignore his presence.

Sure enough, there was a muffled expletive, a halfhearted attempt to rattle the lid, and then the shuffle of heavy footsteps out of the room. Viago heaved a sigh of relief, and rolled over onto his front.

                                                          ><><><><><><

It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when Viago’s eyes snapped open at the extremely loud clamor that had suddenly assaulted his ears. He pushed himself up from the ground in a hurry, banging his head hard on the coffin lid before at last remembering his surroundings. As he cautiously crept out of the room, it became quickly apparent that the uproar was music, of a sort - guitars twanging loudly with a hint of something electric. His sensitive ears twitched as he approached the heart of all the noise.

Deacon. (Of course.)

“Vhat iz zhis?” He had to almost shout to make himself heard, and he wasn’t quite sure if Deacon was simply ignoring him or could, in fact, still not hear him - despite the (apparently limited) miracles of vampire-hearing. The younger vampire was furiously whipping his head up and down, fringes of black hair flopping over his face, and spinning around the room in fevered circles like some deranged, devilish hummingbird.

Locating the source of the racket (the open laptop), Viago noted that Deacon had apparently discovered the world of German metal, and was currently listening to a song with a video that featured what looked like… werewolves... ? To make matters worse, it was set to repeat. He frowned and cleared his throat.

“VHAT IZ ZHIS, DEACON?” This time Deacon responded, floating down towards the computer (and a rather irate flatmate) with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “I found it on the wee-fee, on MyTube!” The guitar riff kicked in again, and he made a show of playing an exaggerated version of it in mid-air. Viago tapped a patent-leather shoe with increasing impatience, which Deacon ignored with incredible aplomb.

“Isn’t it amazing! Even though it IS about werewolves.” Deacon wrinkled his nose slightly as he said the name, as if he could already smell wet dog smell here in the living room. Viago, for his part, remained unamused.

“You have to turn it down, Deacon!” He at last reached for the volume button himself, but his flatmate quickly batted the hand away, and snatched up the laptop for safekeeping. Viago planted his fists on his hips, in full vampire-mom mode.

“It’s zhe middle of zhe night - all zhe humans vill be sleeping. Zhere are ordinances about zhis kind of zhing! I don’t vant zhe neighbors to complain. Do you vant to deal with zhe poleece, Deacon?”

The police had been called on them before, he was sorry to admit, but so far they’d managed to not kill a single officer. He’d like to keep up the pristine record, but it was apparently getting more and more difficult the more times they were called. Deacon, however, did not seem to see things from Viago’s point of view. He was currently frowning mulishly, crossing his arms across his chest and still refusing to turn down the music. At least he was finally standing motionless in one place (albeit on the ceiling).

“NEIN! What’s wrong with it? It’s German! I’m German! You’re German! You should like it!”

Viago too enjoyed German music, the music of his homeland, but his tastes lay decidedly more towards Beethoven than… whatever or whoever this was. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he turned abruptly on his heel and shouldered past his flatmate. Passing Vladislav in the hallway (who, surprisingly, actually appeared to be enjoying all the noise) he left the house, letting the front door slam rather loudly behind him. The mid-autumn air was crisp, and if he’d been human, he might have blown air into his cupped hands. As it were, he simply arranged his cravat around his neck, tucking his hands into his pockets and gazing up at the starry, cloudless night.

He could still hear the music; if anything, it seemed Deacon had turned it up even more in his absence.

At least Viago could stay out and about until the police came and went, or until his flatmate grew a brain, whichever came first.

                                                          ><><><><><><

The black pointer tip tapped impatiently at the newly-hung anatomy poster, Vladislav bouncing his foot with equal agitation. Viago, rather uncomfortably squished into his own antique couch, eyed the pointer with some trepidation; the last time the medieval vampire gave one of these “informative” lessons, it was on the finer points of torture, so one could never know what to expect. Deacon, on the other hand, observed the goings-on from his position perching on the stair railing like some toothy gargoyle, some distance above Vladislav’s head. There was a strange glint in his eyes, which Viago decided pointedly it would be best to ignore entirely.

One corner of the poster began to peel off of the wallpaper at the vehemence with which Vladislav was wielding the stick, thwacking it into different parts of the highly-detailed diagram at random. Viago very strongly resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Zhe main artery.” The pointer tip finally bounced over to the thickest stripe of bright red lining the model’s neck, tracing over to the matching band on the other side. “Do not - I repeat: DO NOT bite it!” He made a strange X with his hands, a gesture which Deacon copied above (nearly unbalancing himself in the process). It wasn’t as if Viago was trying to make a mess, he reflected with his mind not entirely focused on the strange pantomime in front of him.

But, as always, Vladislav was continuing, heedless to Viago’s lack of engagement. “You vill end up vith arterial spray, vich basically means zhat you vill end up drenched in blood, vhich might have been fun in zhe middle ages but… isn’t so great now. Especially vhen you hang around vith four other vampires.” This was all said with the air (and slight guilty expression) of a vampire who might have tried to lick his blood-drenched flatmate clean at one point several decades back.

“Yeah, do you want us to lick you again Viago?” Deacon, on the other hand, had a significant lack of such tact, to the point where even Vladislav comedically slapped a palm to his forehead.

“Zhe point is, you vant to bite zhem here.” The rubber tip now poked at the thinner strip of deep blue beside the crimson one. “Zhis vill be enough for you to feed, but not enough to make you a public embarrassment to both yourself and zhis household.”

Viago shifted uncomfortably in his seat, worrying at his lower lip with his fangs for a moment before deciding he’d better go ahead and say something while Vladislav’s lecture was otherwise paused.

“I really can’t learn zhis from a diagram, you know.” He’d had almost four hundred years to try (and fail) to get this right; did Vladislav really think he hadn’t once cracked open an anatomy manual?

To Viago’s mounting horror, while Vladislav at least was nodding (with a hand stroking his moustache) and seemed to be pondering his words, Deacon’s eyes glowed with the excited gleam they’d all come to associate with the unveiling of his darker tendencies.

“Maybe we should dig up some bodies for him to practice on… it was a big thing when I was alive, very popular!”

This time, Viago did not refrain from rolling his eyes, as he leapt from his seat with a disgusted exclamation at the thought of vampiric “resurrection men” and other such grave-robbers, and stormed out of the room.

He wondered if, at this hour, he could find a human on the streets with a high enough blood alcohol content to make him forget the past three hundred years.

                                                          ><><><><><><

The clanking and crashing sounds emanating from the vicinity of the kitchen really should have tipped Viago off to what was going on, but nonetheless it was a surprise to see Deacon ushering him into the room with a conspiratorial look on his face.

“I did zhe dishes! Without being asked!”

His hands were held up away from his sides, still dripping foamy white suds onto the floor; Viago’s hopes instantly sank. “Look!” The pink rubber gloves adorning Deacon’s forearms were infinitely more interesting and distracting than whatever mess he was wanting him to see, but Viago turned to look anyway. Well, the kitchen appeared intact, the sink was relatively sparkly, and it was certainly true that the heaping mound of bloody dishes was gone from the counter, but…

Viago’s gaze flickered towards the cabinet full of white, clean dishes. (He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d found them in the trashcan instead.) Shockingly, the youngest flatmate had actually done a decent job of the cleanup, with the possible exception of the kitchen itself. The sink still had an unbecoming reddish ring staining the metal, and Viago rather suspected that the stain of O- blood on the cutting board (dating back to an unfortunate hippie victim in the 1960s) would never be shifted despite anyone’s best efforts, but he supposed the effort was better than nothing.

“Ja, zhat’s… zhat’s great, Deacon.” It was rather straining to force a grin for so long, especially for a vampire who was also attempting to hide his fangs behind his lips.

“Good… Good.” He appeared as though he wished to say more, but Viago flashed him a quick thumbs-up before darting back out of the kitchen.

Beside the gramophone in the living room, he flopped bonelessly into a navy wingback armchair, which had to be getting almost as old as Deacon by now. Massaging his temple with the fingers of one hand, he drew his knees up towards his chest, and sighed the sort of sigh he might have sighed more often, had he human lungs.

                                                          ><><><><><><

A vampire could be allowed to think that, in his own home at an hour swiftly approaching dawn, he would be able to get some uninterrupted peace and quiet. A vampire could also be wrong.

Viago, sitting on his (still) rather reddened antique couch, with a glass of well-aged blood-wine in hand and a copy of Dracula in his lap, was failing miserably at his attempt to relax. The main cause for his failure could generally be described as Deacon, or more precisely: inadvertently listening to his flatmate’s loud and continued struggle with the newfound “Wi-Fi” Stu had installed a few days previously. Viago thought the internet a strange place (after a handful of interactions with Facebook and strange forums full of humans who styled themselves “vampires” but quite obviously weren’t), but he found that he still preferred the comforts of dusty old books and frilled clothing that reminded him of a decidedly simpler time. At least the computer wasn’t being used to blast Viago’s eardrums (and indeed, those of any vampire within a quarter-mile radius) with loud metal music anymore.

“What do you mean, zhe password is incorrect?!” Deacon’s muffled protests from the adjacent room, in combination with a loud crunching of plastic and metal, suggested that the laptop had just been thrown at high speed towards a wall. Viago sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. (Looks like they’d have to be asking Stu for a replacement in the coming days.) But still, every cloud had its silver lining; it seemed like, at last, he was now going to be able to enjoy his book.

Taking a sip of his drink and setting the cut-glass goblet down on a nearby coaster, he flipped the hardcover book open to the first page - but, before he could do more than read the first sentence, was interrupted by the entrance of Nick. His eyes snapped shut in mild exasperation.

“Hey man, uh... Viago?” The vampire in question felt the muscles between his eyebrows tense infinitesimally; still, he drew a breath he really didn’t need, uncrossed his legs, and opened his eyes. The tome audibly slammed shut.

“Yes, Nick, vhat do you need?”

The younger vampire appeared to be nervous, if that was even in his vocabulary; he was twisting his fingers together and looking at Viago with a general expression of concern, even as the muted sounds of Deacon’s unfettered rage continued in the background. “I just wanted to say, uh - I heard what those werewolf guys said, and I guess I just wanna say that wasn’t cool. Really not cool. Like, totally the opposite of cool. So, uncool, I guess.”

For a dandy vampire who was almost four centuries old, millennial speech could be a bit difficult to wrap one’s head around, but Viago surmised that Nick had only the best of intentions, and that surely had to count for something. He sighed, and forced a wide smile onto his face.

“Thank you, Nick.” Deacon was now being suspiciously silent, and Viago wondered if he’d passed out from an impossible lack of oxygen after all that anger, or perhaps had a brain aneurysm.

“Right, well, I’ve said my bit, so I’m just gonna…” Nick was motioning vaguely toward the doorway with his thumbs, so Viago turned his attention back towards him and simply nodded.

Rather than turning and walking out of the room like a normal person (vampire), Nick chose to take the rather more theatrical route of transforming into a bat and flapping away. Viago could hear the distant dull thunk of body against glass, which suggested Nick was having difficulty successfully navigating his way out of the window that had been cracked open in the foyer - right next to the front door, incidentally.

He turned his attention to the closed book, resting in his lap. Running a finger over the embossed leather cover, he considered holing himself up in Petyr’s basement for some well-deserved time to himself. But no, the moment had passed; with a sigh Viago tossed the book onto the musty cushion beside him, downed the rest of his blood-wine in one gulp, and got to his feet.

On his way down the hall he paused to peek in at Deacon, who was currently sitting cross-legged in front of the television set. He’d somehow managed to make his way to the shopping network, and was now seemingly seduced by various items of women’s jewelry, including a tacky and massive pendant that could be loosely interpreted as a bat, if one squinted. The shot shifted to a blood-red ruby set in the black metal of a ring, the edge of which looked rather fang-like. Before Viago’s eyes, Deacon scooted closer to the screen, and reached out a hand to almost lovingly caress the image of the crimson stone as if he could simply pluck it out of the pixels. He made a sound that could only be described as a giggle, and - was he drooling?

Fully aware that he would become physically ill if he was forced to witness any more of this bizarre display, Viago shuddered and turned away.

“I am now going to transform into a creature of ze night, so please, leave me alone.” His announcement was to the house at large, but was met with stillness and silence.

The sight of the hedgehog crossing the street outside the flat would have been unimpressive to anyone, had they bothered to gather at a window to watch Viago leave.

                                                          ><><><><><><

No matter how fond one was of their flatmates, it was always nice when they were gone, to get a little time to one’s self. In Viago’s case, a lack of Vladislav and Deacon - on their way to meet up with Nick at a club in Wellington Central - made for the perfect peaceful night in. Normally he might use this opportunity to practice one of the many skills and hobbies he’d picked up (only to eventually abandon, but that was another matter entirely) over the centuries, but one failed mess of a pottery attempt later had dampened his spirits somewhat. And then one of his collectable miniature fireplace shovels had fallen on his toe. So, he was now sitting by the window, on his favorite couch, humming softly to himself with his still-unread copy of Dracula by his side (and a sore toe).

Thoughts of trying the new television crossed his mind, but perhaps that wasn’t the best idea; he’d done that once before, and only succeeded in accidentally subscribing their household to HBO. Vladislav’s telephone hypnosis trick had effectively meant that they hadn’t had to actually pay for the service, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Shaking his head slightly, Viago eyed his book, but opted not to pick it up. He rocked back and forth slowly in his seat, wondering what Katherine was doing at that exact moment.

Of course, the relative peace and quiet had made Viago forget that Deacon and Vladislav were not, in fact, the only two other vampires he shared this dwelling with. The forgotten Petyr chose this moment to make an appearance upstairs for the first time in at least a couple decades, appearing in the shadowed doorway and lurking there long enough for Viago to catch sight of him (and leap, shrieking, a literal foot into the air). If Viago had still been in possession of a living heart, it surely would have stopped. He laughed nervously after a few moments clutching his chest in a reflex retained from his human days.

“O-Oh, hello Petyr.” As if he hadn’t just narrowly avoided being scared into a second grave. Viago shifted back towards the window just in time to watch the tiny figures that were bat-Vladislav and bat-Deacon flitter back towards the house, weaving through the illuminated paths of several nearby streetlights. A single howl sounded in the distance, despite the lack of a full moon hanging heavy in the sky. The night was so calm outside the window, and his eldest flatmate so silent behind him, that he could almost forget (again) the simple fact that he wasn’t alone with his thoughts.

… Right up until the moment Petyr dropped a dead, bloody chicken into Viago’s lap. A couple of speckled feathers drifted to the floor below in the shocked silence. Viago juggled the bird with his thighs, attempting rather fruitlessly to keep the blood off his (after many nights of scrubbing, now just vaguely pinkish) antique couch or, worst of all, off his nice khaki pants.

“Oh, yis, zhat’s... zhat’s nice Petyr, but I don’t zhink -“ He was cut off by a sharp hiss, the press of sharp claws into his shoulder, and the dark, bat-like silhouette of his elder flatmate fleeing the room, cape flung outwards.

He appreciated the gesture, but...

“Yuck,” Viago said, holding the bird’s scaly foot between thumb and forefinger while pulling a face. It would be rude to let a gift (and a perfectly good source of blood, at that) go to waste, but somehow it didn’t exactly cater to Viago’s decidedly more refined tastes.

Handily, he happened to know of another vampire in the very same flat who wasn’t quite so… choosy.

Still suspending the dead chicken at arm’s length, Viago got to his feet (using his free hand to hurriedly brush off his lap, hissing in consternation at the daubs of blood already beginning to set in to the fabric). There was no sign of Petyr in the foyer, or on the stairs, or indeed anywhere else on Viago’s intended route.

Brandishing the chicken, he pulled open the door and stuck his nose inside before changing his mind, instead placing it neatly at the foot of - Deacon’s closet.

Heading back down the stairs, he was surprised to hear the sounds of chatter coming from the kitchen; evidently his flatmates had returned at some point during the Chicken Fiasco, but what was more surprising was that he had not heard them enter. Not that Viago’s hearing was particularly exceptional for a vampire, but Deacon and Vladislav were difficult to miss. In his defense, being surprised with a freshly deceased bird in the lap didtend to be a distraction.

“Did you have a good time vith Nick?” He hoped at least one of them had had a good night, because while his hadn’t been the worst on record, it wasn’t exactly great either. He had been a fool to expect a proper answer (and only received a brief nod from Vladislav).

“Ha, Viago, vhen did you start pissing yourself?” With a loud snort and a complete ignoral of the question, Deacon gestured toward the splotches of chicken blood speckling the front of the dandy’s pants. His legs were also crossed at the ankle and propped up on the kitchen table, a habit which Viago abhorred.

While Deacon seemed to be extremely pleased with his own joke, and even Vladislav looked to be stifling a chuckle or two behind that bushy moustache, Viago simply rolled his eyes and strode from the room, on the hunt not for human blood but for a fresh pair of pants.

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The muffled shout of his name, coming from somewhere deep beneath the floorboards, startled Viago from his midnight nap, an open tabloid magazine (6 proven remedies for fang strain!) sliding from his chest and onto the floor in a flutter of pages.

He thought for a moment that he might have imagined the voice, until it sounded again, in the form of a deep bellow that had him scrambling to his feet in a panic. Was it another vampire hunter, come to murder them all? Just how many had Nick given his Skype handle to?

Viago darted down the stairs to Vladislav’s torture chamber, nearly slipping on the mossy surface of the damp stone steps, banging open the door and coming face to face with -

A dead man, hanging upside down from a pair of chains attached to the ceiling, and dripping blood.

Viago yelped, shying away from the body in hopes of sparing this particular pair of pants. The deep clearing of a throat drew his attention away from the unfortunate human and towards Vladislav, who was seated on a stool in front of… a painting easel? The paint palette in his hand could be clearly seen to contain multiple variations on the same color: blood red. (Viago suspected, upon spotting the little white bucket strategically positioned underneath the dead man, that blood red was not simply a creative term for a certain shade of red paint.)

The canvas propped up on the easel, if squinted at, appeared to show a landscape, complete with resplendent pink-topped mountains and a deep, rusty lake that appeared to be clotting. Vladislav was currently sketching in the outlines of what looked like gangly pine trees, although since they too were red, it was becoming difficult to tell. Viago glanced around the room with some confusion.

“Vhat happened here?”

Vladislav broke from his painting just long enough to shrug. “Just a happy leetle accident. Come in.” He leaned back, appraising his own handiwork and nodding in approval, evidently pleased with what he saw. Viago timidly edged his way around the body to stand on a clean section of stone floor. He fought the rising urge to backtrack straight out of the room and pretend he’d seen nothing, but some of the dead man’s spilled blood was beginning to seep into the rug underneath (when had that been placed there?) and he knew if it wasn’t cleaned up promptly it was going to leave a nasty stain.

“I have been thinking.” A dangerous pastime for Vladislav, Viago thought, but said nothing.

“You have not been yourself lately, Viago. I zhink it has somezhing to do vith zhe fact zhat I ate a person on your nice couch last month.” That wasn’t exactly it, Viago wanted to sputter, but was cut off before he could even try. “Perhaps I should bid on a red linoleum sofa. You can bid on anything on ze internet. Zhey vill have it.”

Viago knew Vladislav well enough to simply nod, and thank him quietly. Vladislav did not reply, but continued painting with an unexpected amount of jollity, humming an indiscernible tune under his breath.

“And here ve have some happy leetle trees, vith some happy leetle men impaled on them…”

Viago now took the opportunity to back away slowly, as one might do to escape being noticed by a lion who was otherwise distracted. At least this time he wasn’t being forced to pose for hours, only to discover that Vladislav’s finished “painting” was of something entirely different.

“It iz a representation of my innermost self,” the medieval vampire proclaimed, proudly gesturing to the congealing mess of red, red, and more red dripping down the canvas once Viago had almost reached the door. He could only nod in stunned shock, trying to dissipate visions of himself, on his knees with a soaked sponge and a brush, scrubbing the dark red stains out of the rug for who knew just how long.

                                                          ><><><><><><

If Viago was going to berate his flatmates for not doing their chores, he had better do his own, he supposed, even if he didn’t particularly feel like it at the moment. He had just finished lugging the swollen rubbish bin out to the curb (somehow, four vampires were capable of creating a staggering amount of trash) and then, spotting a thick slug of dust hiding in the crack between the skirting-board and the floor, reached reluctantly for a broom hanging on a nail. To his surprise, a perfunctory glance around the floor revealed even more dirt and grime, nestled into tiny grooves and corners. Viago’s brow furrowed as he frowned; Vladislav was supposed to have done this last week! With a huffed sigh and a roll of his eyes he set about completing the task, bending over to snag a discarded sock someone had left on the floor.

He completely ignored the sound of a throat clearing behind him, not particularly in the mood to be annoyed by any one of them.

“Here.” The muttered word made him turn, broom in hand, to see Deacon standing in the doorway, wearing a rather sheepish expression; Viago couldn’t help but be reminded of a dog that had been caught peeing on the carpet. He leaned the broom against the counter, dusting his hands off on a nearby (stained, bloody) towel and promptly bracing them on his hips.

“I made you a sveater.”

The article of clothing in question was a soft, skillfully-made (then again, Deacon’s projects always were) lump of colored fabric ungracefully tossed in Viago’s direction. The older vampire unfolded it to see an awkward rendition of his own face peering with threaded golden eyes back at him. The knitted Viago had his fangs bared at his alter ego in a hiss, blood staining his cravat. Little purple bats dotted the maroon background.

He knew, instantly, that he would look an utter fool if he ever wore this sweater. Premonitions of Vladislav’s loud guffaws of laughter were already echoing in his sensitive ears. He stared at it for a few more seconds, not wanting to be cruel but quite literally dumbfounded. Deacon too seemed discomfited by the silence, and chose to wait no longer.

“Well? Do you like it?” Still nearly speechless, Viago forced himself to look grateful and even managed a small smile.

“Ja, I love it.” He didn’t sound even one percent convincing, even to himself. To his surprise, a genuine grin lit up Deacon’s face, and for a moment Viago felt bad that the only thing little knitted Viago’s fabric eyes would likely ever see was the back wall of a closet.

“Good.” Deacon fidgeted for a moment, seemingly unsure what to do with his hands now that they were no longer crushing up a jumper. He finally settled for wringing them at his sides, nodding more times than was strictly necessary under the circumstances.

“Well. That is good, because I don’t make sveaters for just anyvone.” With that, he was gone, almost faster than Viago could blink, leaving the older vampire standing alone in the dusty kitchen still holding up the offending sweater at arm’s length. The broom dislodged itself enough to fall to the ground with a loud, wooden clack.

Viago slung the sweater over the back of the closest chair and picked up the broom, smiling slightly at what was, honestly, a kind gesture, an uncommon occurrence from Deacon.

                                                          ><><><><><><

Everyone else had already gathered in the entrance hall (with the notable exception of Petyr) in anticipation of a night out hunting, most likely to Boogie Wonderland, which thanks to Nick they were finally able to get into.

Viago was decidedly not in the mood for this. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the wooden countertop and frowning down at the backs of his hands. Mingled with the sounds of excited chatter in the hallway was the scrape of metal against metal in the adjacent room, which reminded him that Stu was over, setting up the replacement for the ruined laptop. Viago ignored all of them.

It was as if he were stuck in a sort of apathetic haze; it wasn’t even about the werewolves anymore, although doubtlessly they had been a part of it. He wasn’t even sure what it was about, but one thing was certain: whoever said vampire hearts were cold and emotionless knew absolutely nothing. It wasn’t until the first drop of blood plopped down onto the back of his hand, swiftly followed by two, then three more, that Viago realized that he was crying.

Unfortunately at that very moment Stu, having completed his work on Deacon’s newest computer victim, entered the kitchen, toolbox in hand.

“Would have thought you’d be with the others.”

Viago spun around, then froze; even to a human who was accustomed to being in the presence of vampires, the twin trails of watery blood running down his face might have a decidedly frightening affect. Indeed, Stu took an automatic step back, staring at Viago for a moment as if gauging what he should say, if anything.

“Woah.” Stu had always been a man of few words. Instead he set down the toolbox on the kitchen table, and approached the vampire with a complete lack of caution. Viago instinctively pressed back against the counter, blinking owlishly at his friend.

Stu hugged him. He didn’t even seem to care if Viago’s strange blood-tears stained his nice sky-blue polo shirt. It was a tight hug that filled Viago with a spreading warmth, until at last he returned the hug, vision swimming with red tint as he fought the urge to cry even harder.

Perhaps all he’d needed all along was a simple hug, the physical contact he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing ever since the day he died. With a last sniffle he tore himself from Stu (who followed close behind) and ran down the hallway, clinging to the first vampire he found.

This happened to be Deacon, who yelped unceremoniously and nearly fell over in the process of trying to fix his hairstyle, with Viago’s arms still attached around his waist. Viago stifled a snicker.

He latched himself onto Vladislav next, who simply froze up, posture stiff, and appeared to be as responsive as a plank of wood but eventually reciprocated with an awkward pat on the back. Once Viago released him the medieval vampire adjusted his hat clumsily, clearing his throat. Deacon, still in the process of fixing his thickly lacquered hair, chuckled.

The door then opened to reveal Nick, who had arrived fashionably late as always; Viago hugged him too, flashing a luminous smile as he glanced around at all of his friends. His friends, all of whom he only just now realized had attempted, in their own unique ways, to break him from his foul mood.

The dishes. The sweater, awful as it was. Vladislav’s attempt to finally teach him how to avoid the main artery while feeding. The offer to buy him a new sofa. Even Petyr’s rather cat-like “gift.” They’d all tried so hard, and he’d failed to realize it. Viago sniffled, wiping crimson marks from his cheeks, and beamed his usual chipper grin.

They were his stupid friends and flatmates, completely idiotic (except for Petyr, who was more in the realm of terrifying), but for better or for worse, he loved them all. And, he was pretty sure, they loved him, too.

[bangtansflower]

Opium Chapter 1

A/N: This one I wasn’t planning on bringing out so soon, but it kept on nagging me at the back of my head that I had to write it. I guess I love the heart break.

Warnings: Drug abuse. Underage drinking. Suicide. Angst. Tons of it! Heart break. Lying BTS. Just want to point out there that this is entirely fictional and that BTS and other characters in this fic are not based on real life at all! 

Summary: You couldn’t believe it. He was back. Now that Min Yoongi is back in your life, it takes a turn for the worse. How could he just up and leave then waltz back in? And how could the guys you trusted with all your heart betray you like that. Struggling to cope with it all you turn to drugs and the comfort of Yeonjun and his older brother Sejin. Falling into a deep pit of despair is there any hope of you managing to climb out of the hole that just gets deeper each day?

Wordcount: 1,487

Masterlist / Next

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You sprawl on the couch one leg dangling off it, head thrown back leaning against the cushions. Taking a long drag of your spliff you let your eyes roll back, allowing the tingling feeling to take you over, letting your mind forget. Tomorrow will be another day. Another day of forgetting. You plan to drink and take drugs till you could forget everything and everyone. A mop of blue hair comes into your side view before a face comes close to yours making eye contact. “Noona, give me some of that weed”. Rolling your eyes you pass Yeonjun the rest of the spliff watching him take a long drag, holding it before exhaling slowly, you were mesmerized by the smoke coming out of his mouth. Yeonjun made himself comfortable on the floor leaning against the couch. Taking a swig of his VERY strong whisky which only had a bit of coke, he eventually asked in a quiet voice “Noona...What happened?” A silence engulfed the two of you for a few moments, the only sound was the pitter-patter of the light rain outside. Turning your head slowly you faced the ceiling focusing on that one dark patch that stood out against the whiteness and started to explain in a soft whisper. 

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Flash back

You were walking along campus, headphones blasting loud music but you did not have a care in the world. It was getting dark, the sun slowly setting painting the skies in its warm colours of red, yellow and orange. It was rare to see the campus this empty, it was peaceful, but then again it was the start of the weekend and everyone wanted to party. A ding of your mobile pulls you out of your thoughts, checking it quickly a pout comes across your face.

Sunshine: Sorry guys I can’t come join the escapade of fun tonight! T.T I have to finish this dance routine for the exam. Which also means Jungkook and Jimin, sorry to ruin your plans but i really do need you there! 

Chimmy: Hyung! Why?! It’s the weekend and I was looking forward to it! Aish let me get ready.

Joonie: I’m also going to have to be that person and pull out of the plans too. And I’m going to drag Taehyung with me. I need him to sing.

Bunny: HA pull out. And Hobi on my way.

JinJin: OMG Jungkook grow up. And same here guys. My head is pounding from all of the studying I’ve had to do this past week.

Vante: LOL. And dammit. I thought you would forget Joon hyung.

Joonie: Harhar.

This was happening more often recently, a frown marred your face, yes it was exam season, and yes tensions were high, but it never stopped anyone before. You decided to ignore the rest of the messages, not replying and opted to finish your walk to your small apartment. Your apartment wasn’t much but it was home. You and Jungkook lived together, in a non platonic way, the two of you have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Making your inside you notice how quiet it is, Jungkook must have already gone to the dance studio. You sigh putting you mobiler on charge, now that you weren’t going out at least you could finish off your assignment. 

After 2 hours you finally finish, rubbing your eyes your stomach rumbles. Deciding to go to the convenience store to treat yourself to your favourite snacks, you deserved it after all, you stand up and stretch like a cat, even getting on your tippy toes. Grabbing your favourite oversized hoodie you grab your phone off charge seeing 2 missed calls from Jungkook and a message.

Bunny: Y/N gonna be home late, Hobi is really drilling this dance into us and won’t let us leave till it is near perfection.

Replying that it was okay and that you will see him tomorrow, you find your purse shoving it into your pocket, tie up your shoes and head out into the night. You found it weird being out on a friday night without the boys, but was it really that weird, your heart fell, you were getting used to it. Being without the boys, you swore you saw all of them less and less these past few months, even Jungkook and you live with the guy! Your eyes started to water but you quickly wipe them away, you would not cry over this you told yourself. 

Loud recognisable laughter made you turn around in curiosity, scanning the area your eyes land on Hoseok who was drunk and dancing in the middle of the park across the road. Eyes widening you could see all of the guys, Jungkook and Jimin recording Hoseok, with an even more drunk Taehyung joining in on the dancing. Seokjin and Namjoon laughing out loud leaning on each other for support, and wait...no...it couldn’t be..could it? Take a step back your mouth opens in shock. Yoongi? Yoongi was back? And no one told you? Rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things you knew that there was no mistaking that gummy smile, Yoongi was really back. And he was back with another girl, arm wrapped around her waist pulling her closer to his frame. 

The feeling of your heart sinking just moments before was nothing like this feeling, the feeling of your heart shattering into a million pieces, so many that it could be mistaken for fine dust particles being dragged away by the soft breeze. Feeling something wet on your face your shaking hands touch your cheeks, when did you start crying? Muffling a sob with your hand you turned away, turned away from the people who you called your friends, from the people who knew all the pain you went through and now were the cause of your pain. You ran to the only safe place you knew, but not before grabbing some things from your place, you really did not want to stay at that apartment, drinks and drugs.

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Present

Yeonjun listened in pure silence attentive to every word you said, a lone tear fell down his face as he turned to face you. “How could they do that to you? After everything that happened? The hyungs were meant to help you yet they did the complete opposite!” He raised his voice with every word, anger filling his chest. “Noona your staying here, Sejin hyung won’t mind.” He said determinedly “Pretty sure your the only girl he would allow me to have stay over” he added as an afterthought head tilting in concentration, the drugs were truly starting to get to him. This made you laugh a little, a small smile appearing on your face, moving one hand you ruffle his vibrant blue hair a little “Thank you Yeonjun, I knew I could count on you” you say in a small thankful voice. Smiling back at you he moved his half empty drink to your mouth causing you to sit up slightly, taking it from him you downed it, the whisky burning your throat as it goes down. Gasping suddenly Yeonjun gets up in a stumbling mess, the drugs and alcohol making the room spin a little, you grab him quickly helping stabilize him before he falls trying to stop your own dizziness from the sudden movement. “Noona I’ll be right back, I have just the stuff that will make you forget!” He grinned a toothy grin and puts two thumbs up before running in the direction of his room, your eyes followed him wondering what on earth he is talking about. Yeonjun came back a few moments later with a small tin “Noona this is Sejins secret stash, he would usually kill me for taking these but I do say this is on occasion where it is worth the risk”. Looking curiously at the silver tin you notice that there are a few rolled up cigarettes inside “Is that more weed?” You grin looking quickly between Yeonjun and the tin, you both have exhausted your combined weed supply. Shaking his head with a smirk on his face “No noona, this is something much better.” He takes one carefully out of the tin holding it up for you to see, “This is opium, and I have to say it is one of my most favourite things to smoke” Reaching out you take it from him putting the end in your mouth and make eye contact with Yeonjun waiting. He reaches into his pocket taking out a pink lighter, lighting his own laughing at the annoyed expression you make before lighting yours. You inhale slowly savouring every minute, before exhaling. You have found your new favourite fix you think to yourself. You don’t even notice the messages piling up from the guys on your mobile, and even if you did happen to notice, you certainly did not care.